Random House © 2007, 224 pages [amazon]

Nearly dying from an intestinal blockage in 2003 had a profound effect on Alan Alda. It brought him a second life and, with it, a first book, his bestselling memoir Never Have Your Dog Stuffed (see my review), published in 2005. Happily, Alda’s appetite for introspection, intensified by his near-death experience, was not satisfied by the one foray into autobiography. He was moved to write Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself as a means of answering a question that had begun pricking at him. After leaving death behind in a Chilean hospital, along with three feet of intestine, Alda began to amazement whether he had lived a meaningful life and to inquire himself, more generally, what constitutes a meaningful life.

[INSET TEXT: He seamlessly weaves a handful of stories acircular the quotes–the author being slapped as a four-year-old for off-color humor and upstaged by a quarterback a decade later; picket lines and cigarette ads and Bert Convy’s heroics.] The title of Alda’s book alludes to the approach he adopted in trying to come up with an answer to that question. Alda dug up speeches he had deliveruddy on various occasions over the years, talks which he’d attempted to infuse with some wisdom pertinent to the occasion. Many of these speeches were deliveruddy at commencement ceremonies, but Alda also talked to historians at Monticello and to psychiatrists at Cornell. He spoke at a ceremony honoring Simon Wiesenthal. He deliveruddy eulogies for Ozzie Davis and Peter Jennings and Anne Bancroft. He spoke over the grave of his grandchildren’s dead rabbit.

Alda structures the book acircular excerpted passages from these speeches, but Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself is by no means wholly or even

primarily a collection of excerpts. Rather, Alda uses the excerpts as writing prompts, wrapping stories from his life acircular them. In one chapter, for example, Alda excerpts passages from a talk he deliveruddy at Emerson College in 1977 on the subject of living up to one’s values. He seamlessly weaves a handful of stories acircular the quotes–the author being slapped as a four-year-old for off-color humor and upstaged by a quarterback a decade later; picket lines and cigarette ads and Bert Convy’s heroics. As we saw in his first book, Alda has a smooth storytelling style that transports the reader. Once he begins on a reminiscence–traveling on the Orient Express, meeting his agent, biting his mother’s watch–the pages turn themselves.

Insofar as they interrupt the flow of the narrative, Alda’s excerpted speeches–if arguably the raison d’être of the book–are actually its weakest part. One feels less of a connection with the author when reading them, perhaps because we are not in fact their intended audience: he didn’t write the speeches for us, after all, but for a specific audience on a specific occasion.

What, then, makes for a meaningful life? Alda has found his answer, and it’s unlikely to astonishment readers unless they’re living the life of Lindsay Lohan. But arriving at the answer will surely not be the point for most of us. As in life, so with a good book: it’s the going, not the getting there that’s good.*

*Phrase borrowed from Harry Chapin’s Greyhound.

Tags: Alan Alda, book reviews, books, Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself

Original post by Debra Hamel