North Woods an Unsual Novel

 

 

 

North Woods (2023)

By Daniel Mason

Random House, 384 pages.

★★★★

 

North Woods is easily the most unusual novel I read in 2024. You could call it one homestead, one orchard, and three centuries. You could just as easily call it humans, the natural world, and the supernatural. Or perhaps ecstasy, murder, madness, and decomposition. Any tags you use will say much but not very much about this imaginative work form Daniel Mason.

 

However you approach it, don’t give up. I nearly did as it didn’t seem to hold together. Characters are dead and reappear, time passes, yet seems elastic. How does a 20^th century schizophrenic connect to a Colonial farmer or a 19^th century luminist painter? Did I mention the steamy passages on beetle sex? But suddenly I got it and realized I was reading something extraordinary.

 

It helps to break free of linear history. Insofar as calendar time matters the novel begins in the 1760s when a pair of Puritan lovers, one of whom is a minister, flee from the social strictures of Massachusetts Bay colony and take refuge in the Berkshires woodlands. A veritable microcosm of American history unfolds on the same acres. To the degree that there is a central character, it would be Charles Osgood, a British officer in the French and Indian War who leaves the army and also finds sanctuary in the area, buys the land from a local minister, has several black workers, and raises twin daughters Alice and Mary who are so close they finish one another’s thoughts. Charles is obsessed with fruit, acts the part of a Berkshires Johnny Appleseed, and raises a very special apple that grew from a seed once swallowed by a dead British soldier. The fate of Alice and Mary is unexpected and unsettling.

 

You name historical character types and they appear in North Woods: Native Americans, slaves and slave catchers, a crime writer, spirit mediums, numerous farmers, librarians, ministers, shopkeepers, pen-pals, professors, a Gilded Age  snob, members of a historical society, police, housekeepers, a woman who hears ghosts…. Again, how does all of this meld? Mason has written an epistolary novel, that is, one in which left behind letters, documents, journals, and notes contribute to the novel’s structure. Some of these connect characters in real time; others fold the past and various presents into one. This to say that traces are left from the past. Most New Englanders could read and write–but in this novel we have to be careful with time, as it seems to be leaky. 

 

If you lose your way, I suggest you think of how things connect to three anchors: Osgood, Robert, and Nora. The Osgood sections can seem like a Farmer’s Almanac at times, but fecundity and decay is one of the book’s themes. Robert is diagnosed as schizophrenic (and might be), but as he wanders through the woods with the intent of “stitching” (healing the world) by numbering each tree and stone he encounters, he hears voices. Does he? If time is leaky, is Robert crazy? North Woods opens with a couple and comes to a stunning end with another, Mark and Nora. Nora, a university student, is as obsessed with nature as Osgood was with apples and, as a modern-day person, has a lot of science to back up her fascination with plants and soil. She’s also under psychological care, though, so perhaps she too is mad as a March hare.

 

I’m sure many of you are far better versed in biology than I, but it is my contention that Mason wants us to contemplate the relationship between decomposition and the law of conservation of mass, but he doesn’t want us to stop there. The unstated question is what about transcendence? What indeed? Does anything ever “disappear?”

 

Some critics have argued that Mason has so many irons and questions in the fire that there are rather dramatic tonal shifts and foci. I’d call that fair criticism, but I go back to an earlier remark. Stick with this novel; when you get it, you can’t shake it. I’ll leave it to you to determine if North Woods is brilliant or pseudo-intellectual if, of no other reason, I’m not sure!

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

 

Is Monkey Business (1952) the Worst Movie Ever?

 

 

 

Monkey Business (1952)

Directed by Howard Hawks

20^th Century Fox, 97 minutes.

😵

 

When I was writing The Marx Brothers and America, I Googled their 1931 Paramount film Monkey Business. I often got redirected to a 1952 movie of the same title that  starred Cary Grant, Ginger Rogers, and Marilyn Monroe. (Most titles are not copyrighted and can be reused even if they are completely different movies.)

