A couple of years ago, Ann Hood was the subject of the New York Times’ “Vows” column, which reported on her wedding to the food writer Michael Ruhlman. The article made it clear that both of these divorced people had finally found true love, and their previous spouses simply didn’t measure up.
“I get the sense that from the moment I was born, I started knowing her,” said Ruhlman of Hood. “There is the platonic notion of love in which Plato postulated that one soul is separated from the other at birth and they each spend the rest of their lives searching for the other half. Well, if that’s true, then I’ve finally found the soul I’ve been searching for.” The article then went on to quote a lifelong friend of Ruhlman’s, who said that “in all the years I’ve known Michael, I’ve never seen him happier.”
It has to be awkward for an ex-spouse to see that sort of thing in the Newspaper of Record. It made sense, though, that Ann Hood would consent to have her wedding covered by the Times, since she’s never exactly been shy about discussing her personal life, from the tragic death of her daughter Grace to her first divorce (in the 1995 anthology Women on Divorce: A Bedside Companion).
Hood’s divorce does come up several times in her memoir Kitchen Yarns, which is rich in anecdotes about her life as reflected through the food she cooked and ate. From her mother’s meatball recipe and her grandmother’s Italian red sauce, to the Silver Palate Chicken Marbella recipe Hood cooked as a young single woman in New York, we learn about her life, loves and losses. When she’s struck with memories of her daughter, she reaches for comfort food, like a grilled cheese sandwich; exhausted from a trip, she concocts Italian rice and peas; to feed a crowd, she bakes tomato pies.
Ruhlman contributes a couple of recipes, but he plays a fairly small role in Kitchen Yarns. At several points, I felt that certain aspects of Hood’s life were being repeated over and over again—on page 221, she writes, “In 1978 I became a flight attendant for TWA,” something that had already been mentioned numerous times earlier in the book. The last page informed me that many of the essays in Kitchen Yarns had already been published elsewhere, so that explains why it doesn’t always seem like a cohesive whole, and why there’s not more content about her relationship with soul mate Ruhlman. Still, it’s a fun light read for anyone who enjoys the stories behind cherished family recipes. And I’m looking forward to tomato season so I can make that pie.
It’s rare that I read two nonfiction books in a row, but I received a notification that my copy of Susan Orlean’s The Library Book had come in at (where else) my local library. I love libraries. The first thing I did when I moved to my current town was get a library card. Like Orlean, I was an avid library user as a child. “The place was so bountiful,” she recalls of the suburban branch she frequented with her mother. “In the library I could have everything I wanted.”
That’s still a little miracle, isn’t it? And yet I am sometimes guilty of taking libraries for granted. A great way of deepening your appreciation is to read The Library Book, which is not just the story of the 1986 Los Angeles library fire which destroyed 400,000 books, but a story about libraries themselves, and all the ways they serve their communities. Almost every detour Orlean takes, from the way modern libraries must grapple with homeless people using the facilities, to how remote communities are served (Colombia has a donkey-powered “Biblioburro” service, in which the animals are outfitted with saddlebags of books), to literacy classes helping adults learn to read, could fill an entire volume. Each chapter begins with a list of three or four book titles, including their Dewey decimal classification, that gives a hint as to what the next few pages will contain. (How Everyday Products Make People Sick: Toxins at Home and in the Workplace, 615.9 B638, precedes a chapter that discusses health issues faced by the librarians who worked in the building post-fire.)
There’s also a true-crime element, since the case was never definitively solved, though a man named Harry Peak was accused of starting the fire. Orlean dives into Peak’s past, trying to unravel the shifting alibis he presented. He died several years ago, and the difficult nature of investigating arson means we’ll probably never know exactly what happened. “A fire can smolder slowly. The arsonist has plenty of time to walk away before anything seems amiss,” she writes. “Of all the major criminal offenses, arson is the least successfully prosecuted… An arsonist has a ninety-nine percent likelihood of getting away with the crime.” The old building was also a bit of a fire-trap, so it could have been caused completely by accident.
Happily, the Los Angeles main library is thriving today, and so are libraries in general, despite the occasional cries that they’re irrelevant in the age of the Internet. “A library is a good place to soften solitude; a place where you feel part of a conversation that has gone on for hundreds and hundreds of years even when you’re all alone,” writes Orlean. “The library is a whispering post. You don’t need to take a book off a shelf to know there is a voice inside that is waiting to speak to you, and behind that was someone who truly believed that if he or she spoke, someone would listen.” Orlean is certainly worth listening to, and The Library Book is a must-read for anyone who believes in the power of libraries.