FASCINATING

People who know so much A review by Marjorie KeheRegular readers of The New Yorker will have no trouble identifyingthe byline of Mark Singer. He's the man who for decades (beginningin 1974, when he was 24) has taken them on any number of interiorjourneys.Over the years Singer has written about worm farmers, snowmobilers,Civil War reenactors, obituary writers, skinnydippers, and cockfighters.His profiles of characters most of us probably don't run intoevery day -- from a man who repairs zippers to one who claimshe sold marijuana to Dan Quayle -- have long held a special placein the affections and collective memory of his magazine's readers.Singer's new book will prove no exception. Character Studies:Encounters with the Curiously Obsessed is a compilation of humanprofiles he's written for The New Yorker. They are observationsof men and women -- although mostly men, as it happens -- whoselives are built around some type of singular obsession.They include a group of Texans in search of the skull of PanchoVilla; a Japanese-American family who combine science, art, andritual in a single-minded pursuit of the best possible farm produce;and Donald Trump (obsession: himself).Most of the pieces read like crosses between anthropological studiesand journeys through unusual interior terrain, with Singer servingas a bemused but (largely) compassionate tour guide.Any reader hoping to see Singer poke fun at what might seem the
The verbal sketches he draws are vivid and deft but rarely unkind.For the most part he seems respectful of this group who have foundsuch original ways to assign meaning to their lives.To an insatiable book collector he ascribes "a nimble verbal manner,a cheerful seen-it-all-but-show-me-some-more bluntness, infusedwith a nasal Yonkers inflection, and a look that would have engagedDaumier -- elfin, slightly paunchy, bemused."As he leaves this character, Singer tells the reader, "His eyebrowswere arched, he was nodding thoughtfully and smiling faintly.He seemed no happier than usual, but terrifically happy just thesame."As for a man devoted to the collection of Tom Mix memorabilia,Singer describes him responding with dignity to a woman tryingto sell him a saddle with dubious connections to Mix, "I am [acollector], Madam. But I\'m not a nut."Perhaps the only subject who comes in for uncharacteristic harshnessis Trump. The description of his hair -- "its gravity-defyingducktails and dry pompadour, its telltale absence of gray" --is nothing compared with Singer\'s ultimate suggestion that theDonald has "an existence unmolested by the rumbling of a soul."Fellow writers may enjoy Singer\'s book as a tribute to profile-writingas high art, but most will also struggle not to envy the accessand travel budget he seems to accept so casually.("I was invited to go to Tokyo with [the Chino family]," he writesof the Japanese-American farm family he covers -- and of coursehe goes. "During the ride from Cipriani to the [Venice film] festivalsite, the mood aboard [Martin] Scorsese\'s water taxi was subdued,"he confides to the reader in a profile of the filmmaker).Singer\'s collection of profiles constitutes a voyage worth taking.",1]
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more vulnerable of the characters he covers will be disappointed.The verbal sketches he draws are vivid and deft but rarely unkind.For the most part he seems respectful of this group who have foundsuch original ways to assign meaning to their lives.To an insatiable book collector he ascribes "a nimble verbal manner,a cheerful seen-it-all-but-show-me-some-more bluntness, infusedwith a nasal Yonkers inflection, and a look that would have engagedDaumier -- elfin, slightly paunchy, bemused."As he leaves this character, Singer tells the reader, "His eyebrowswere arched, he was nodding thoughtfully and smiling faintly.He seemed no happier than usual, but terrifically happy just thesame."As for a man devoted to the collection of Tom Mix memorabilia,Singer describes him responding with dignity to a woman tryingto sell him a saddle with dubious connections to Mix, "I am [acollector], Madam. But I'm not a nut."Perhaps the only subject who comes in for uncharacteristic harshnessis Trump. The description of his hair -- "its gravity-defyingducktails and dry pompadour, its telltale absence of gray" --is nothing compared with Singer's ultimate suggestion that theDonald has "an existence unmolested by the rumbling of a soul."Fellow writers may enjoy Singer's book as a tribute to profile-writingas high art, but most will also struggle not to envy the accessand travel budget he seems to accept so casually.("I was invited to go to Tokyo with [the Chino family]," he writesof the Japanese-American farm family he covers -- and of coursehe goes. "During the ride from Cipriani to the [Venice film] festivalsite, the mood aboard [Martin] Scorsese's water taxi was subdued,"he confides to the reader in a profile of the filmmaker).Singer's collection of profiles constitutes a voyage worth taking.
up by The New Yorker itself: intelligent and humorous delivery,a willingness to linger over detail, detours to some off-the-mapdestinations, and just plain good writing.Marjorie Kehe is the Monitor\'s new Books Editor