CBR Book 17: Furious Love

Furious Love, by Sam Kashner & Nancy Schoenberger

In a book full of sad tales, the saddest comes from the acknowledgements section at the end. The writers, on telling a recently graduated theater major that they planned on writing a book about the world-famous Taylor-Burton relationship, received this response: "Oh, wow. I never know that Elizabeth Taylor and Tim Burton were married!" After being one-half of the most famous couple in the world, not to mention an acting giant, it's too bad that Richard Burton is somewhat forgotten in the realm of celebrity these days. I am forced to admit that I have not, as yet, even seen a movie in which Mr. Burton appears. I promise you that there are at least 5 currently on my Netflix queue, though, and I bumped a couple up after reading this fascinating story of Hollywood's royal couple.

Furious Love serves as sort of a dual biography, giving us a presumably abbreviated look at the lives of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton before and after tumultuous relationship, as well as the full account of their years together. Elizabeth Taylor had been a movie star from childhood, whereas Burton was the most promising of stage actors until he answered the siren call of Hollywood. She had lived a life of privilege, while he was the 12th of 13 children born to a poor Welsh miner. When they began their affair on the set of Cleopatra in 1963, they were both married to other people: Taylor to Eddie Fisher (her fourth marriage) and Burton to Sibyl, who had weathered countless affairs before. Their relationship caused a sensation; scandalizing and fascinating the world, and engendering the landscape of celebrity obsession that we see today. Throughout their affair and their subsequent marriages (the first lasting ten years, the second a matter of months) they were alternately beloved and vilified by the public. They functioned almost entirely in the public eye, allowing the world to live vicariously through their extreme decadence. They purchased fabulous jewels, paintings, yachts, planes; they ate and drank to excess; they rubbed shoulders with everyone who was anyone. Oh, and they made a whole bunch of movies, too. In the end, their life was too extreme to maintain, both in terms of their relationship, and their health. They both suffered from uncountable health problems, many brought on by alcoholism and drug abuse (mostly in Taylor's case), and Burton died in 1984 at the age of 58.

This biography encapsulates two different stories. The first is that of Taylor and Burton's film careers. The list of people they worked with and movies they made is truly incredible. More interesting is the way in which they commanded their world: at the height of their stardom, and even when their shine had faded somewhat, they were capable of asking nearly anything of the studios and getting away with it. Elizabeth Taylor usually had full veto rights over everything from costume design to screenwriters and directors. Despite being remembered for a certain amount of high drama and camp today, Taylor and Burton worked hard to bring challenging, literary pieces to the screen; often adaptations of plays written by friends like Tennessee Williams and Noel Coward, not to mention classics like Shakespeare and Marlowe. They were conversely the critics' darlings or the laughingstock of the press, but they almost always did things the way they wanted to do them. The rise and fall of their Hollywood reign is a fascinating story to follow, and will certainly swell your Netflix queue beyond all reason (if it's not there already).

Darker, and much sadder (to me) is the story of their relationship. What existed in the Taylor-Burton romance was a situation wherein two people loved each other very much, but were living in such a fantasy world of movies, parties, and riches that they were rendered incapable of dealing with reality. I often think that we, as a society, become brainwashed by the romance of media. We believe in things like meet-cutes, last-minute reconciliations in airports, and happily ever afters; and more importantly, we think that these things are all engineered by magic, rather than hard work and communication. And if the average Joe gets sucked in by all of those things, then the movie stars themselves are twice as susceptible. Taylor and Burton are a perfect example of this. They did whatever they wanted, often suffering the consequences but usually coming out ahead because they were so popular that they were guaranteed to make money for anyone they worked with or for. They lived a life of hedonism and never seemed to truly catch on that they were paying for it with their lives. Burton suffered a wide variety of health problems due to his (never acknowledged) alcoholism, but never truly got sober for more than a few months at a time. Elizabeth, and their entourage, were so busy having a good time that they never really supported his efforts. We would look with horror on a "regular" relationship in which one partner attempted to get sober while the other continued to booze it up, but this was simply par for the course where the Burtons were involved. Depicted in this book, that was their whole life. They got sucked in to the limelight, into their public personae, and they couldn't escape. It's not enough to say that they "weren't allowed" a normal life or relationship - it's more like a kind of Stockholm Syndrome, wherein they knew their life was destroying them, but they loved the poison.

This is a depressing and fascinating story of two people who only sort of existed, and of two people who weren't allowed to truly exist. "Liz and Dick," as opposed to Elizabeth and Richard, played out their every move for reporters. The situations and stories are presented so well here that in the end, instead of being envious of the fabulous life they lived, all you can really feel for them is a certain amount of pity. Sure, we'd all like to have enough money to casually drop 2 million on a massive diamond, but what price would we really pay? There are numerous references throughout to Faust (a role Burton played, naturally), and it's an apt comparison. Furious Love is a book about movie stars, yes, but I think it gives us many greater things to think about. If nothing else, you'll stop and feel grateful, at least once, for your comparatively quiet and sane existence.

CBR Book 5: For All the Tea in China: How England stole the world's favorite drink and changed history

For all the tea in China: how England stole the world's favorite drink and changed history, by Sarah Rose

I love tea. Don't get me wrong, though: I'm not a tea snob. I actually find loose-leaf to be rather a pain in the rear, and sometimes I really just love a cup of Lipton's finest. But I drink a cup of hot tea nearly every morning, and when the weather's cold, I'll probably have more than one cup throughout the day. My point is, I'm a tea-drinker as opposed to a coffee-drinker, so when I heard about a book about the history of tea (sort of), I was pretty interested, and sure enough, this book does not disappoint.

