From Publishers Weekly
Kauffman's memoir of moving back to his hometown of Batavia, N.Y., after a bumpy ride on the Washington, D.C., fast track is a sort of Our Town with attitude. " `Placeism' might be described in the criminal code as the unreasoned love of a particular place, be it a neighborhood, village, city, or even state," Kauffman writes. "[Placeists] believe that one town is not pretty much like the next.... The differences between my Batavia, New York, and your town go well beyond the last names of the night-shift managers at Taco Bell and the Auto Zone." Unlike Garrison Keillor's folksy Lake Wobegon, Kauffman's Batavia is a real town with real problems. Hundreds of miles of its farmland were churned up to accommodate the sprawling New York State Thruway in the 1950s, and the charming five-block downtown was replaced with a shopping mall now "used in urban-planning texts as a case study in disaster." But this witty author of With Good Intentions?: Reflections on the Myth of Progress in America finds what little charm still exists between J.C. Penney and multiple Wendy's outposts and describes it here with terrific humor. Readers will laugh out loud at descriptions of Kauffman's 20th high school reunion and prickly, proud townies. Whether he's delving into upstate history or dipping into his personal palette of local color, Kauffman always stays true to one basic mantra: "Batavia will always let you down, you can never depend on it, but it's home, and that has to be enough." Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Booklist
As a senatorial flunky on Capitol Hill, the author rued his sense of dislocation and returned to live in his hometown of Batavia, New York. Over the past 15 years, the forty-something author put together this mordant portrait of Batavia, whose distance from poles of power hasn't insulated it from downtown-destroying "progress"--shopping malls, Wal-Marts, big government, and big corporations. A cheerful reactionary, Kauffman inveighs against the forces of homogenization, describing Batavia's history, its leading citizens of yore (including Edna Gruber, philanthropist and brothel keeper), and its buildings, businesses, bush-league baseball team (the Muckdogs), churches, and lifelong residents. In extolling Batavian particularities, Kauffman combines acidic denunciation of civic shortsightedness with affection for the town. This technique has an entrancing effect: the skein of town society, from the habitues of the cafes to the local congressman, unwinds a panoramic civic fabric one can't resist. Kauffman's ode will resonate with those who are discontented with uniform, rootless urbanism. Gilbert Taylor
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Review
"A small masterpiece...Kauffman is a romantic reactionary, a writer with an odd, energetic optimism."--Gore Vidal
"There is myth and poetry in this refreshing look at a town....Kauffman is one of the most original journalistic voices in America today."--Richmond Times-Dispatch
"An acerbically sentimental account of [Kauffman's] experience that reveals both his fascination and frustration with small-town life."--Star-Tribune (Minneapolis)
"Those born in a small town will know what he means and probably envy him for having had the gumption to go back home."--The Wall Street Journal
Book Description
A hilarious, sometimes touching tribute to an endangered American town under constant siege from the modern world
Bill Kauffman is a new addition to the American chorus of small-town voices. Think Garrison Keillor for 2003; Thornton Wilder, thornier and wilder; Mark Twain in a world gone Wal-Mart. Now, without the slightest nod to etiquette, discretion, or political correctness, Kauffman uses his beloved but beleaguered hometown of Batavia, New York, to assess the state of small-town life in these big-city times.
Kauffman, a self-proclaimed "placeist" who believes that things urban are homogenizing our national scene, returned to his roots after a bumpy ride on the D.C. fast track. Rarely has he ventured forth since. Here he illuminates the place he loves, traveling from Batavia's scenic vistas to the very seams of its grimy semi-industrial pockets, from its architecturally insignificant new mall to the pastoral grounds of its internationally known School for the Blind. Not one to shy from controversy, Kauffman also investigates his town's efforts to devastate its landmarks through urban renewal, the passions simmering inside its clogged political machinery, and the sagging fortunes of its baseball heroes, the legendary Muckdogs.
Kauffman has created a truly memorable book about American community-with lots of hilarity and lots of heart.
About the Author
Bill Kauffman has written for The Independent in London and The Wall Street Journal. Although Batavia remains his psychic home, he now resides five miles away in Elba, New York.
