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A review by karieh13
Things the Grandchildren Should Know by Mark Oliver Everett
4.0
Thanks to the Early Reviewers program, reading “Things the Grandchildren Should Know” was a new experience for me. As with most people, the biographies I read are always about someone I know a great deal about, or have heard of, or at least have some interest in.
I can honestly say I’ve never heard of Mark Oliver Everett (sorry, Mark) or the music group he founded, the EELS. But when I received this book in the mail and read the praise on the back and the first page that proclaims, “The following is a true story. Some names and hair colors have been changed.”, I was all in.
Before going further, I did make myself a promise that I wouldn’t use the power of the Internet to find out ANYTHING about Everett…I would only learn about him through his own words. (Although once his career started to take off and he started to meet more and more famous people – I was sorely tempted.)
And so I learned about this very thoughtful and very funny man through the lens with which he sees his life and world.
I say funny even though much that I found funny was in a sort of startled, shocked way…words that caught me off guard, forcing me to go back and confirm that I’d read what I thought I had. The first part of many of his anecdotes lull you into thinking all is well…and then his last few words practically grab on to your eyeballs.
“It’s weird hanging out and sleeping in the same room with two people you’ve never spoken to and aren’t allowed to speak to, but I was trained pretty well for this by being in the same room with my father all those years.”
And: “At the end of the summer, which I had already started referring to as The Summer of Love, I drove my gold ’71 Chevy Nova away from home for the first time. I had bought the car that I called “Old Gold” complete with a stop sign used in place of its rusted-out floorboard, for a hundred bucks from my hot, blonde cousin Jennifer, who years later would die on the plane that hit the Pentagon September 11, 2001. She was a flight attendant. Sent a postcard from Dulles Airport that morning that read “Ain’t Life Grand?” in big letters on the front.”
Weren’t expecting that, were you?
And some things just made me smile. “Reviews don’t really mean anything if you look at the history of rock journalism. They usually can’t tell what will stand the test of time when they review something brand new on a tight deadline, but I’m going to let myself feel good about this. (Book reviewers: this doesn’t mean you, of course. I have nothing but the utmost respect for what you do. How do you like the book so far?)”
But what stands out in this book, this story, this life is Everett’s honesty about some of the most difficult, gut wrenching and sometimes embarrassing parts of his life.
“Pretty soon after that, (after his sister Liz attempts suicide) Liz and my mom went out of town to visit relatives and I found my father’s dead body lying there sideways on my parents’ bed, fully dressed in his usual shirt and tie, with his feet almost on the floor, like he just sat down to die at fifty-one. I tried to learn CPR from the 911 operator on the phone, carrying my father’s already-stiff body across the bedroom floor. It was weird touching him. That was the first time we had any physical contact that I could remember, other than the occasional cigarette burn on my arm while squeezing by him in the hallway.”
That paragraph, by the way? On page 2.
Everett’s way of expressing himself is just so clear and so blunt that his words really hit home.
“Bob Dylan said that, when he was young, he had a secret sense of his destiny. I wish I had something like that, but I didn’t. At all. All I had was an aching sense of desperation and an acute cluelessness – a nasty combination.”
And even after Everett’s career proves to be a pretty solid success, “I still have occasional bouts of desperation where I feel like there’s no hope. And I hate going to a new doctor or dentist. Not for the usual reasons, though. It’s the part where you fill out the personal information, when I get to, IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, CONTACT: I don’t know what to put there, and it makes me really sad and embarrassed. It’s the loneliest feeling, having no family. Holidays really suck and I usually try to pretend they’re not happening. On the bright side, Christmas shopping is a cinch.”
Mark Oliver Everett’s memoir is touching, funny, incredibly sad, and self deprecating. (“So what kind of an ego do you have to have to write a book about your life and expect anyone to care? A huge one!”)
I enjoyed this book immensely. Not only is the book an excellent read, his song lyrics, even absent of the music behind them, were at turns deeply disturbing and deeply moving. They stand alone as poetry. Lovely, sad, and above all, honest.