For All the Tea in China ... describes a period of about 4-5 years in the mid 1800s, during which a naturalist by the name of Robert Fortune was hired by the East India Company to essentially "steal" tea from China. You see, England and China traded extensively in those days. England provided China with opium, grown in India; China provided England with tea. The East India Company, though, felt that if they only had the raw materials and the know-how, they could produce tea out of India instead. The problem was that the best tea all came from China, and the Chinese tea growers were the only ones who truly knew how to make it good. Thus, Robert Fortune, disguised as a mandarin, went deep into the Chinese interior, to the best green tea- and black tea-growing areas of the country, and stole tea plants, seeds, and any information regarding the production of tea that he could glean. Once he had the materials, he had to get them back to the coast, onto ships, and safely sent to India. He was also responsible for finding tea-makers and convincing them to go to India in order to grow tea for the East India Company. He was, ultimately, successful.

Sarah Rose's history mainly tells the story of Fortune's travels through China; stories that can be read in his own published memoirs. Also of interest, though, are the descriptions of the economic goings-on, the botanical innovations of the time, and the history that evolved out of these activities. The fact that England provided China with opium, for instance, was a fascinating realization to me. They actually fought wars over the stuff! And Mr. Fortune, in addition to bringing tea to India, was also responsible for bringing countless other types of still-popular flora to the Western world. He successfully proved that green tea and black tea come from the same plant (European botanists were convinced that they were merely cousins), and provided evidence that the Chinese green tea producers actually were poisoning their tea by adding Prussian blue and gypsum, which gave the tea a richer green color. He also revolutionized the way that plant life was transported by making important changes to Wardian cases (sealed glasses compartments, kind of like terrariums).

History is often dry stuff, even when a topic of interest is being discussed. By focusing primarily on Robert Fortune, Ms. Rose is able to provide a readable narrative of one man's "adventures," while providing the historic and economic context alongside it. Overall, an interesting read; I would have thought that corporate or industrial espionage was a fairly new concept, but it doesn't really come as a surprise to learn that the East India Company (the world's first global corporation) was engaging in it during the Victorian era. Also, even though I'm not much of a plant person, learning a bit about the economic importance and high aesthetic value of flora was equally interesting.

The verdict? Worth a read, and not just for tea-lovers. If you're looking for something easy and non-fiction, give it a try!

CBR Book 1: Ella Minnow Pea

Ella Minnow Pea: A progressively lipogrammatic epistolary fable, by Mark Dunn

Ella Minnow Pea (say it out loud if you don't get it) was recommended to me by a friend and co-worker, and I swear that when he was talking about it, it sounded fun and nerdy and mostly kind of silly. It is fun, and pretty darn nerdy, but it really isn't silly at all. In fact, it's a dystopian novel masquerading as word nerdery. Which, if you ask me, is seriously cool. I have a thing for dystopian novels, even though I find them extremely disturbing. And since this one deals in words and language, it's doubly excellent.

The story takes place on the island nation of Nollop, just off the coast of South Carolina. The island's most "famous" native son is Nevin Nollop, author of the pangram "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," which, if you're not familiar with it, utilizes each letter of the alphabet. The citizens of the island, accordingly, are word lovers of the first degree. Letters between cousins Ella and Tassie, along with various other people within their sphere, narrate the progressive deterioration of their society, due to the loss of lettered tiles on a memorial to Nollop. This loss (actually due to substandard glue) is interpreted by the powers-that-be as beyond the grave orders from Nollop, dictating the removal of the lost letters from use. What starts out innocently enough (Z is the first letter to go) becomes more and more alarming, due largely in part to the rather draconian punishments handed down for unauthorized use of the letters. Ultimately, in an attempt to save their home, the citizens of the island must attempt to outdo Mr. Nollop and create a new, shorter pangram in order to prove that the ability to do so is not divine.

Sounds kind of cute, right? What I didn't mention, though, is the punishments for using the taboo letters (public reprimand, then stocks or flogging, then banishment or death). Or the fact that the books disappear even along with the first letter. Or the way in which the High Council progressively starts abusing its power, first by reading the letters of the Nollopians in order to uphold their directives, then by seizing the property of banished citizens and those who eventually start to leave the island of their own accord. The progressive silencing of the citizens; those who choose to cease communicating for fear of punishment, and those for whom it becomes increasingly difficult. Those who go mad with the loss of communication. Those who die, all because of letters removed from use.

While I was reading this, I would often find myself in a panic. "Oh crap. Did I just use the letter D?" Seriously, it's really difficult to keep track of that sort of thing. At first the narrators of our story find it an interesting challenge, I think, given that they all have unreal vocabularies. But the fear and difficulty begins to affect the reader later on, as the letters become shorter and shorter, the vocabulary less and less exalted; ultimately, the missives become nearly impossible to read as the characters resort to using alternate spellings and letter combinations in order to communicate. The panic seeps in as the deadline for creating the new pangram looms. Perhaps one needs a somewhat cynical and overactive imagination to really consider what the world would be like if we lost our powers of communication. Perhaps it's a possible reality in today's world of text-speak and spellcheck. Either way, it's scary stuff, at least to me.

This novel is worth reading. It's an easy read that'll only take you a couple of hours, yet it packs a big punch. The epistolary nature of the book brings the subject to the reader in a very personal way, and it allows for a true understanding of what is lost when one removes letters from use. It'll also increase one's vocabulary - you might want to have a dictionary handy. I like to compare dystopian visions: Atwood to Huxley to Bradbury, and so on; Dunn's vision of a world without the alphabet fits right in, believe it or not. Give it a try! You'll gain a new appreciation for that pesky letter Q.