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How Perfect Is That Hardcover – Deckle Edge, June 10, 2008


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This Book Is Bound with "Deckle Edge" Paper
You may have noticed that some of our books are identified as "deckle edge" in the title. Deckle edge books are bound with pages that are made to resemble handmade paper by applying a frayed texture to the edges. Deckle edge is an ornamental feature designed to set certain titles apart from books with machine-cut pages. See a larger image.

Product Details

  • Hardcover: 320 pages
  • Publisher: Knopf; 1 edition (June 10, 2008)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0307268284
  • ISBN-13: 978-0307268280
  • Product Dimensions: 8.6 x 6 x 1.2 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 1 pounds
  • Average Customer Review: 4.2 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (55 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #2,039,339 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Editorial Reviews

From Publishers Weekly

In the latest from seasoned Texan social satirist Bird (The Flamenco Academy, etc.), Blythe Young's recent divorce from Trey Dix has left her outside the protective bubble of Austin's high society. As her catering business goes broke and the IRS starts to chase her down, Blythe seeks a haven at Seneca House, the housing co-op where she lived 10 years ago during college. There, she must face Millie Ott, one of many friends Blythe shucked off in a frenzy of social climbing. Once portly Millie is now slender and, as a perfect foil for Blythe, also saintly: she delivers aid to the homeless by way of a tandem recumbent bike (which Blythe names the dorkocycle). At Seneca House, Blythe tries to make amends with people she's stepped on, to avoid the IRS, and to kick both a lingering drug habit and an addiction to scamming people into helping her out. She slowly starts to wins over the affection of her housemates until one of her unthinking decisions brings potential ruin on the co-op's financial well-being. The result is a laugh-out-loud addition to Bird's long line of estrogen-fueled dramedies. (June)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist

Unscrupulously self-aggrandizing, unconscionably self-centered, Blythe Young leaves a toxic wake of debts, doubts, and destruction wherever she goes. Once the trophy wife of the scion of one of Austin’s most socially prominent families, she survived a precipitous fall from grace and now struggles to maintain the kind of Chanel-suited, Cristal-swigging lifestyle to which she had become addictively accustomed. Determined to keep her Jimmy Choo–clad foot in their butler-attended doors, Blythe embarks on a career as a party planner for her erstwhile society pals; but when they discover she’s been palming off Piggly Wiggly liverwurst as Parisian pâté, Blythe quickly becomes persona non grata. When she’s forced to reconnect with her frumpy college roommate, Millie, in a desperate attempt to polish up her tarnished reputation, Blythe discovers that even the oldest friendships come with statutes of limitation. Although Blythe’s shamelessly egotistical behavior can be a bit over the top, Bird nevertheless infuses her riches-to-rags tale with enough smart, sardonic satire and irresistibly irreverent irony to uproariously outweigh any moral misgivings. --Carol Haggas

More About the Author

My first interview about "Above the East China Sea" coming out next May. I loved chatting about this book with the insightful Mary Helen Specht:

Today I am so pleased to present an interview with the amazing Sarah Bird. She is a rare writer, one whose work is as popular as it is literary, as dark and insightful as it is laugh-out-loud funny. Find out more about her novels here: http://sarahbirdbooks.com.

Bird's ninth novel, Above The East China Sea (to be released by Knopf in spring of 2014), is a big serious novel about the price of empire, and a loving evocation of Okinawans and their culture. The novel presents the unexpectedly entwined story of two teenage girls -- one a contemporary U.S. Air Force brat, whose hard-ass, party-girl sergeant mom is stationed at Kadena Air Base on Okinawa; the other a gentle native of the island who is forced along with the other sheltered girls of the elite Princess Lily High School, to serve in the Japanese army's cave hospitals during the Battle of Okinawa.

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MHS: Let's begin with the question that every reader loves to ask and every writer hates to answer: Since you also spent part of your youth living on Okinawa, how much of your own experiences inform the characters or the drama of this novel?