Dispatches from the Muckdog Gazette: A Mostly Affectionate Account of a Small Town's Fight to Survive FROM THE PUBLISHER
"Kauffman uses the residents of his beloved but beleaguered town of Batavia, New York, to assess the endangered state of small-town life in these big-city times." "Kauffman, a self-proclaimed "placeist" who believes all things urban to be homogeneous and loathsome, returned to his Batavian roots after a bumpy ride on the D.C. fast track. Rarely has he ventured forth since. Now he illuminates the place he loves above all others, ranging from tales of the mystics and madmen who created its somewhat eccentric history to the hard-headed, yet big-hearted, population of faded aristocrats, townie-rowdies, and recovered rock stars who constitute its definitely checkered present." A Batavia not previously imagined will rise in the eyes of readers as Kauffman squires us from the city's rustic vistas, through its glorious new mall and internationally known school for the blind, and down into the tawdry seams of its grimy semi-industrial pockets. We learn of Batavia's efforts to devastate its most stunning landmarks through Dresden-inspired urban renewal; the multi-ethnic complexities simmering behind its frequently clogged political machinery; the alarming lack of spirit at Kauffman's high-school reunion; and the sagging fortunes of its minor-league baseball heroes (the lauded Muckdogs).
FROM THE CRITICS
Publishers Weekly
Kauffman's memoir of moving back to his hometown of Batavia, N.Y., after a bumpy ride on the Washington, D.C., fast track is a sort of Our Town with attitude. " `Placeism' might be described in the criminal code as the unreasoned love of a particular place, be it a neighborhood, village, city, or even state," Kauffman writes. "[Placeists] believe that one town is not pretty much like the next.... The differences between my Batavia, New York, and your town go well beyond the last names of the night-shift managers at Taco Bell and the Auto Zone." Unlike Garrison Keillor's folksy Lake Wobegon, Kauffman's Batavia is a real town with real problems. Hundreds of miles of its farmland were churned up to accommodate the sprawling New York State Thruway in the 1950s, and the charming five-block downtown was replaced with a shopping mall now "used in urban-planning texts as a case study in disaster." But this witty author of With Good Intentions?: Reflections on the Myth of Progress in America finds what little charm still exists between J.C. Penney and multiple Wendy's outposts and describes it here with terrific humor. Readers will laugh out loud at descriptions of Kauffman's 20th high school reunion and prickly, proud townies. Whether he's delving into upstate history or dipping into his personal palette of local color, Kauffman always stays true to one basic mantra: "Batavia will always let you down, you can never depend on it, but it's home, and that has to be enough." (Mar. 4) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
As proof that you can go home again, former editor and congressional staffer Kauffman delivers a wryly affectionate account of returning to small-town America. Kauffman is too intelligent and perceptive to be a starry-eyed civic booster, but in these richly allusive dispatches he makes a strong case for staying home. Or, in his case, coming back to put down roots. In Batavia, New York, home to generations of Kauffmans, the population has declined to just over 16,000, the industries that once provided work have closed, Main Street is dead, and urban renewal has replaced all the old downtown buildings with parking lots and a colossal failure of a mall, "used in urban planning texts as a case study in disaster." But Kauffman, who calls himself a fanatical, unapologetic "placeist," finds much to celebrate and savor in Batavia. The author of a lone novel (Every Man a King, not reviewed), he came home with grand ideas of single-handedly reviving local culture. Which in a small part he did; along with a few other culturally inclined folks, he sponsored a creative-writing contest for high-school students and instituted annual October readings of the work of native son John Gardner, who set The Sunlight Dialogues and The Resurrection in Batavia. Kauffman also describes baseball games (the local Muckdogs are actually and anachronistically a community-owned team), the final days of the last family-owned department store (a casualty of Wal-Mart's arrival on the outskirts of town), former Congressman Barber Conable, rooted "in an almost organic sense" in his home district (unlike successors who "could be from anywhere"), and the once-strong divisions among WASPs and ethnic minorities that have nowfaded. He also movingly observes that though small towns like Batavia may be ailing, living there offers the chance to invest existence with meaning, memory, and the best of family values. Politically incorrect, always honest, and buoyantly upbeat; a joyous celebration of place.
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