 

I stumbled across the 1952 Monkey Business at the library and impulsively pulled the DVD from the shelf. The verdict? It might be the worst movie ever made! I can hear you scoff. There are scores of dreadful movies so how can I assert that this is the worst of all time? I shan’t quibble; perhaps it’s only the third or fourth worst. At the very least it affirms the old actors’ dictum: “Never make a movie in which you appear with a monkey.” Marilyn Monroe should have listened because the chimp in question was a way better actor.  

 

Dr. Barnaby Fulton (Grant) is an absent-minded employee for Oxly Chemicals. He dreams of developing something that will secure him a cushy professorial job. (Okay, that’s funny! ) He is so fixated on a formula that he can’t execute the simple tasks of taking his key from his pocket, turning off the hall light, and turning on the porch light so he and his wife Edwina (Rogers) can go to a dance. She’s fine with that and strips to her undergarments (which were considerable in the 1950s!), grabs an apron, and begins to make eggs for Barnaby. Their lawyer friend Hank (Hugh Marlowe) stops by to ask why they’re not going out and Barnaby flits about trying to cover Edwina’s bare back, garter-belt, and stockings. Are you rolling in laughter yet?

 

As it transpires, Barnaby is working on a reverse aging formula. Gee, I wonder why nobody else ever thought of making a fountain of youth parody. But before we get to that, we meet Oliver Oxly (Charles Coburn) and his new secretary Lois Laurel (Monroe), who can’t type or think. She can, however, pull up her dress to show Barnaby how the acetate nylons he designed don’t tear. It’s nice to see practical science in action in movies, isn’t it? Barnaby is called into his lab because Rudolph, one of his oldest chimps got out and is bouncing around like an infant. But is it Rudolph or did the lab assistant/janitor put the wrong jersey on six-month-old Esther? Stop! The suspense is killing me. Rudolph/Esther gets out of the cage again, mixes chemicals, and dumps them in the water cooler. When Barnaby returns, he tries his own vile formula, takes a drink of water, casts off his glasses, and does a somersault. He feels like he’s 20. Are we having fun yet?

 

Respected Hollywood writer Ben Hecht worked on the script, but it’s pretty easy to know where this is going. All manner of “hysterical” things occur: Barnaby buys a sports car and goes on a reckless joy ride with Lois. Who knew that new sports cars came with bathing suits in the trunk? We see Grant do a high dive into a local swimming pool while Lois stands on the side being ogled by local youth. Barnaby will even get a Mohawk from some kids playing “Indians” and a lipstick-staining kiss from Lois. Tee hee.

 

Pretty soon everyone gets in on the act–note I did not say acting–when Edwina makes coffee from the lab water. She too cavorts about like she’s decades younger, thereby rekindling Barnaby’s flame. Luckily that means that Monroe is reduced to a minor character again. The effects, of course, are temporary and the formula non-reproducible, but we get the final indignity of a switcheroo that makes Edwina think that a sleeping baby is an overdosed Barnaby. Guffaw!

 

Yes, I know I’ve loaded this review with spoilers. Although you can watch it for free on YouTube I’m saving you from temptation. The really funny thing about Monkey Business is how a talented director such as Howard Hawks, who gave us gems such as Scarface, His Girl Friday, and The Big Sleep, got suckered into this Jerry Lewis-like dud. Moreover, he directed Grant and Kate Hepburn in Bringing up Baby (1938), one of the funniest screwball comedies ever made. Grant was a nerd in that one as well, so I can only conclude that leopards are funnier than chimps and Hepburn a better actress than Monroe.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

How Murray Saved Christmas

 

 

 

I think most of you are now old enough to know something that’s been kept from you. It's about the true hero of Christmas. If you were like most kids, you grew up singing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." Rudolph always gets the glory, but if it wasn't for Murray, there might not be Christmas.

 

First you need to learn a big word: auxiliary. It means extra help that makes a job easier. It can also mean a substitute, like when your teacher got sick, a substitute was hired, and you got to behave like an idiot until the regular teacher returned to the classroom. This story is about the substitute reindeer that saved Christmas: Murray the Auxiliary Reindeer. 