SB: No, I think that is an important and valid question and don't really understand why writers get testy about it. I'm fascinated by the intersections between fact and fiction. In the case of Above the East China Sea, the book absolutely wouldn't exist had I not been a military kid. (I disavow the term "military brat," since, as a group, children raised by soldiers who put The Mission above all else, including family, are some of the least bratty America produces.) While I was growing up, we were stationed in Japan and Okinawa, and I based a novel, Yokota Officers Club, on those experiences. In researching that book, I was astonished at what I did not know about Okinawa or our country's relationship with the chain of Ryukyu Islands that it is part of.

At the age of eighteen, I'd stood at the top of a popular destination, Suicide Cliff, and I'd toured yet another, the vast labyrinth of tunnels constructed by the Japanese army with native labor, and been absolutely unaware of their significance. I didn't learn for another thirty years that more lives had been lost during the Battle Okinawa than at Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. That the invasion was the largest land-sea-air battle in history. That over one-quarter of the Okinawan population had died in agonizing ways, and virtually the entire cultural history of the islands had been lost.

The story of the Princess Lily Girls, the sheltered native girls from an elite private school who were conscripted by the Imperial Army to serve in their cave hospitals under the most horrific conditions imaginable, embodied this tragedy. I told the historical half of the novel from the perspective of two sisters who refuse to let anything, not the struggles of nations, not even death, tear them apart.

MHS: Your novel explores Okinawa in two different time periods. Can you tell us a little about your research process for this book? Was it different researching a country and culture that is not your own?

SB: I've actually done quite a few projects in foreign countries, both as a novelist and a screenwriter. For this one, I definitely did not want to write a purely historical novel. I wanted to show the continuing ramifications of our presence on that island. How seven decades after the war ended U.S. military installation still occupy a fifth of tiny Okinawa's precious 463 square miles. Having grown up within the barbed wire of the vast stretches of runways, housing areas, parade grounds, swimming pools, golf courses, and so on, it was a mind-bending exercise for me to put myself outside of the fence and ask questions like, How would an American would feel if, say, the entire eastern seaboard, were occupied by foreigners?

I re-entered the world of a military dependent stationed at one of the US's 700 plus overseas bases through the character of Luz James, only surviving child of a hard ass single mom sergeant in Security Forces. As the novel opens, we learn that mom is away on TDY, (temporary duty, one of the many acronyms that defined my early life), Luz's beloved older sister Codie, the emotional core of her rootless life, has just died in Afghanistan, and Luz is standing at the top of Suicide Cliffs looking down on the East China Sea where past and present are about to collide.

MHS: Did you decide to go back to Okinawa (in person) to write this book? If not, why not?

SB: Thank God for the Internet and that I live in a town with a world-class library university library system. The bulk of my research had to do with getting Okinawa's side of the story of the invasion and immersing myself in the history and the culture of the Ryukyu Islands. I was very fortunate early on to find the superb collections of Okinawan literature translated and collected by Steve Rabson, the pre-eminent expert in the field, who became a great source and sounding board.

As for research into the life of a contemporary military teen on Okinawa, the intimate side of that world certainly would have been closed to me had I shown up in all my old lady glory. But it was wide open and completely accessible on youtube. There I discovered an entire channel, Planet Oki, devoted to the hip hop scene on the island. I gathered tremendous insights from the many video diaries of young air force recruits going through basic and specialized training. Facebook was a wonderful source for teens and enlisted members currently stationed on Kadena Air Base.

Thus far all my sources have confirmed that I got it right, which is a gigantic relief as that was crucially important to me. So although I would have loved to have visited Okinawa, I also had loads of hesitations. First, I didn't think I could learn what I needed to in a short visit, couldn't penetrate any of the worlds that are so open to me in me other ways. Then there was the expense. Okinawa is a long way away. Finally, my time growing up on Okinawa was magical is so many ways. My parents were young and healthy, my brothers and sisters and I were this one, tight unit having an enchanted adventure. Though I now understand the dark side of that magic time, I've put those personal memories aside and don't really want too much reality to intrude upon them; I wanted my own private Okinawa to remain preserved in amber with its golden glow intact.

