Some of you may have been wondering how I didn’t end up included in Andy Borowitz’s “The 50 Funniest American Writers,” his anthology that was published last year. I suppose not having been published in twenty years might have been a mitigating factor, though it didn’t seem to hurt O. Henry or James Thurber. Although the book certainly included many of my favorites, including Mark Twain, Calvin Trillin, Charles Portis, Woody Allen and Philip Roth, there were some notable omissions. You can’t feel bad being part of a “left off” list that includes Joseph Heller, John Barth, Carl Hiaasen, Thomas Berger and Donald Westlake.
You’ll note among the latter group a common trait: they all worked primarily in long form. To get on Borowitz’s list it helped to have a significant output of short stories or essays, preferably published in the New Yorker or something similarly Eastern. As someone who fell in love with comic novels from the first time I met Huck Finn, I thought I’d present my own list of favorites.
For a long time I kept a short list of best comic novels in the back of my mind, sort of the way people carry frayed photographs of their kids or relatives in the back of their wallets. Throughout my young adulthood, that list would always begin with Huck Finn, Catch-22 and Portnoy’s Complaint. I suppose coming of age in the early seventies, it wasn’t surprising to see books that dealt with racial inequality, the absurdity of war and masturbation at the top of the list, not necessarily in that order
The main contribution of collegiate lit courses was to introduce me to John Barth. In those days The Floating Opera, The End of The Road and Lost In The Funhouse were widely taught as examples of post-modernism, whatever that was, but it was The Sot-Weed Factor that captured my imagination. Set in early 18th century colonial Maryland, it told the story of Ebenezer Cooke, poet and virgin, and his chameleon-like mentor, Henry Burlingame. Barth wrote often and at great length about the Potomac and environs, but if you don’t mind 500 pages of early English dialect, Sot-Weed is his best.
During the early 1980s, it was possible to be sitting on a bus or by the pool or at the beach and hear somebody next to you hunched over a paperback and laughing out loud. They were probably reading John Kennedy Toole’s, A Confederacy of Dunces the story of Ignatius J. Reilly, who lives with his mother in a crumbling house in New Orleans in the early sixties, scrawling out manifestos on Big Chief tablets and angry screeds to his sort-of girlfriend, Myrna Minkoff. When Ignatius has to venture onto the streets of New Orleans in search of work, chaos ensues. Most people know the story by now of Toole’s suicide after failing to publish the book, and the campaign by his mother to sell the manuscript, which eventually was discovered by writer Walker Percy. For more insight, check out the documentary film, The Omega Point.
Charles Portis received a much-deserved public re-introduction when the Coen brothers remade True Grit, but my favorite of his remains Masters of Atlantis, a hilariously deadpan story of Lamar Jimmerson, an Indiana doughboy who becomes head of the Gnomons, a Mason-like sect that sweeps the country after the World War I. I owned the film rights for a few years, and tried unsuccessfully (so far) to get them back after True Grit was released. Hint to whoever acquires those rights: I’ve got a great screen adaptation! But I digress…
Thomas Berger gets a lifetime achievement award for my list. Certainly Little Big Man and Return of Little Big Man are landmark achievements, but it is Berger’s collection of mordant, exquisitely crafted novels of the latter part of the 20th century that stand out. They include: Neighbors, Nowhere, Meeting Evil, and my favorite, The Houseguest.
Turning to comic crime fiction, which is my specialty, the names that stand out are Donald Westlake and Carl Hiaasen. You can read any of the Dortmunder series and find yourself captivated by the capers of a hapless bunch of New York burglars led by the redoubtable John Dortmunder. Westlake’s invisible man story, Smoke, is equally enjoyable. Hiassen has his own trademark tales of Florida depravity. The early ones are my favorites, especially Native Tongue, his send-up of the Disney empire, with his corrupt Francis X. Kingsbury’s Amazing Kingdom of Thrills.
You cannot lose with Calvin Trillin. While most of his work is in shorter form – even his novels are on the slim side – Floater, his story of a “back-of-the-book” writer for Time in the sixties and Tepper Isn’t Going Out, his “parking novel” of a few years ago are wonderful.
Among more recent titles, Tom Perotta’s Little Children is a perfectly conceived and executed story set in the east coast suburban world of young families. And Jonathan Tropper’s This Is Where I Leave You, about a dysfunctional Jewish family mourning the death of their father, is another that will have you laughing out loud.
I could go on. Richard Russo, Ron Carlson, Nora Ephron, James Wilcox, John Gregory Dunne, TC Boyle, Lorrie Moore, Thomas McGuane, all have moments of hilarity amid less purely comic work. But I think that is enough to take to the beach and have the person next to you wondering, what’s so funny?
One of the things people want to know when they purchase my fine art landscape photographs is, “Will these stunningly beautiful prints increase in value over time?” I’d like to think so. Why else would I own so many of them?
Who doesn’t dream, after all, of finding that dusty old picture in the attic that turns out to be an original Ansel Adams print, or plucking the work of an unknown artist from a street fair who becomes the darling of international critics and buyers? On a practical level, there are a number of ways in which a photographer’s work could escalate dramatically in value, so let’s explore a few of them.
- The artist has a sudden burst of fecundity. He takes advantage of the new digital technology and creates a startling new portfolio. He becomes a cause célèbre in New York, Los Angeles and Miami. His photographs become sought out by museums, galleries, chi chi restaurants and international conference centers. Okay, next…
- The artist re-introduces a much-praised trilogy of mystery novels. The books become an e-book phenomenon, bringing long overdue attention to the artist. The artist/author then releases heretofore unpublished work, much of which is set in the same beautiful settings as his landscape photography. The photographs begin to garner international attention as the author’s fame spreads like wildfire. HELPFUL HINT: You, as an art collector, could accelerate this process by acquiring the trilogy and spreading the word to friends both actual and cyber, thus helping to build the clamor for the artist’s upcoming fiction.
- The artist’s independent film, Remembering Phil, becomes an international underground cult classic. The sudden surge in publicity brings attention to the film’s writer/producer. The world soon discovers his stunningly original work in fine art landscape photography. HELPFUL HINT: You, as an art collector, could help stoke this worldwide phenomenon by acquiring the DVD and soundtrack to Remembering Phil and extolling it to friends. That is the great thing about the artist’s Omni-cultural Experience. There are so many ways to win!
- The artist could suddenly and unexpectedly die. This is, of course, a mixed blessing, depending on whether you are the artist or the collector. But it would create what we MBA’s call a market scarcity. HELPFUL HINT: As a general rule, in order to take advantage of this value technique it is a good idea to invest in the work of artists who are older than you. Other than that, I would suggest maintaining a hands-off policy in this regard.
Mark Twain famously wrote a short story, later turned into a play, called Is He Living or Is He Dead? It was about a trio of starving artists who decided that one of them should tragically die. They feverishly spent months turning out canvases, then drew straws to see who would expire. The unlucky one signed all the paintings and then retired to the French countryside, while the other two spread word of his heroic battle with illness and subsequent death. In the story, all three became spectacularly wealthy.
I’m not sure if this would work in real life. Though I am willing to spend a couple of months in the French countryside trying.
