To See the World From A Doggy's Point of View

In September, Book Gang convened on Laura F.'s L.A.-esque condo for treats and wine, and to discuss The Life and Opinions of Maf the Dog, and of His Friend Marilyn Monroe by Andrew O'Hagan.

It was an interesting departure from the slap-happy world of weirdos we left behind after John Waters' Role Models. With Maf, we not only took a trip back in time, to the Bay of Pigs, lounge-singing, Strasberg/Actor's Theatre days, we also got a chance to see "how the other half lives," with Maf visiting the posh LA home (and dysfunctional family life) of the late Natalie Wood, to Hollywood parties ferried by limousine, to Marilyn stopping traffic on Fifth Avenue. Always, Maf sees things from the floor-level up, There were some very depressing shoes at the party (213).
Most of the Gangsters who read the book agreed that they found it hard to get into this story because of the dog's eye perspective. The device might have been cute at first, but this writer took WAY too many liberties in waxing philosophical, and quickly lost his audience by pulling the snobby I'm-better-read-than you card, name-dropping Doestovsky, Aristotle and Plutarch, and abusing his minor in psychoanalysis with mean, cruel, add-on characters who add little to the story. Oh, and all of the cats speak in blank verse poetry. Oh, and he also name-drops an obscure Cecil B. DeMille film (70). Whatever.

Book gang was not too impressed with this book, but did find some of the behind-the-scenes speculative glimpses of Ms. Monroe's life somewhat interesting. The book really paints Frank Sinatra as a total dick, which isn't too hard to believe. It plays up an assumed friendship between Ms. Marilyn and the great, butchy author Carson McCullers, whose character int he book talks a lot of colorful shit about Truman Capote.
Through all of the coast-to-coast travel, Marilyn's ordeals struggling to make a name for herself as a "serious actress," the champagne-soaked nights and pill-popping mornings of her glamorous, but ultimately tragic life, she seems like a real entrepreneur with a mind for business. Even if she sold herself as air-heady, this writer still thinks Marilyn would have been fun to hang out with. And all of that business with JFK? According to this little puppy, it wasn't nearly as scandalous as everyone thought; the storyteller makes a pretty good case that Marilyn and JFK were not sexual at all--they didn't need to be. They had a strong bond as kindred spirits, and merely understood one another and enjoyed each other's company. Kind of a nice thought to depart on.
The book also got kudos from the Gang for its soft ending. Though hints at Marilyn's imminent unfolding are eluded to within the text (her moods often darken, the "color" of her life changes before her return to LA), the writer didn't make us gag with an overly sappy, poorly-produced tragic ending. Instead, Maf lets up down easy, reporting on Marilyn's wacky trip to the East to sing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," and then leaving us there to contemplate a sunny day. We don't need any more than this, we know what happens next.
So even though Maf wasn't one of our favorite narrators of all time, it was still kind of nice to have a "palate cleanser" after the memoirs we've been reading of late.
And on that note, our next scheduled book is a Wimmer selection, Talking to Girls About Duran Duran. As of Oct. 1, it was stocked and ready at Changing Hands. See you next time!