I will say that I did acquire a bottle of awamori, a sort of Okinawan rice brandy, with the requisite habu snake coiled at the bottom and toasted every time I felt I'd figured out a knotty problem. I can't compare it to viper-less awamori, but the stuff I have tastes like very strong sake. Oh, and it increased my virility tremendously.

MHS: Since many of your readers will likely be American, how did you approach the challenge of explaining Okinawan culture without bogging down the novel with exposition? Can you give us an example?

SB: This was a huge concern for me and the reason that I had to rewrite the novel several times from page one. For quite some time, I was at a loss about how to immerse an American reader into a culture with such fundamentally different ideas without turning the book into a sort of "Meet Okinawa and Its Weird Ways." I also, really, didn't want to write a ghost story which the book would have been for a reader who isn't steeped in the Okinawan ideas that the basic human unit is not the individual but the family. And that the dead live on in a literal way, influencing every aspect of life.

The two keys for me to unlocking this problem were the novels The Famished Road by Ben Okri and, of course, the book in whose shadow we all labor, 100 Years of Solitude by the author I named my only child after. I also admire the novels of John Burdett and how the beliefs of his Buddhist detective are implicit in the action.

Still, I did need a vehicle to articulate Okinawan history and her muddy relationship with both the US and Japan. My "mule" for carrying this narrative load was the character, Jake Furusato, a bilingual, bi-cultural Okinawan teen.

In this excerpt, Jake is helping Luz find a man in a photo she and her beloved sister Codie might be related to.

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Excerpt from ABOVE THE EAST CHINA SEA

I hand Jake the photo, pointing to the corner of the sign above the guy's head where the word 'apLand' appears and theorize, "Probably a misspelling of App Land, right? Some tech store. I'll Google it."

"Don't bother." Jake's tone is weird. He flips the photo back onto my lap and pulls into traffic. "I know exactly where and what that is."

The rain has stopped by the time, we leave the broad boulevards lined with royal palms and shops spilling out their glittering merchandise and turn onto narrower and narrower streets until we're creeping along a nearly deserted back street. On either side are abandoned businesses with boarded-up windows and weeds growing through the concrete steps sporting signs so faded by the sun that I can barely make out the names: Club Kentucky. High Time Bar. The Manhattan. Girls Girls Girls. GI Welcome.

Suddenly, amidst all the gray buildings, we encounter one painted a vivid crimson. The shocking color frames a painting two stories high that depicts a beautiful woman in a red-and-lilac kimono sniffing a flower. A few blocks later there is another painted a shocking pink. A two-story poster depicts a pair of animé girls in French maid costumes, breasts overflowing laced bodices. An invisible fishing line hoists up the backs of ruffled skirts to reveal the clefts of their butts. With a weirdly sarcastic tone, Jake translates the caption beneath the girls: "'Welcome home, Mr. Married Man. Your wife is out shopping for the day. Is there anything we can do for you before she gets back?'"

"Check that one out." He points to a place and translates the sign, "The Girls Nursing Academy." The two-story building is covered in bathroom tile and features giant posters of young Japanese girls in sexy nurse uniforms and pink scrubs. There is another caption, and though Jake does this translation in a high, girly voice, it's obvious that he doesn't think any of it is funny. "'Please, come in! We need to check your pulse. Now, please remove all of your clothes. We'd like to check your blood pressure, too.'"

On the street, a couple of Japanese businessmen in black suits crane their necks to study the photos of the nurse girls. A thuggy-looking guy with slicked-back hair steps out and beckons the men to enter, holding the door open, and pointing to other photos posted on the signboard next to him.

