Michael Dirda

I’m giving Michael Dirda’s “Browsings” 5/5 stars, which doesn’t really reflect my enjoyment of it as much as it does my respect for the work he’s done here. If you are a book lover, as I am, this book is for you. Be forewarned, however, that regardless of how well read you are, this book will humble you after about two essays. The book is a compilation of Dirda’s columns from one year of the journal “The American Scholar.” Dirda also writes for the Washington Post and show more several other publications. I made the mistake of listening to the audio version of Dirda’s book. I say “made the mistake” because this book should be accompanied by paper and pen to take notes of titles Dirda mentions throughout the columns. Listening to it on a treadmill as I did doesn’t lend itself to taking notes. Also, I wasn’t all that enamored with the narrator John Lescault. My guess is Lescault was chosen for his impeccable enunciation and his ability to speak several languages, notably French. I found his narration to be pretty pretentious, but others will hear a dose of credibility in Lexcault that the incredible range of titles Dirda covers deserved. So about this, Mr. Lescault, it’s me, not you. I would recommend this book to any reader who wishes to expand his personal library and accumulate a list of titles that will last the rest of his life. show less

This was not the book to pick up if I was enjoying any trace of the illusion that I was catching up on the books I want to read. I don’t know why I forget, over and over, the futility of that hope: Each book I read brings to mind at least two or three other.
But Michael Dirda exploded the last trace of self-deception. This collection of Sunday essays for the Washington Post Book World introduces me to hundreds of books that escaped my detection or reminded me that “I’ve been meaning to show more read that.” I had read almost none of the books he features, although a few had made it onto my shelves.
If all Dirda did was to point me to books, that wouldn’t have been so bad. But his brief essays — 1500–1800 words — not only explain why a given book (or books) are worth reading; they also infect me with his enthusiasm.
Some of the books he champions are difficult, post-modern novels. But lest you suspect him of elitist bias, he’s a declared fan of science fiction, fantasy, murder mysteries, and even Georgette Heyer.
Yet there are limits. Dirda decries “sub-literate thrillers, ignoble memoirs, and the evanescent speculations — on history, economics, or world affairs — of media whiz kids” (p. 387).
I have one quibble: This book, in addition to having a great title, comes with two subtitles. The first of these, “An Extraordinary One-Volume Literary Education” is bombastic and off-putting as Dirda’s own writing is not. The second subtitle, “Essays on Great Writers and Their Books,” performs the role of a good subtitle. I imagine it was on the manuscript as it went to the publisher, but then someone — perhaps in the marketing department — thought it needed tarting up. In my fantasy, a stand-off ensued. Dirda wouldn’t drop his, and the marketers insisted on theirs. So, voila, two subtitles.
If you’re wondering what you might want to read next, you might pick this up and sample an essay or two. Just don’t say you haven’t been warned. show less

Michael Dirda sounds a lot like me in “Browsings” (2015), a collection of essays he wrote several years ago for The American Scholar. No, I have not written for The Washington Post and a number of other prominent publications. No, I am not a member of The Baker Street Irregulars and a number of other notable organizations. No, I am not that smart. But when it comes to being incapable of resisting the allure of a used book store, Dirda and I are, as Stan Laurel might put it, like two peas show more in a pot.

Dirda covers a lot of ground in these essays, but one topic he returns to again and again is the endless allure of books -- bookstores, spring book sales, thrift shops where old books might be found in a corner somewhere, forgotten books, obscure books, books on books. Again and again, Dirda, also a native Ohioan born in the 1940s, reminds me of me.

The author confesses that he received a D in English the first semester of his senior year in high school, even though by this time he was already hooked on books. Yet he went on to Oberlin and became a scholar in literature and a regular Washington Post columnist on books. And although he can write authoritatively about James Joyce, Jane Austen, John Updike and the like, his true passion, it turns out, runs more to Sherlock Holmes, Edgar Rice Burroughs and classic science fiction. Give him a vintage pulp magazine or some book from the 1930s by an author nobody else remembers, and he is a happy man.

"Many people simply read fiction for pleasure and nonfiction for information," Dirda writes. "I often do myself. But I also think of some books as my friends and I like to have them around. They brighten my life." Yes, that sounds like me. show less

BROWSINGS: A YEAR OF READING, COLLECTING AND LIVING WITH BOOKS, by Michael Dirda.

I've been a follower of Michael Dirda for many years, since the early eighties when I first moved to Maryland and began reading his reviews and columns in the Washington Post, every one of them a special treat for anyone who loves books and good writing. His erudition and obvious love of all things book-ish or literary have earned him many fans and followers, and he has won numerous awards for his writing, show more including the Pulitzer Prize, twenty-some years ago. I particularly loved his memoir, AN OPEN BOOK, of being a dweeby, book-ish kid growing up in Ohio and his college years at Oberlin.

This book, BROWSINGS, a collection of short weekly columns he wrote for The American Scholar, is, like all of his books have been, a pure pleasure to read. In his Introduction, he suggests, "don't read more than two or three of the pieces at one sitting. Space them out ... you'll enjoy each essay more." Well, I understand why he wants this, but sorry, Michael, sometimes I was enjoying them so much that I just kept on reading, sometimes a half dozen at a sitting. And I don't think I could have enjoyed them any more than I did, which was a LOT! I mean, how could I not? I was just as dweeby and book-ish a kid as Dirda was. I still am, and so, obviously, is he. Here's a sample of the many things I could relate to -

"... with any justice, Heaven itself will resemble a vast used bookstore ... and all around will be the kind of angels usually found in Victoria's Secret catalogs. All my old friends will be there ..."

And I was often busily making notes, writing down books and writers he mentions, like Vincent Starrett's BORN IN A BOOKSHOP, or Peter Brown's AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO. And I was especially taken with his piece on his alma mater, Oberlin College, where he recalls that school's many illustrious graduates and learned professors, but especially his own youth in that idyllic place which "dramatically changed my life." And, although I've never been to Oberlin, it brought back my own college days, especially when he opined that -

"Still, if I were ever, like Emily in OUR TOWN, permitted to relive one day of my checkered past, I would choose a beautiful October afternoon in Oberlin, when all the world was young."

And I was envious when Dirda spoke of all the literary types he has known or met, people like the late James Salter (a favorite author of mine), Malcolm Cowley, Stephen Spender, and others. Even Michael Bishop, a much-honored sci-fi writer, whose Gothic baseball novel, BRITTLE INNINGS, is a special favorite of mine.

In fact, Dirda seems particularly enamored of old and classic sci-fi/fantasy and mystery books and writers, or adventure novels of the late 19th and 20th centuries, and spends perhaps an inordinate amount of space on those genres, but I can forgive him that. After all, he does say this about his own preferences in books -

"Well, I say if you don't like them, don't read them. You're not in school any more ... Just remember, though: keep trying books outside your comfort zone. At least from time to time. True readers boldly go where they haven't gone before."

Which is why I may yet try that intriguing-sounding Brown bio of Saint Augustine. But first I may just go back and revisit Dirda's own Ohio memoir. It was so much fun to read. In the meantime, for this book I have nothing but praise. Thank you, Michael, for writing it. I hope to see you one day in that "vast used bookstore" we call Heaven. My highest recommendation. show less