My absence yesterday was not, in fact, because I was tired out from writing my massive Tuesday post – I was home with a sick kid. (Mine, fortunately.) And now today I feel almost to tired to post. But books never rest, and neither do I.

(Huh?)

From the Guardian (”Alastair Campbell tops poll of discarded books,” by Michelle Pauli), a top 10 list that authors want no part of: the top 10 books most often discarded in Travelodge hotel rooms. As with so many of these stories, I pray for a U.S. equivalent.

The list:

1. The Blair Years, by Alastair Campbell
2. Don’t You Know Who I Am? by Piers Morgan
3. A Whole New World, by Jordan
4. Wicked, by Jilly Cooper
5. Dr Who Creatures & Demons, by Justin Richard
6. The Diana Chronicles, by Tina Brown
7. I Can Make You Thin, by Paul McKenna
8. Humble Pie, by Gordon Ramsay
9. The Story Of A Man And His Mouth, by Chris Moyles
10. Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows, by JK Rowling

The quote:

It is unclear whether the books are read before being abandoned or are simply discarded out of boredom. However, most of the books on the list are hardbacks and many are heavy tomes - in weight if not in tone - which may offer some clues as to why holidaymakers choose to discard them rather than carry them on their travels. Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows comes in at nearly 800 pages while Wicked is pushing on 900. The reasons for the frequent abandonment in Travelodge hotels of Paul McKenna’s I Can Make You Thin can, however, only be a matter of speculation.

Di Herald’s kick-ass readalike on Kick Ass Heroines reminded me of why I wanted to play striker for Manchester United and use a meter maid for goal practice this morning. I wasn’t parked more than ten minutes! It wasn’t even 8 a.m.! And she saw me coming to move my car!

But the more I think about it, the more I realized I’m not really in the mood to mess up someone’s day. I’m in the mood to mess with someone’s world. Which probably explains my recent fascination with insomnia-inducing, adrenaline-riddled, conspiracy theorist novels.

Derek Armstrong’s The Game had me up all night trying to figure out who was killing all the contestants locked in a remote haunted mansion serving as the latest setting for a trendy reality television show. Enter the world’s most gleefully abhorrent detective, equipped with misanthropic ripostes, claustrophobia and a pill-popping habit. Anyone who loathes reality television will wish that Top Chef had their very own Detective Alban Bane wielding a knife in the kitchen.

 I turned next to Bad Monkeys by Matt Ruff. This futuristic conspiracy-twisted thriller takes off like a rocket. Jane works for “Bad Monkeys” a division of “The Organization” that takes directives from the “Cost Benefits” division. Their mission? Take out those humans who are deemed a drain on society while alive and less so when, well, terminated. Unfortunately, an untimely termination leads to Jane’s arrest, and she is now telling her wildly unbelievable, but oh-so-realistic, tale to a prison shrink as she calmly acknowledges that, yes, she killed a man, but no, he probably didn’t “need” it, not like the other bad monkeys.

Of course, if you really have time to kill between the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m., then you need Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis. Think Da Vinci Code on hallucinogens with a strong dose of Advanced Placement American History and you will be traveling the underground railroad of the “secondary” Constitution with Mike McGill and punky academic Trix.

These books won’t soothe the insomnia or the agita. But they will make you glad you stayed up for it and you’ll be ready to kick more than your caffeine in morning.

The Chicago Tribune’s Julia Keller offers this year’s thoughts on the Great American Novel (”The Great American Novel was written by:“).

And chooses American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis.

I’m thinking she was swayed by the fact that the word American is in the title.

Last year, Bill Ott asked us to vote for the Best American Fiction from the Last 25 Years — not exactly the Great American Novel, but at least it encompasses the Ellis Era. Strangely, American Psycho didn’t get a single vote.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with having a weird opinion. I’m just saying.)

I voted for Caramelo, by Sandra Cisneros. I might have a different opinion this year, but I always find these decisions a struggle. It’s more fun to pick on other people’s picks than to pick your own.

Any other nominees, whether knee-jerk or carefully considered?