Because Everett’s main focus is his music, and because this book covers most of his life, the odds that I get to read anything else by him are slim, but if he chooses to write more, I’m in, I’m all in.
I can honestly say I’ve never heard of Mark Oliver Everett (sorry, Mark) or the music group he founded, the EELS. But when I received this book in the mail and read the praise on the back and the first page that proclaims, “The following is a true story. Some names and hair colors have been changed.”, I was all in.
Before going further, I did make myself a promise that I wouldn’t use the power of the Internet to find out ANYTHING about Everett…I would only learn about him through his own words. (Although once his career started to take off and he started to meet more and more famous people – I was sorely tempted.)
And so I learned about this very thoughtful and very funny man through the lens with which he sees his life and world.
I say funny even though much that I found funny was in a sort of startled, shocked way…words that caught me off guard, forcing me to go back and confirm that I’d read what I thought I had. The first part of many of his anecdotes lull you into thinking all is well…and then his last few words practically grab on to your eyeballs.
“It’s weird hanging out and sleeping in the same room with two people you’ve never spoken to and aren’t allowed to speak to, but I was trained pretty well for this by being in the same room with my father all those years.”
And: “At the end of the summer, which I had already started referring to as The Summer of Love, I drove my gold ’71 Chevy Nova away from home for the first time. I had bought the car that I called “Old Gold” complete with a stop sign used in place of its rusted-out floorboard, for a hundred bucks from my hot, blonde cousin Jennifer, who years later would die on the plane that hit the Pentagon September 11, 2001. She was a flight attendant. Sent a postcard from Dulles Airport that morning that read “Ain’t Life Grand?” in big letters on the front.”
Weren’t expecting that, were you?
And some things just made me smile. “Reviews don’t really mean anything if you look at the history of rock journalism. They usually can’t tell what will stand the test of time when they review something brand new on a tight deadline, but I’m going to let myself feel good about this. (Book reviewers: this doesn’t mean you, of course. I have nothing but the utmost respect for what you do. How do you like the book so far?)”
But what stands out in this book, this story, this life is Everett’s honesty about some of the most difficult, gut wrenching and sometimes embarrassing parts of his life.
“Pretty soon after that, (after his sister Liz attempts suicide) Liz and my mom went out of town to visit relatives and I found my father’s dead body lying there sideways on my parents’ bed, fully dressed in his usual shirt and tie, with his feet almost on the floor, like he just sat down to die at fifty-one. I tried to learn CPR from the 911 operator on the phone, carrying my father’s already-stiff body across the bedroom floor. It was weird touching him. That was the first time we had any physical contact that I could remember, other than the occasional cigarette burn on my arm while squeezing by him in the hallway.”
That paragraph, by the way? On page 2.
Everett’s way of expressing himself is just so clear and so blunt that his words really hit home.
“Bob Dylan said that, when he was young, he had a secret sense of his destiny. I wish I had something like that, but I didn’t. At all. All I had was an aching sense of desperation and an acute cluelessness – a nasty combination.”
And even after Everett’s career proves to be a pretty solid success, “I still have occasional bouts of desperation where I feel like there’s no hope. And I hate going to a new doctor or dentist. Not for the usual reasons, though. It’s the part where you fill out the personal information, when I get to, IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, CONTACT: I don’t know what to put there, and it makes me really sad and embarrassed. It’s the loneliest feeling, having no family. Holidays really suck and I usually try to pretend they’re not happening. On the bright side, Christmas shopping is a cinch.”
Mark Oliver Everett’s memoir is touching, funny, incredibly sad, and self deprecating. (“So what kind of an ego do you have to have to write a book about your life and expect anyone to care? A huge one!”)
I enjoyed this book immensely. Not only is the book an excellent read, his song lyrics, even absent of the music behind them, were at turns deeply disturbing and deeply moving. They stand alone as poetry. Lovely, sad, and above all, honest.
Because Everett’s main focus is his music, and because this book covers most of his life, the odds that I get to read anything else by him are slim, but if he chooses to write more, I’m in, I’m all in.