"What are these, strip clubs? Whorehouses?"

Jakes gives a dry imitation of a laugh. "Whorehouse? Technically, no, since prostitution has been illegal in Japan since the mid-fifties. No these are 'bathhouses,' Sōpus. Which is why what you pay for in a Sōpu is just a bath. A very, very expensive bath where the girl washes you with her naked, soapy body. But if, during all the rub-a-dub-dub, the couple should just happen to realize that they are soul mates and fall deeply in love and can't keep themselves from having mad, passionate sex. Well, it happens. That's just two strangers who've fallen in love. The money is for the bath. Period. That's the Japanese way."

"You sure know a lot about all this," I say.

Jake shakes his head. "No one who grows up here doesn't know about Soaplands. This is where Japan, Okinawa, and, now that the dollar is so weak, to a much lesser degree, America, all, literally, rub up against each other."

I'm relieved that Jake's judgment and disgust are for murky political relationships. He drives on, pointing out the tiled, painted businesses as we pass them. "Okay, there you've got the Princess Heart, the Emerald, and Wave. And, look," Jake tilts his head toward a couple of soldiers," "the first customers of the day.

Though they're in civvies, I figure the guys to be marines, since everything about them--from their high and tight haircuts, to the weightlifter muscles, to the rolling gaits, like their balls are so enormous they have to straddle them with each step, is military on steroids. They're too big for the narrow street, too red-faced for the glaring sun. The marines pause in front of the Princess Heart and stare at the poster of a girl with a face like Betty Boop and breasts like a Jersey cow.

The soldiers shove each other as they study a price list that starts at 24,000 yen for an hour, more than they make in a week. A tough-looking Okinawan bouncer wearing sunglasses, his hair gelled into a spiky do, slouching against a wall, straightens up, flicks his cigarette into the street, and closes in on the marines. He waves the soldiers away with broad gestures. The marines fail to take the hint and start to go in anyway. The bouncer, arms folded in front of his chest, blocks their entrance, and, with one nod of his head, two guys appear to flank him. The marines start to force their way past, and the three men drop down into the Stance. The marines recognize the serious ass-kicking potential on display, flip the guys off, and leave.

Jake takes a left, turns down a street drabber and drearier than the others, and stops in front of the drabbest and dreariest building. The sign above the door is spelled out, not in Japanese characters but in straightforward English: SoapLand. "This the place you were looking for?"

"I didn't think it would be... You know." Just like I figured, the instant I let anything about my family out, humiliation follows.

"This is the only place around here that's so low-class they take foreigners, even the lowest of the gaijin, soldiers. US G.I.s were what originally built the businesses, but all that's changed. Most sōpus now won't even let one stand outside and ogle the photos of the girls because they'll scare away the customers with real money, Japanese businessmen."

The rain has stopped, and in the bright sunlight SoapLand looks even dingier. The aqua tile framing the frosted glass next to the front door is filigreed with mildew along the grout lines. The photos of girls sporting ratted-up hairstyles, pale lipstick, and heavy eyeliner from the sixties and seventies, posted in glass cases outside, are so old they have faded to a lifeless blue. They remind me of the photo of my grandmother. Too much.

"Actually," I say, "I've changed my mind. I don't even know why I thought that I'm related to..." I wave at the scene on the other side of the windshield, "...any of this. My grandfather was a farm boy from Missouri. My grandmother met him when he was stationed at Kadena."

As I speak, the marines rejected from the higher-class sōpu down the street appear. As soon as they move into view, there is motion on the on the other side of the frosted glass of Soapland. The shadow of a man wobbles across the glass as he nears the open door. My heart gives a violent stroke.

"So, you want to leave?" Jake asks.

The shadow is inches away from being exposed at the open door. "Yes, we should leave. Now."

Jake starts the engine and pulls forward. He is about to turn onto the street when the shadow man appears in the open door.

