Which Brings Me to You

Collaborative books can be wack. The "too many cooks" syndrome has the potential to rear its head, but fortunately, Steve Almond and Julianna Baggott found a way around it.

"Which Brings Me to You" is told via letters between two amorous wedding-goers whose aborted sexual congress leads them to a volley of correspondence. Over a seven-month period, they spill their guts to each other through the exchange of tales of love gone awry and not-so-subtle flirtations.

It takes a little getting used to that these characters are apparently such gifted writers, especially considering the shabby state of literacy in America and the sad truth that most in this situation would opt for communicating through MySpace comments or something equally tragic. But the stories are engaging enough that it's easy to accept that, hey, if their day jobs ever go sour, at least they are proficient enough to be published authors!

After reading the first few back-and-forth exchanges, a few potential flaws emerge, only to be trounced by a dash of realism. The literary style in which the letters are written strikes as a bit impractical, but then again, how many revisions and how much poring-over do you give messages to be sent to objects of affection?

There are more drafts of letters like these than there are of master's theses. A little overzealous attention to style and structure is about right.

Furthermore, since the letters tend to focus on specific, stand-alone events in the characters' lives, the whole thing takes on an episodic feel, which obviously leaves gaps.

Then again, this is pretty legit, too. We often explain our lives to people in short story format. We don't prattle on in novel-length narratives; most of what we experience is emptiness interrupted by spurts of activity.

This makes the premise of the book feel less like a cheap way to frame a collection of short stories, and more like a way to accurately reflect the way people look back on their pasts.

"Which Brings Me to You" becomes less about the characters themselves, and more about the storytelling method and complexity the characters hope the other sees in them.

We're consciously, constantly designing more and more intricate incarnations of ourselves, and though our final drafts may not be as well-phrased as Almond and Baggott are able to make theirs, it's great to be reminded that we're not the only people who care enough to put in the effort to try to get someone to really know who we are.

-- Christopher Steffen/The Daily

Don't Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings: Madea's Uninhibited Commentaries on Love and Life

It's a rare book that manages to draw parallels between Harriet Tubman and Britney Spears -- but Mabel "Madea" Simmons is a rare woman, er, man.

Madea is the fictional creation of Tyler Perry, the writer and performer who has been bringing the pistol-packing grandma to life on stage and onscreen for six years.

Perry starred as Madea (among other characters) in the blockbuster "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" and this year's "Madea's Family Reunion."

In his newest venture, Perry has gone from performing as Madea to writing as her. His first book, "Don't Make a Black Woman Take Off Her Earrings," was released by Riverhead books April 11.

"Earrings" is written as a compilation of advice and anecdotes from Madea, a Louisiana native who has strong views on the proper ways to catch a man, stay beautiful and raise children (be mysterious, use Vaseline and "whup that ass").

Fans who are looking for the kind of laughs elicited by Madea's sharp-tongued character in "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" won't be disappointed. Perry blazes through the book with humor but without tact, merrily poking fun at black people, fat people, disabled people and stupid people.

He skewers Beyonce, Britney and the Bible. "I went to the book of Geronimo and found out that Jonah was in the belly of the whale," Perry writes in the chapter on Jesus. "As Peter was walking on the water, the whale was swimming right by him. He looked down. I realized something at that moment: when you got your own situation, you can't worry about somebody else's deliverance."

Perry's quest to make readers laugh is a resounding success. People who appreciated Madea onscreen will love her in print. But unfortunately for the sake of the book, Perry takes Madea's position as a role model a little too seriously.

He attempts to give actual advice, which slows down the laughs and irritates readers who picked up the book because it's funny.

Despite its flaws, "Earrings" is funny throughout.

Madea can clown and preach at the same time, and even the heavy-handed sections, like the one on young people avoiding sex, are entertaining.

"They say 'ho, ho, ho,' and it ain't even Christmas," she snaps in the romance section. "Are you Santa Claus? Close your legs."

-- Meredith Simons/The Daily
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