Into the woods

The summer temps made a disorienting return and since the country club -- another martini, Jeeves! -- is long closed, we took the kids for walks in the Rockefeller Preserve along the Hudson. Matthew couldn't take his eyes off the streams, Tim wanted to be carried and Nora wanted to get back to the TV. We loved the fresh air and we're heading back this weekend. What ho!

Fall book season, what?

No book dilemma here, move along. I've been on a tear reading some terrific novels and I'm almost scared to say anything out loud because it might spoil the good run. I've read a pair of Elmore Leonard books -- Pagan Babies and Up In Honey's Room and they rocked. Babies is a streamlined crime novel that Leonard could and sometimes has done in his sleep. Honey's Room is a sort of sequel to The Hot Kid and it's terrific. If Hollywood needs a great source for a film, look no further. A hero US Marshall is looking for escaped Nazi POWs while the war winds down. Intrigue, sex, and adults behaving like adults all make for a sordid tale. You can smell the gun powder and see the 40s lingerie on Honey and one seriously devious Ukranian refugee who is looking for some payback. Dennis Quad, call your agent.

I still have Fellow Traveler on my mind, even after reading the book that was supposed to be the literary event of the season. Philip Roth delivers his last Nathan Zuckerman novel and in the wake of bad reviews, it was okay. No fireworks, which is what critics expect after The Human Stain, American Pastoral and Sabbath's Theater. A so-so novel disappoints after a spree of seminal novels, I guess.

Fellow Traveler is the tale of closeted gays in Washington DC during the Army-McCarthy hearings. Once again, Mallon turns back the clock and immerses us in a world where people behave in ways that we would find contemporary. terrific characters, wonderful historical detail and pure heartbreak in the way people live their lives with the decisions they made.

I'm now hypnotized by PG Wodehouse: A Life by Robert McCrum. I knew the man was prolific but he makes Joyce Carol Oates and Stephen King look indifferent to the written word. Pure joy, especially since I am reading this alongside What Ho, Jeeves. Heaven.

Not a bad run of good books, even if Joh Updike missed the Nobel yet again. There's always next year, I guess.

Icn Bein Ein Frankfurter

Still feels like a dream. I spent 48 hours in Frankfurt to moderate a breakfast briefing. I left JFK on a Saturday, landed on Sunday, did the briefing on Monday morning and left for home on Tuesday. I was in the house by 12:30 Tuesday afternoon. Throw in a beautiful blur of Singapore Airlines stews and it's a pleasantly jarring buzz.

Frankfurt was nice. It's sleek and modern and you have to hand it to German efficiency. The city works. There was a major thoroghfare outside my hotel and you couldn't tell. No horns honking, no brakes screeching. People drove in their small, sleek cars and seemed to conspire to move along together as a collective unit -- the opposite of New York, where it's everyman for himself. I loved watching SpongeBob Squarepants in the original German, along with an episode of the OC. Since it was late September, there was plenty of Oktoberfest footage and oompa bands and girls in drindl dresses. Lots of beer and good cheer.

I wished that I had the time and guts to explore the city more but the jet lag kicked in. I hit the main train station and bought Nora a souvenir and walked past the Burger King. I loved the sign for the Angry Whopper.