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My poor wife has not had a decent night of sleep since we have been married. I have kept her awake each night by a) snoring; b) entreating her to make the mattress go rickety-rickety with me; and/or c) reading to her something clever out of whatever I happen to be reading. Accordingly, for the last couple of nights I have been reading to her practically every word of MY GOODNESS, one of two new Joe Queenan books released this month.
Queenan, of course, is the rapier-witted, laser-tongued critic and columnist who has made a career out of attacking virtually everyone who walks in front of his sniperscope, and doing it with such dead-on accuracy that only the biggest pouty-pants would ever think of objecting. Among those who have come under his withering gaze are the Hollywood do-gooders among us, those annoying, nattering naybobs and scolds who are always there on the front lines anytime there is a tree, cop killer, or babymurderer to be hugged. These would include, but are by no means limited to, Paul Newman and Robert Redford, who have irritated me to the point that I watch BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID on a weekly basis to root for the waterfall; Susan Saranwrap; any actor whose last name ends in 'Baldwin'; and Jackson Browne, who is busy saving the environment when not pimpslapping his girlfriend or breaking up marriages.
The thrust of MY GOODNESS is that Queenan one day has a catharsis and decides to spend the remainder of his life performing Random Acts of Kindness (RAKs) and Senseless Acts of Beauty (SABs). His efforts are --- what would you expect? --- hilarious. He starts an organization named "Dolci for Dissidents," which passes Italian pastries out to White House protesters; but find out in the process that it is extremely difficult to find Italian pastries in Washington, DC. He joins an oh-so-politically correct long distance service, only to get reamed on his international charges. He eschews his favorite athletic shoes in favor of a brand that is more labor friendly, and injures himself using them. Queenan soon discovers that it is, indeed, hard to be good. Or whatever passes for it these days.
Along the way, we get a list --- partial, of course --- of everyone Queenan has insulted over the past several years, and his attempts to make amends to at least a few of them (O.J. Simpson did not make the cut); a history of goodness, from Jesus Christ to Sting (Queenan's accounts of the tortures inflicted on Christian martyrs, by the way, are not made up, at least by him); and accounts of how his newfound enlightenedness affects his family (no good deed goes unpunished). And best of all, MY GOODNESS has a happy ending: Queenan decides to go back to being his basically nasty, attack-mode self. What would we do without him? Thankfully, we don't have to worry about that.
MY GOODNESS, from first page to last, by actual count averages 3.7 great laughs per page. While it does not do much for peaceful marital slumber, it is a brilliant send up of the Anointed among us who, alas, have become more irritating and pervasive than the Moonies or the Krishnas (who at least confined themselves to airports), as well as a fascinating account of one man's journey from the Darkside to the Light, and back again. Welcome back, Mr. Queenan.
--- Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub
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