Evil Genius

 Creepy book (in a good way)

Evil Genius by Claire Oshetsky portrays a marvelously bizarre character who narrates the novel as well as portraying, in her words, her equally bizarre workmates, friends, husband, and other random people that she encounters. At one point, she says: “My life was meaningless, probably.“ (p. 176) Maybe just chaotic, maybe meaningless, generally surreal, I thought, while reading it.

For example, the narrator, Celia Dent, among many things, collected Barbie dolls. She had mutilated her first three dolls by stabbing them in the face with a nail-file. Later she had a huge, never-unboxed collection of them: 

“To make up for what I had done to those poor rubbery faces, I began to collect Barbie dolls in earnest. I took loving care of them. I never took those dolls out of their boxes. My mother encouraged my interest. She cleared out the pantry. Together we put up shelves and painted them pink. Over the years, my collection grew. Every birthday and every Christmas and every time I got an A on my report card, my mother gifted me a new doll for my collection. But it was maybe too late to reform me.” (p. 20)

Celia Dent’s inner life is full of violence. There’s some of it also in her physical life — as well as the “lives” of the Barbies. As she works in her job at a telephone company complaint center, and commutes from her home in Redwood City in the San Francisco Bay area into the city, her mind is full of oddities —

“I heard the same little song in my ear that I’d heard on the train the night before—love and death, love and death—and the people scurrying along the sidewalk with me, all those scurrying souls, yearning toward that train station, whipped their heads around and stared at me in wonder. Those people had heard my innermost secret thoughts. My body had shouted my secret thoughts out in every direction. All the thoughts I’d tried so hard to keep quiet. Thoughts about love and death, is what I mean. Thoughts about how love could be a land mine buried in a shimmering field of wheat, or a pistol shot, or a sticky trap set in a corner, or a noose, or an insidious addiction—and so could death be all these things.” (p.75)

She sees herself in odd ways, sometimes by imagining her father of whom she knows nothing whatsoever, but speculates that he might be the subject of a photo with the name “Dirk” written on the back. Her mother won’t tell her anything. But she creates an identity for herself —

“I remembered what I had always known: I was Daughter of Dirk. I was Minion of the Crab Queen. I was in a full fever. I wasn’t a normal girl. I was supernatural. I was uncanny. I was magnificent.“ (p. 117) 

Most critically, she’s a witness at a very bizarre and violent death scene, which I can’t tell more about because it would be a terrible spoiler (and I’ve already spoiled a bit). Anyway — upon being held in jail she ruminates on refusing to talk: 

“As was my right. Remaining silent had been my right ever since Ernesto Miranda’s landmark case in 1966. Think of it. One man, named Ernesto, single-handedly altered the dialogue in every climactic scene in every true-crime show and police procedural to come, forevermore, and what’s more, thanks to Ernesto, I was walking away a free woman, but with a soul still burdened by my unconfessed crimes.” (p. 206) 

The New York TImes review was complimentary about Evil Genius. The reviewer focuses on the era of 1974 as depicted in the novel: “Revolution was in the air, and to be young was very heaven. Or very hell, according to 19-year-old Celia Dent, the narrator of Evil Genius. Claire Oshetsky’s noir delight of a novel … Evil Genius alludes to Hearst, Watergate and other flashpoints of the era as Celia seeks freedom beyond the narrow cage of her life. Now older, she peers back some 50 years to a moment of transformation.” (source)

Review © 2026 mae sander

Did you wear orange today?

 

In My Kitchen and In the World, May 2022

My Kitchen in May: A Serene and Peaceful Retreat

On my refrigerator.

Chopping vegetables: actually a relaxing thing to do.

Eating outside on the new backyard table.

Salmon filets topped with lemon, herbs, and bell pepper; a big vegetable salad; a bottle of wine.
We enjoy cooking in the kitchen and eating in the dining room.

  

Sometimes we eat meat. This is Australian lamb that Len cooked on the grill outside.

Curried vegetables with the very small amount of leftover lamb.
 At least as far as I know, the Australian workers are not mistreated,
as are American meat workers. So we eat lamb occasionally.

  

In My Kitchen, May 30, 2022.

The World Is Not a Serene and Peaceful Place.

Flag at half-mast.

Food editor Sam Sifton of the New York Times wrote last week:

“These are the most difficult mornings: the sun rising after senseless acts of violence, shining on beds that weren’t slept in, that won’t be slept in again.  

 

“There are 19 dead schoolchildren in Uvalde, Texas, as of this writing, along with two dead adults and the dead 18-year-old gunman. Several other children were injured, … including a 10-year-old in critical condition. The gunman also shot a 66-year-old woman whom authorities said was his grandmother. She, too, is in critical condition. …

“And I’m here to tell you what to cook right now?

“Food plays a central role in our reaction to tragedy, to death and grieving. It’s why casseroles appear on the doorsteps and countertops of those experiencing it, why we feel the urge to roast chickens or assemble lasagnas when the news is grim. Food is comfort of a sort, and fuel as well, for anger and sorrow alike. We cook to provide for those we love and for ourselves. In the activity itself we strive to find relief, strength, resolve.” (Source: promotional email from NYT cooking)

Sifton's newsletter, written the morning after the Texas massacre, struck a chord with me. I find it impossible to deal with the Republican tolerance for murder in the name of some totally outrageous right-wing theory of personal freedom (without responsibility, obviously). Reactions of Republican politicians seem harder to understand than the behavior of deeply disturbed psychopathic killers.

Our world is full of tragedies. Gun violence is a special US tragedy, a symptom of our national trend away from Democracy and towards a totalitarian state ruled by power hungry would-be oligarchs. Other tragedies, which affect far more innocent victims, are in my mind as well. Contemplating the death and destruction waged by the Russian war against Ukraine, the global power-seeking of Putin and his enablers, and the sheer cruelty of the invading Russian troops is unimaginable. The world is also face-to-face with a growing global famine, which I wrote about last week (blog post here). The human race is also facing environmental destruction, as signaled by terrible droughts on several continents, and other disruptions of normal climate patterns. And frantic parents are desperate for baby formula in the US.

And I’m here to tell you what’s happening in my kitchen?

Obviously, I kept cooking throughout the month, despite all the terrible stories in the newspapers. Maybe cooking does keep you sane, if you can keep from thinking about the victims of starvation. Whatever the case, I kept documenting my more experimental recipes. I try to keep posts not-too-boring, so I don't share photos of ordinary pasta dishes, tuna salads, or other run-of-the-mill foods that I make all the time. 

From an interview with Yotam Ottolenghi who says that it's true that Russians and Ukrainians share many food traditions -- "But reality proves that food, by default, doesn’t create or engender peace. You can’t just solve conflict through food,” he said. “It’s just, unfortunately, in our world, it’s not really working.” ("Yotam Ottolenghi wants to talk to you")

I’m sharing my kitchen observations with like-minded bloggers who write about their kitchens each month at Sherry’s blog here: “In My Kitchen.” This post © 2022 mae sander.

A peaceful scene viewed from our kayak — first trip of the season.
We do appreciate how peaceful are our lives.