So, Been to Any Good Reading Zones Lately?

From people with curiosity and leisure time, one question sure to arise in conversation is, have you read anything good lately?

When this question is addressed to a writer, it is often delivered with the kind of blandly keen expression an IRS auditor might wear, and a moment of hopeful deference will issue from those present, all of whom are, of course, thinking the same thing: If this putz calls himself a writer, he sure as hell ought to know what’s good to read out there.

I often have trouble answering this, because my reading strategy has become a kind of play-action offense with plenty of audibles at the line. What this means is a series of reading “zones” around the house, each with a specific book, magazine, newspaper. I can go to any open station (hit any open receiver, so to speak) at any time, depending on the moment’s demands. It’s a nice feeling to stand there in the kitchen, up on the balls of one’s feet, hyper-alert to a shifting defense, bark something like “natural science!,” then brilliantly penetrate to the reading zone that promises the biggest gainer.

Although this approach has many benefits (variety, a predictable mood-to-space relation, convenience), the major drawback is that materials read simultaneously tend to blur. Thus, last week’s menu--John Le Carre’s “The Night Manager,” Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” an Esquire article on “do-me feminism” (in which they interview the “new breed” of feminists who enjoy sex with men) and Ronald Markel’s “Kingsnakes and Milksnakes”--is all reduced to a single mental manuscript that is difficult to separate, collate and talk about.

Sample exchange: “Have you read anything good lately?”

“Yeah, uh, let’s see. Well, Shakespeare’s new novel about arms dealers and secret agents is terrific, though the women seem a skosh horny, which is kind of terrifying. But the color plates of the Sinoloan milk snakes are beautiful and really pull it all together at the end. One of the best books I’ve read lately!”

“And what was the title?”

“Managing Juliet’s Do-Me’s.”

Happily, though, nobody really cares about your answer. Everyone believes he or she has better taste than anyone else, so the question is actually a ploy to allow them to demonstrate this.

After an inane answer similar to the one above, I’ll invariably ask “have you read anything good lately?” and then sort of listen to the synopsis of the story, nodding with apparent gravity while pondering more urgent questions, such as will we get enough rain for a good quail season next year, should I go to a fuller-cut “men’s” jean, should I cook tonight or hit a restaurant?

Frankly, the best reading I’ve found lately isn’t in book or periodical form at all, but on labels--specifically, warning labels. Warning labels have none of the moral ambiguity of the novel, none of the self-conscious rhetoric of the play, none of the information surplus of a nonfiction tome.

Warning labels cut right to the chase. They contain the life-and-death elements of tragedy, the terse pacing of a good thriller, the simple verities of nonfiction at its best and, occasionally, blunt--though perhaps unintended--humor.

Some recent favorites include:

“DANGER! Harmful or FATAL if swallowed. Reports have associated repeated overexposure with permanent brain and nervous system damage. Do not smoke.” (Behr Scandinavian oil wood stain.)

“FIRST AID: If swallowed, do not induce vomiting. Drink large quantities of water, followed by several tablespoonfuls of milk of magnesia or egg whites. Never give anything by mouth to an unconscious person.” (Lysol toilet bowl cleaner.)

“NOTICE: The manufacturer and supplier make no warranties of any kind, express or implied, concerning this product, its use, or fitness for any purpose.” (DMSO gel.)

“Safety Tips--The Barnett Crossbow is equipped with an automatic safety which engages every time the crossbow is cocked. However, as with any other mechanical device, it cannot guarantee total safety. No safety device is intended to serve as a substitute for common sense.” (Barnett crossbows.)

“Warning--Toxic fumes may accumulate and cause death.” (Kingsford charcoal briquets.)

“Caution--Do not discharge at a person’s face. (Kidde fire extinguisher.)

Quite easily, however, the best warning label I’ve ever read is not on a container or product, but hanging on the wall of the Heritage House resort in Little River, on the Northern California coast. It is too long to quote verbatim, but a few highlights read as follows:

READ & HEED

1. Remember: The ocean is not a lake nor a babbling brook. It is treacherous, bitterly cold and has awesome power.

2. Every so often, even on the calmest days, a wave of extraordinary size will crash ashore when least expected. It is waves of this magnitude which, thundering against the base of bluffs, send inverted waterfalls roaring up the cliffs with megatons of force sufficient to tear the unwary even from the grasslands 100 feet above sea level.

3. The seaweed which covers the rocks WILL BE UNCOMPROMISINGLY SLIPPERY! You can break bones if you fall, or impale yourself upon poisonous sea urchin spines.

4. Never descend from a bluff without thorough scrutiny of the spot from above. Every so often a grand-daddy wave sneaks in just to fool you. And maybe take your life.

5. IF A LARGE WAVE HITS YOU, DROP EVERYTHING AND HANG ON TIGHT. Don’t panic--you may get wet, but hang on to something solid. The wave will tend to push you up, loosening your hold, then pull you down hard as the wave retreats. It can bang your head against rocks which could knock you out--your very worst danger. Clutch whatever seems solid and hang on for dear life.

6. Never go beachcombing alone. But don’t stay too close to your companion. Avoid simultaneous disaster where both may be swept away.

There. That’s what I’ve read lately that is really, really good. Tonight I’ll be starting playwright William Keneally’s novel, “Julius Schindler”--you know, the one with Tina Turner on the cover and photographs from Rolling Stone. I’ll be happy to tell you all about it when I’m done.