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The Greatest Juxtaposition of 2009
This is not Heidi, PubliCola's real BookNerd.
This is Josh.
1) The Most Disappointing Book of 2009: Columbine by Dave Cullen
Last week, I read Columbine, news writer Dave Cullen's supposedly definitive account of the infamous 1999 high school shooting. This book was hyped when it came out in April (the 10-year anniversary of the mass murder).
Wowed by the New York Times review , I thought Cullen's book was going to be a journalism masterpiece. I was expecting original shoe leather reporting, literary storytelling, and mostly—a detailed picture of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold and their lives at Columbine High School as the shooting creeped up on us.
Nope. When it comes the main story, the details around the shooting itself and the nearly two-year run-up to it, Cullen does a simple cut and paste job—relying on other news reports and on police reports that have already been sifted through by other reporters. No scoops here. And no substantive picture of life in the hallways and classrooms at Columbine nor Harris and Klebold's place in it.
The bulk of Cullen's original material seems to be from interviews he did with family members of the murder victims. Although, even some of this stuff—like his anecdotes about Misty Bernall (mother of the "martyr," Cassie, who supposedly told Eric Harris she believed in God before he shot her to death—not true) and about Brian Rohrbrough (father of victim Danny) who hounded the police to release the records about the investigation—is also largely culled from other reports.
And Cullen doesn't even make the most of this material, or even seem to have a handle on it. I found myself texting to a friend in the middle of one particularly frustrating page: "Wait. There's a 911 tape from the library? The author just drops that in out of nowhere? Why the hell isn't he quoting it?"
And the stuff that Cullen did seem to get on his own—like the inspiring story of wounded student Patrick Ireland and the sad story of murdered coach Dave Sanders—are ruined by Cullen's trite, schmaltzy, and heavy handed writing style:
More important, Cullen just doesn't have a knack for story telling. If there's any structure to his book at all (he sorta tells the story twice, the second time with more exposition and aftermath), he jumbles it with criss-crossing narratives that never quite have a point. Why are we at an anti-choice rally with Brian Rohrbrough?
There's a metaphor for how poorly done this book is. Over a year before the killings, Harris and Klebold were arrested for stealing a cache of electronic equipment that they found after breaking into a random van. The crime is a key moment in the story, and Cullen gets that. He writes that it marks their crossover from high school pranksters to actual criminals and it lands them in a diversion program that inadvertently tracks their disturbed psyches, particularly Harris', the psychopathic leader of the duo. In a stunning find, Cullen shows Harris' private ridicule of the van owner, which Harris gleefully and cynically wrote in his private journal, side-by-side with Harris' convincing and seemingly heartfelt (sham) apology letter to the van owner.
Okay, so here's my metaphor for Cullen's lackluster showing: WHO WAS THE VAN OWNER? INTERVIEW THE VAN OWNER! (We never even get his name.)
It's a very specific criticism. But it sums up Cullen's disappointing effort.
2) The Best Surprise Album of 2009: Marilyn Manson's The High End of Low
It's Marilyn Manson's scratchy show tune croon set to dirty clean electric guitar and catchy cabaret choruses. It's also got a standout rave up called "We're from America" with this dynamite opening stanza:
And, there's maybe even a Columbine reference:
This is Josh.
1) The Most Disappointing Book of 2009: Columbine by Dave Cullen
Last week, I read Columbine, news writer Dave Cullen's supposedly definitive account of the infamous 1999 high school shooting. This book was hyped when it came out in April (the 10-year anniversary of the mass murder).
Wowed by the New York Times review , I thought Cullen's book was going to be a journalism masterpiece. I was expecting original shoe leather reporting, literary storytelling, and mostly—a detailed picture of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold and their lives at Columbine High School as the shooting creeped up on us.
Nope. When it comes the main story, the details around the shooting itself and the nearly two-year run-up to it, Cullen does a simple cut and paste job—relying on other news reports and on police reports that have already been sifted through by other reporters. No scoops here. And no substantive picture of life in the hallways and classrooms at Columbine nor Harris and Klebold's place in it.
The bulk of Cullen's original material seems to be from interviews he did with family members of the murder victims. Although, even some of this stuff—like his anecdotes about Misty Bernall (mother of the "martyr," Cassie, who supposedly told Eric Harris she believed in God before he shot her to death—not true) and about Brian Rohrbrough (father of victim Danny) who hounded the police to release the records about the investigation—is also largely culled from other reports.
And Cullen doesn't even make the most of this material, or even seem to have a handle on it. I found myself texting to a friend in the middle of one particularly frustrating page: "Wait. There's a 911 tape from the library? The author just drops that in out of nowhere? Why the hell isn't he quoting it?"
And the stuff that Cullen did seem to get on his own—like the inspiring story of wounded student Patrick Ireland and the sad story of murdered coach Dave Sanders—are ruined by Cullen's trite, schmaltzy, and heavy handed writing style:
"Thirteen doves were released. Seconds later, two hundred more fluttered free—an arbitrary number, to signify everyone else. They scattered up in all directions. For a moment they seemed to fill the entire sky. Then they found one another and coalesced into a single flock, a massive white cloud weaving from left to right and back again, against the clear blue sky."
More important, Cullen just doesn't have a knack for story telling. If there's any structure to his book at all (he sorta tells the story twice, the second time with more exposition and aftermath), he jumbles it with criss-crossing narratives that never quite have a point. Why are we at an anti-choice rally with Brian Rohrbrough?
There's a metaphor for how poorly done this book is. Over a year before the killings, Harris and Klebold were arrested for stealing a cache of electronic equipment that they found after breaking into a random van. The crime is a key moment in the story, and Cullen gets that. He writes that it marks their crossover from high school pranksters to actual criminals and it lands them in a diversion program that inadvertently tracks their disturbed psyches, particularly Harris', the psychopathic leader of the duo. In a stunning find, Cullen shows Harris' private ridicule of the van owner, which Harris gleefully and cynically wrote in his private journal, side-by-side with Harris' convincing and seemingly heartfelt (sham) apology letter to the van owner.
Okay, so here's my metaphor for Cullen's lackluster showing: WHO WAS THE VAN OWNER? INTERVIEW THE VAN OWNER! (We never even get his name.)
It's a very specific criticism. But it sums up Cullen's disappointing effort.
2) The Best Surprise Album of 2009: Marilyn Manson's The High End of Low
It's Marilyn Manson's scratchy show tune croon set to dirty clean electric guitar and catchy cabaret choruses. It's also got a standout rave up called "We're from America" with this dynamite opening stanza:
We're from america,
we're from america,
where they let you cum on their faces
We're from america,
we're from america,
we speak american
And, there's maybe even a Columbine reference:
I want to be a martyr don't want to be a victim,
Be a killer with a gun so they call me a hero,
Want to be a martyr don't want to be a victim,
Be a killer with a gun so they call me a hero
God is an excuse (X7)
So sing it with me
We're from America, We're in recovery
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