Ever since men first discovered fatherhood (when was that, the Sixties?), they keep on discovering it. Now “cool guys” have discovered it:

Alternadad, by Neal Pollack (Pantheon)

Punk Rock Dad: No Rules, Just Real Life, by Jim Lindberg (Collins)

“No Rules, Just Real Life”? Hey, this parenting manual has attitude — just like me! Awesome!

Of course, cool guys are a little bit behind the curve here. The last few years have seen an explosion of fathering books for ”regular Joes.” (Hey, if you can reduce parenting to tools and a checklist, even I can handle it! Awesome! ) Some of them feature retro covers and design, which keeps us from feeling like lamers who have to read how-to manuals. (Some of us prefer “no rules.”)

Or maybe the ironic, retro styling blends in well with the protective layer of irony some of us have grown prior to procreating. Ironically, these ironic books often feature men confessing weepy feelings of love for their offspring.

Anyway, consider this small selection of recent and somewhat recent titles:

Crouching Father, Hidden Toddler: A Zen Guide for New Dads, by C. W. Nevius (Chronicle)

Mack Daddy: Mastering Fatherhood without Losing Your Style, Your Cool, or Your Mind, by Larry Bleidner (Citadel)

Pop Culture: The Sane Man’s Guide to the Insane World of New Fatherhood, by Christopher Healy (Penguin)

The New Dad’s Survival Guide: Man-to-Man Advice for First-Time Fathers, by Scott MacTavish (Little, Brown)

Be Prepared: A Practical Handbook for New Dads, by Gary Greenberg and Jeannie Hayden (Simon & Schuster)

The Guy’s Guide to Surviving Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the First Year of Fatherhood, by Michael R. Crider (Da Capo)

Daddy Needs a Drink: An Irreverent Look at Parenting from a Dad Who Truly Loves His Kids–Even When They’re Driving Him Nuts, by Robert Wilder (Delta)

Keeping the Baby Alive till Your Wife Gets Home, by Walter Roark (Clearing Skies)

If I sound dismissive, it could be simple envy at work. No, I’m not envious that all these dads are in touch with their new role in life – I’m envious that they had the foresight to take notes. Still, it’s never too late to start, and I’m currently at work on my own cheekily irreverent take on the seriously funny business of dads keeping it real — even when all they really want to do is run away from home.

My favorite trend in titling continues:

Blogistan, by A. Srebeny and G. Khiabany (Holtzbrinck)

Richistan, by Robert Frank (Crown)

Londonstani, by Gautam Malkani (Penguin)

Prisoner of Trebekistan, by Bob Harris (Crown)

Dispatches from Blogistan, by Suzanne Stefanac (New Riders)

Londonistan, by Melanie Phillips (Encounter)

Absurdistan, by Gary Shteyngart (Random)

Absurdistan, by R. Lee Wright (Cocolalla)

Have I missed any?

Reading Read Roger this morning, I found a link to a helpful list of controversial children’s books in The New Yorker (”Inappropriate,” by Paul Rudnick). For example:

"The Pretty Little Bunny"

Melissa, the pretty little bunny, woke up one morning in May and said, "I think I’ll hop-hop-hop over to the carrot patch. I’m so pretty that all of the carrots will jump right out of the ground to see me."

"You are very pretty," said Melissa’s Bunny Mommy. "But your sister is pretty, too, and she doesn’t spend all of her time looking at herself in the mirror."

"But is she as pretty as me?" asked Melissa. "Just look at my vagina."

Certainly not all of these titles will be appropriate for every collection, but they’re sure to spark lively debate!

My recent post about McGoorty Day made me think about my other favorite books about pool and billiards. I’ll save the how-to books for another list, but this mix of narrative nonfiction, biography, and fiction should satisfy anyone who wants to steep in the seedy milieu of poolrooms.

The Bank Shot and Other Great Robberies, by Minnesota Fats and Tom Fox. 1966; 2006. Globe Pequot, $14.95 (1-59228-701-8).