Jake stops. "Isn't that the guy in the picture you showed me?"

He is even gaunter than he'd looked in the photo taken three months ago. The high knobs of his shoulders tent up his suit on either side of his head. A rim of white hair outlines his face where the roots of his frizzy dyed curls are growing out. Though he could pass for Latino, even white, in person his loose-jointed ease with a hint of swagger is all African-American.

I want to say "no" so much it hurts. I don't want to be related to some skeevy guy working at a sudsy whorehouse. I am cutting this loser out, excising him like a malignant growth, I'm saying the word, I'm denying that he has any relation to me when the old guy throws his shoulders back, stands up straight, and greets the marines with a smile that is Codie's dazzling smile. The years fall off of him and Codie is there radiating the same quick, but scattered intelligence.

The marines try to wave him off, but he gets out in front, cutting them off. They step around him, but he stays on their heels, a whippet herding buffalo. When they continue rebuffing him, moving farther down the block away from SoapLand, he grabs one of the marines' sleeves. Instantly, two massive clubs of arms shoot skyward, throwing off the unwelcome touch, and both soldiers whirl on the pest and go ghetto on him with aggressive head bobs and eye pops.

The skinny man with Codie's smile backs away, both hands up, declaring total surrender. The marines leave, fist-bumping each other, bonded again in semper fi brotherhood.

"What do you want to do?" Jake asks.

What I want is to tell Jake that I was mistaken, that my life has nothing to do with a broken-down old pimp dogging customers. I really want that. The only thing I want more is the tiniest scrap of my sister back. A flash of her smile. The name of the man who might be our grandfather. I pull the handle back, the car door cracks open. "I have to talk to him."

I get out and head toward SoapLand.

+

MHS: Were there any common stereotypes / simplifications / misconceptions about Okinawa culture that you consciously tried to avoid or correct while working on the manuscript?

SB: The biggest misconception is that Okinawa is Japan. Hopefully without being didactic, I wanted to show how the island has been betrayed and exploited by both the US and Japan, usually in collaboration. How they have paid for decades for a war they had no part in starting and never stood to benefit from.

Mostly, I wanted to highlight how viscerally the Okinawans understand the tragic, incalculable costs of empire, whether Japanese or American, and how those costs are always borne, mostly, by the young.

+++

posted by Mary Helen Specht
Mary Helen Specht is our July 2013 Writer In Residence. Her fiction and nonfiction has appeared in numerous publications, including The New York Times, The Colorado Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Southwest Review, Florida Review, Southwestern American Literature, The Texas Observer, and Night Train, where she won the Richard Yates Short Story Award. A former Fulbright Scholar to Nigeria and Dobie-Paisano Writing Fellow, Specht currently teaches creative writing at St. Edward's University in Austin, Texas.

Customer Reviews

I can't wait for a follow-up book.
Melinda S. Horan
Ms. Bird has brilliantly crafted a creative, witty storyline with a delectable cast of unique, complex characters.
Josie Jean
If you haven't read her other books, get started!
Betsy Christian

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

20 of 23 people found the following review helpful By Betsy Christian on June 14, 2008
Format: Hardcover
A couple of years ago an advertisement for Sarah Bird's The Flamenco Academy: A Novel caught my eye, and I stopped by a local Austin, Texas bookstore (BookPeople) to hear a reading. In the pages of The Flamenco Academy: A Novel I became a Sarah Bird fan. However, after reading her other books, especially, The Yokota Officers Club: A Novel (Ballantine Reader's Circle) and The Mommy Club (Ballantine Reader's Circle), I fell in love with Bird's writing and became an earnest Bird stalker. As you can imagine, I excitedly anticipated the release of her new book, How Perfect Is That.

At the same locally owned bookstore, I grabbed a front seat to hear Bird talk about her new book that characterizes Austin's elite -- so that it is. Not being able to wait for the time or space to read the book, I called in sick and settled down to read How Perfect Is That. So what if I got fired for being a no-show, it was worth it.

