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Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you had wonderful and safe celebrations…ours, at a friend’s house, featured a magnum of very good Champagne that lasted a mysteriously short period of time shared between six people. (Next year, we’ll have to invest in at least two, or perhaps a  jeroboam…)

I have a New Year’s Day tradition, begun ages ago, of watching “Blackadder” episodes while moving very little. Yesterday I continued this hallowed ritual, sharing it with my mother, who is laid up with a very bad back. I carted the Mini Mavens with me over to my sister’s house and while they read, slept, and played with their younger cousin, my mom was introduced to the glory of Rowan Atkinson’s rubberfaced antics and a very young Hugh Laurie’s foppish splendor as the Prince of Wales (nothing like the Laurie of “House” atall atall.)

Anysleepyafternoonhow, after yesterday’s videofest, today I’m jonesing for new reading material. I do have a few early 2009 releases to recommend to you, before I ask for your recommendations. Here they are:

Entertaining Disasters: A Novel (With Recipes) by Nancy Spiller (Counterpoint): Pay no attention to the Publishers Weekly review that says this is “a static character study of a whining foodie.” It’s a lot more than that, and if Spiller never quite reaches the heights of meaning, it’s because her reach exceeds her grasp — and that’s far better than most of the genre muck on bookstore shelves. Don’t read this one too quickly. It needs patience, so you’ll understand why many of the recipes are bizarre and “unexecutable,” according to PW. There are reasons for that. I look forward to Spiller’s next book.

The School of Essential Ingredients by Erica Baumeister (Penguin): Baumeister is another debut novelist who also happens to be a slow-food aficionado, and she imbues this lovely, Maeve Binchy-esque book with slow-won wisdom. Each chapter is built around an individual’s story and a single ingredient, but all of the characters are attending a remarkable cooking class at a restaurant called Lillian’s (the chef/teacher is the eponymous owner). Think Binchy’s “Scarlet Feather” crossed with Kate Jacobsen’s “The Friday Night Knitting Club.” Perfect book for a cold January evening, preferably with some artisanal hot chocolate close by.

In the Shadow of the Master: Classic Tales by Edgar Allan Poe and Essays by Jeffery Deaver, Nelson DeMille, Tess Gerritsen, Sue Grafton, Stephen King, … Lisa Scottoline, and Thirteen Others edited by Michael Connelly (William Morrow): I know that one year’s end In/Out list said using periods for emphasis it “OUT,” but then, I’m never really in, so about this book let me say: Just. So. Good. Get it! Read it! Re-read “The Masque of the Red Death.” I defy anyone to find a modern story that’s as evocative and creepy all at once.

What are YOU reading that’s new for 2009? Or looking forward to reading in 2009, new or not?

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It’s holiday week, and you know what that means — lots of us will be going to the movies! We’ll probably be exchanging gifts, preparing big meals, and lighting candles and menorahs, too; but many families will take advantage of a day or days off to catch a flick they haven’t had time to see, or one that’s opening now.

One of those movies is “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” starring Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett, which is an adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic short story.

Like me, you’ve probably seen the trailer or the television commercial for “Benjamin Button,” and even read a review or three. Brad Pitt has waxed sentimental about how wonderful it is that the “infant” Benjamin is raised by an African-American woman, and photos released show a wizened baby curled in a fetal position, held by Taraji P. Henson.

I’m intrigued by this. If you read the original story, you’ll see that things happen just a tad differently. Benjamin is born as a full-grown and quite difficult to hide seventy-something man, whose legs hang over the hospital bassinette and whose beard hangs over his wrinkled chest. Witness:

Even after the new addition to the Button family had had his hair cut short and then dyed to a sparse unnatural black, had had his face shaved so dose that it glistened, and had been attired in small-boy clothes made to order by a flabbergasted tailor, it was impossible for Button to ignore the fact that his son was a excuse for a first family baby. Despite his aged stoop, Benjamin Button–for it was by this name they called him instead of by the appropriate but invidious Methuselah–was five feet eight inches tall. His clothes did not conceal this, nor did the clipping and dyeing of his eyebrows disguise the fact that the eyes under–were faded and watery and tired. In fact, the baby-nurse who had been engaged in advance left the house after one look, in a state of considerable indignation.

But Mr. Button persisted in his unwavering purpose. Benjamin was a baby, and a baby he should remain. At first he declared that if Benjamin didn’t like warm milk he could go without food altogether, but he was finally prevailed upon to allow his son bread and butter, and even oatmeal by way of a compromise. One day he brought home a rattle and, giving it to Benjamin, insisted in no uncertain terms that he should “play with it,” whereupon the old man took it with–a weary expression and could be heard jingling it obediently at intervals throughout the day.

There can be no doubt, though, that the rattle bored him, and that he found other and more soothing amusements when he was left alone. For instance, Mr. Button discovered one day that during the preceding week be had smoked more cigars than ever before–a phenomenon, which was explained a few days later when, entering the nursery unexpectedly, he found the room full of faint blue haze and Benjamin, with a guilty expression on his face, trying to conceal the butt of a dark Havana. This, of course, called for a severe spanking, but Mr. Button found that he could not bring himself to administer it. He merely warned his son that he would “stunt his growth.”

Every adaptation tells its own story, and every adaptation is, well, adapted. It’s not the original, and often it veers sharply away from the original’s plot.

But I sharply dislike adaptations that veer this far from the original’s spirit. Read Fitzgerald’s wonderful story, and you’ll get humor, irony, satire, and a keen sense of human folly. Watch the adaptation, and what do you get? Hmmmmm, what a surprise, given that it’s written by Eric Roth, the screenwriter behind “Forrest Gump.” You get sentimentality, an unreliable narrator who is a Witness to History, and a lot of scenery.