Every purported fact in this book should be regarded with a gimlet eye–Minnesota Fats regarded truth as an amusing inconvenience–but the hefty hustler’s as-told-to biography is still terrifically entertaining.

Billiards: Hustlers & Heroes, Legends & Lies, and the Search for Higher Truth on the Green Felt, by John Grissim. 1979. St. Martin’s, o.p.

Somewhat hard to find (I first read it in the Harold Washington Library), this mix of history, memoir, and legend is a fun portrait of the game and the men who played it–and also 1970s sensibilities and collars.

Byrne’s Book of Great Pool Stories, by Robert Byrne. 1995. Harcourt, paper, $20 (0-15-600223-X).

Among its many treasures, contains an absolutely brilliant short story by Wallace Stegner, “The Blue-Winged Teal.” And who knew Tolstoy wrote about billiards?

The Hustler, by Walter Tevis. 1959. Four Walls Eight Windows, paper, $13.95 (1-56025-473-4).

Okay, I confess: I haven’t actually read this book. But I have read the original short story that it was based on, which was published in the January 1957 Playboy. (”But honey, I only read Playboy for the short stories!”) The story is good, not great, but its influence–in inspiring a novel and then the classic film–is undeniable.

Hustler Days: Minnesota Fats, Wimpy Lassiter, Jersey Red, and America’s Great Age of Pool, by R. A. Dyer. 2003. Lyons, $22.95 (1-59228-104-4).

Dyer’s prose tends to be overwritten, but his research into a thinly documented scene and era is extremely valuable, especially his portait of the shambling, hypochondriacal, shot-making genius Luther Lassister. I never miss Dyer’s column, “Untold Stories,” in Billiards Digest, either.

Hustlers, Beats, and Others, by Ned Polsky. 1967. Aldine Transaction, paper, $24.95 (0-202-30887-1).

The main sociological essay of this book is a fascinating look at the byegone world of poolrooms and pool hustlers. Pool’s image has changed so much since the book’s publication that many of the observations aren’t valid today, but no matter. The blend of keen observation and original thought is why the book is still in print today. 

McGoorty: The Story of a Billiard Bum, by Robert Byrne. 1972. Broadway, paper, $19 (0-7679-1631-X).

Danny McGoorty was a hard-drinking, unreconstructed billiards player, and his story is a rollicking and completely unexpurgated journey through a byegone place and time. If anyone is ever fooled by sepia-toned photographs into thinking that the past was a more innocent time, they’ll change their minds after they read this.

Playing Off the Rail: A Pool Hustler’s Journey, by David McCumber. 1996. Harper, paper, $13.95 (0-380-72923-7).

In this modern-day look at life on the road, writer David McCumber plays stakehorse for pool player Tony Annigoni as they travel the highways, byways, and railways looking for action. This book’s accomplishment is in its ability to strip away the myths about pool hustlers while still making long nights in dingy poolrooms look appealing.

I’ve been lamenting the rise of the celebrity-authored picture book often and loudly enough to have finally realized that I’m part of the problem. Even if I’m only mentioning these books only in order to criticize them, I’m still contributing in a small way–very, very small–to the media hype.

Jessmonster was the first to answer my call for non-celebrity picture books that deserve a shout-out:

You could talk up My Cat, the Silliest Cat in the World. The first subject heading is ‘elephants - juvenile fiction.’ And it’s hilarious.

I haven’t seen it, but I’ll look for it. As for my own nominee, well, Meg Rosoff isn’t exactly an unknown, but as far as I know, she’s neither spiked a ball in the end zone of Texas Stadium nor hosted a late-night chat show. And my two-year-old, my wife, and I all love Meet Wild Boars. It meets both my need for text that allows highly dramatic readings and my two-year-old’s need for the vivid depiction of bodily functions.

(Of course, these things go in phases. Right now he’s more into John Henry: An American Legend, by Ezra Jack Keats. But he’ll be back: what two-year-old can resist a book that ends with a steaming pile of wild-boar poop?)

Asking for recommendations of good picture books that weren’t written by celebrities is pretty broad, I know, but I need help balancing my karma. So help me out, already.