 

 

You’ve heard that it takes nine reindeer pull Santa's sleigh. He needs that many because he has to work faster than an Amazon driver to deliver presents across the entire world in one night. Did you ever stop to think about what would happen if one of the reindeer got sick? Santa did! He packs auxiliary reindeer in the trunk of his sleigh–just like there’s a spare tire in your car trunk for emergencies.

 

 

 

Santa has several auxiliary reindeer, including two females: Olive and Oyl. Olive took over for Dancer one year when the stupid jerk pulled a muscle while trying to impress a female moose in very short cut-offs. Once all the other reindeer called Cupid "Stupid" because he wasn't paying attention, walked into a brick wall, and knocked himself silly. He was dizzy and had a bump the size of an elephant’s butt between his antlers. Santa had to get Olive out of the trunk that year. Two years later, Blitzen had a massive infection from wearing hooves that were too small. I don’t remember which of the auxiliary reindeer was used that year, but it might have been Nixon.

 

The reindeer that's the hardest to replace, though, is Rudolph. Santa depends on his red nose. If you have seen sleighs in snow-covered fields you probably noticed that they lack headlights. A big open field is one thing, but Santa flies and has to steer around tall objects like airplanes, skyscrapers, the Eiffel Tower, and Victor Wembanyama. Santa needs Rudolph's nose to do exactly what the song says: guide his sleigh. What happens if Rudolph gets sick? How does Santa see to deliver his gifts? I suppose he could try a flashlight, but he’d never get to all the houses on time if he had to keep stopping to change batteries.

 

Imagine how horrible it would be if Santa absolutely, positively couldn’t guarantee overnight delivery. Kids would wake up on Christmas morning and there would be nothing underneath the tree except a plate of stale cookies and a glass of bacteria-laden milk that Santa didn't consume because he got delayed. It’s entirely possible that little boys, girls, and autocrats in remote places like Alaska, the Kremlin, South Korea, or Mar-a-Lago would not get their toys and rockets for several days after Christmas! 

 

 

And imagine how sad your parents would have been if it were you who had to wait. That almost happened! When you were little, your folks received a text message from Santa saying he was probably going to be late because Rudolph called in sick just before take-off.  That meant there might not be any treats to feed  you. Because they loved you, your parents hurried out to buy food and a gift so you wouldn't be sad on Christmas Day. By then, however, the only store that was open was a 7 Eleven. Alas, other parents rushed there as well, and there was nothing left on the shelves except a box of Corn Flakes, a can of tuna, and a stack of Slurpee cups. Some Merry Christmas that would be. 

 

 

Did you ever wonder why Rudolph has a red nose? It's because he has a drinking habit. He hits the bars early on December 24, with the objective of getting a nice buzz on. Because he’s a reindeer, his nose gets very red–much redder than yours when you have a bad cold. As we have seen, reindeer are not the brightest bulbs in the socket intelligence-wise. Rudolph should take better care of himself, but occasionally he gets too drunk to do his job. He retreats to his bed with a splitting headache, a high temperature, and sore antlers from being bounced out of the bar. Sometimes he’s so wasted he can’t find his way to the bathroom, let alone guide a sleigh.  Someone needed to save Christmas.

 

 

That's exactly what happened. Murray the Auxiliary Reindeer put on his running shoes, pulled the sleigh, and, sometime during the night made a soft landing on your roof. Santa jumped down and carried your treats and presents through the front door. He doesn't really come down the chimney. That's just a silly story we tell. One of Santa’s elves is a certified locksmith who fashions a magical skeleton key that fits all the world’s doors. (This makes more sense than a fat man squeezing down a narrow chimney, don't you think?) 

 

Rudolph the Lush

 

Murray takes over any time Rudolph gets too drunk to fly and has saved Christmas many times. It makes you wonder why that red-nosed lush Rudolph is so beloved. This Christmas I want you to think about Murray. You can still sing the Rudolph song, but try substituting Murray into the lyrics:

 

Murray the Auxiliary Reindeer

            had a very shiny nose.

And if you ever saw it,

            you would even say it glows….

 

Sing it the whole way through. Right down to the last line: Murray the Auxiliary Reindeer/You'll go down in history. Ho ho ho! Murray Christmas.

 

 

Murray, the Auxiliary Reindeer