That Sarah Bird knows how to create a character, and How Perfect Is That gives readers a slew of tasty characters to devour.
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11 of 12 people found the following review helpful By Janine Smith on June 21, 2008
Format: Hardcover Verified Purchase
This is one smart, funny book. Sarah Bird is a wonderful writer and she's outdone herself with this achingly insightful look at Austin, Texas, from the homeless hoboes to the insecure super-rich. It's funny, it's true, there are characters you care about. Read it as quick as I could and loved every minute.
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful By Nelaine Sanchez VINE VOICE on July 20, 2009
Format: Paperback
Blythe Young has been given lemons... and has no idea how to make lemonade with them.

She was recently married to a very wealthy man and part of a well-known family, but sadly is now divorced and she made the mistake of signing a pre-nup. So she's broke, wearing last years fashion, living in her friends pool-side cabin, and all while trying to maintain her socialite status but failing miserably. Her last chance is to cater an upscale garden party for one of her ritzy friends but that is a total disaster and the last step off the social ladder for her.

She's bankrupt, being hounded by an IRS agent, and stalked by her irate employees who have not been paid for months, she has been publicly humiliated, and is addicted to pharmaceuticals (oh, and have I mentioned that she hasn't had a Pap smear in ten years). Luckily for her she remembers a friend (the only one she can remember and whose calls she's been ignoring) and runs to her for help. The only problem, her friend still resides in the same housing co-op she did back when they were in college. While residing amongst the tattooed, the pierced, the rasta-wannabe's and the musically hip, she begins to face her sins and make amends for her behavior... but not without getting into all types of scrapes and scuffles along the way.

I thought this was hilarious! Blythe is a narrator you will not soon forget. Her story is one full of ups and downs but mostly one of hope. She gets herself into all types of wacky situations and is always in some type of trouble - even when she is trying to do something good it backfires on her. She is funny, sarcastic, witty and clever. All the other characters were quirky and unique and they were just tons of fun.
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11 of 13 people found the following review helpful By Laura H. Delfeld on July 31, 2008
Format: Hardcover
Loved this book! With snappy wit and insight, Sarah Bird delivers yet another wonderful reading experience. The characters are sharply defined in a way that makes you almost hurt for them, yet wanting more and more. Unlike many books I read, this one kept strong throughout--it was with real sadness that I turned the last page. I hope Ms. Bird won't keep her readers waiting too long for our next fix.
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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful By Julie Peterson on July 12, 2009
Format: Paperback
I decided that I wanted to read HOW PERFECT IS THAT by Sarah Bird because it sounded like a good book to read during the summer. Based on the description, I thought it would be a light, entertaining book with a cute little message in the end -- you know...normal chick lit fare. However, after reading this novel, I hesitate to call this book chick lit because of some of the negative connotations associated with that word (don't get upset with me, I happen to love good chick lit.)

The first half or so of this book definitely had "chick lit" elements; however, I actually found the messages in this book to be quite deep -- surprisingly so. As I was reading the last few pages of this book, I was actually tearing up -- real tears of joy. I found HOW PERFECT IS THAT to be almost an inspirational book for me, and it had with some wonderful words of wisdom about love and the value of friendship. This book made me think of all the things in my life that I'm grateful for (as well as those things that I should really work on); and I just wanted to call all my good girlfriends and tell them what they mean to me. (I didn't do that because they'd think I'm nuts, but I hope they are reading this review now and realize what they mean to me!)

Now, I know this review might sound like it's going overboard; and I think some people who read this novel might find it "corny" and feel that the story is tied up entirely too nicely. However, I have to say that I really appreciated this book. That's not to say that HOW PERFECT IS THAT is by any means the "perfect" book or even my favorite book of the year -- I just like that this book made me evaluate my own feelings and actions.

I have to admit that I wasn't always this crazy about this book.
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