I’ve used this example before, but I’m happy to use it again: There’s an old New Yorker cartoon of a little boy whose mother tries to serve him a vegetable in yet another guise. The caption: “I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it!” Go ahead and change the setting of “Benjamin Button” from Baltimore to New Orleans, but don’t change the story’s mojo.

Here’s my question for the day: What’s your least-favorite movie adaptation, and why?

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There was an interesting piece in today’s Washington Post Style section about the famed Newbery Award for children’s literature. It seems that the winners over the past years have dealt with such challenging subjects that they may not be reaching their intended audience. Some of the experts involved in the debate argue that “quality and popularity need not be mutually exclusive,” while others stand firm in their beliefs that literary merit must triumph.

As I type, President-Elect Obama is announcing his pick for Secretary of Education, Arnie Duncan, and speaking about the importance of easing our children away from video games and “reading to them at night” in the struggle to make our nation’s education system stronger. Those of us who love books and reading know that the Newbery debate isn’t just some frivolous chat about fiction; it’s about keeping kids engaged with narratives at a crucial stage, ages 8-12.

As the article points out, many previous Newbery winners like 1999 winner Louis Sachar’s Holes and 1953 runner-up E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, have become enduring bestsellers. The winner, with its cover earning the right to sport the distinctive gold embossed medal, usually becomes a bestseller in its own right for a time — but recently, the winners have been purchased by adults but not embraced by younger readers.

Gosh, I can’t imagine why; look at the 2008 winner. Now, first: Please let me say I don’t want to diss Laura Amy The 2008 winner has been called inaccessible to young readers.Schlitz. She deserves great praise for winning the Newbery. Second: I’m probably the biggest geek out there when it comes to medieval history (and no, I’m not a member of the SCA and I don’t want to join), and I plan to run out a buy a copy of this for myself, since I’m currently writing a popular history of the medieval world.

But is this a book that my Mini Maven would choose? Some people might argue that not every book a child should read is one that child would choose, that an adult should participate in book selection. Those people probably do not have tweens. At age seven, age eight, age nine, the Mini Maven was thrilled to have her school librarian recommend books to her. At age ten and eleven? Not so much!

Again, let’s not blame Schlitz for writing a book about medieval voices. It’s probably really, really good. I blame her publisher and her book designer, to tell you the truth — the tinted line drawing image and the antique-y font look more like a Reader’s Digest book design from the early 1960s than something that would attract today’s middle-schoolers. There’s absolutely no reason why this book couldn’t have had an edgier look and style. So, tell me, would you read this book? Would your child read it? I could be entirely wrong, but I believe that the Newbery judges need to keep readers in mind, and I think this book bypasses them.

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I mentioned on Monday what a treat it was for me to talk to Michael Dirda — and I’ve been delighted to see the interesting comments vlog readers/viewers have been leaving for the giveaway.

Kristy Stansfield’s comment about reading the “Young Folks Shelf of Books” that came with Collier’s Encyclopedia reminded me that I want to share a story Dirda related after we’d finished our on-camera interview. It’s one he’s told in his memoir “An Open Book: Coming of Age in the Heartland,” but it was fun to listen to him tell it.

When Dirda was an adolescent, he wanted nothing more than the Great Books Library — but it was prohibitively expensive for his working-class parents. However, along with the Library came the opportunity to win $500, $1,000, or $1,500 if you read the books and took a quiz/test (Michael, feel free to jump in in comments and correct any details I’ve gotten wrong!). His parents agreed, and young Michael won the $500.

Then his next-oldest sister read the books — and won $500.

Then his next sister read the books and won $500.

The Great Books sales rep called the Dirdas at that point and said “Congratulations! No family has ever done this before.”

Mr. Dirda replied, “We’ve still got one more daughter.”

That daughter also read the books — and won $1,000.

I think the elder Dirdas need to write their own book — on parenting. I also wonder who has the family’s set of Great Books today…

Please enjoy this interview with Michael Dirda, and let us know what you think!

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I hope everyone enjoyed a relaxed, happy Thanksgiving weekend. My thanks are due to all of you who have supported this new program so far — we don’t want to do it without you!

This week, we have a new book to discuss — and to give away: Michael Dirda’s Classics for Pleasure. I can’t even begin to describe to you what a treat it was for me to finally meet Dirda, whose work I’ve long admired and whose reading habits and tastes come closest to my own of any other critic I know. Dirda reads widely (bodice-rippers, P.G. Wodehouse, French modernists) but also deeply (he is the only other person I have ever met who seems to understand Elizabeth Gaskell the way I do).

More important, Dirda is able to translate his own personal passion for books, authors, and reading to the printed page (and, I think you’ll see on Wednesday, to the small screen, too!). That’s no small feat. Many writers and critics can tell you why a book works or doesn’t work — but they fail to show you why you should read it (sometimes warts and all). Whether he’s describing the fascination Beowulf holds for modern readers, or why he adores Agatha Christie books, Dirda will draw you in with his sheer enthusiasm, then hold your attention with his expert knowledge.

In honor of Michael Dirda, for this week’s giveaway, I’d like to ask you to tell us about your favorite classic work — novel, play, short story, poem. Wax enthusiastic — you’re among friends! Your gain will, of course, be a copy of Classics for Pleasure. Don’t forget to check out our giveaway guidelines before you post a comment. Thanks, as always, for reading.

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