Buy now from Random House
- Laughing Without an Accent
- Written by Firoozeh Dumas
- Format: Trade Paperback | ISBN: 9780345499578
- Our Price: $15.00
...Or Choose Another Retailer
Buy now from Random House
- Laughing Without an Accent
- Written by Firoozeh Dumas
- Format: eBook | ISBN: 9780345507174
- Our Price: $11.99
...Or Choose Another Retailer
Laughing Without an Accent
Adventures of a Global Citizen
Written by Firoozeh Dumas
Print Editions
What's this?
See larger cover
eBook
Pages: | ISBN: 978-0-345-50717-4
Published by : Villard Ballantine Group
See larger cover
See large reader
Synopsis
Mining her rich Persian heritage with dry wit and a bold spirit, Firoozeh Dumas puts her own unique mark on the themes of family, community, and tradition. Explaining crossover cultural food fare, Dumas says, “The weirdest American culinary marriage is yams with melted marshmallows. I don’t know who thought of this Thanksgiving tradition, but I’m guessing a hyperactive, toothless three-year-old.” On Iranian wedding anniversaries: “It just initially seemed odd to celebrate the day that ‘our families decided we should marry even though I had never met you, and frankly, it’s not working out so well.’ ” Dumas also documents her first year as a new mother, the experience of taking fifty-one family members on a birthday cruise to Alaska, and a road trip to Iowa with an American once held hostage in Iran. Droll, moving, and relevant, Laughing Without an Accent shows how our differences can unite us–and provides indelible proof that Firoozeh Dumas is a humorist of the highest order.Excerpt
Funny in PersianIran does not currently adhere to international copyright laws. This comes as a shock to most people, given Iran’s law-abiding image.
Not adhering to international copyright laws means that any book, regardless of origin, can be translated into Persian and sold in Iran. No matter how poorly a book might be translated, the author has no control. No artist wants his name on a work that does not represent him fairly, but in Iran, tell it to the judge, and he doesn’t care. When Abbas Milani, a very well respected author and professor, found a Persian translation of his history book, he found it to be completely different from the original. He contacted the publisher in Iran, who told him, “Our translation is better than your book.”
Every time a Harry Potter installment is released, there is a mad rush around the world to translate the book. One Iranian publisher divides each book into about twenty sections, giving each section to a different translator. That way, his version, which must resemble a patchwork quilt more than anything J. K. Rowling actually wrote, is the first on the Iranian market.
Knowing such horror stories, I feared the inevitable translation of my memoirs, Funny in Farsi, into Persian. Funny in Farsi is a collection of humorous vignettes, verbal snapshots of my immigrant family. In that book I was very careful not to cross the line into anything embarrassing or insulting. My goal was to have the subjects of my story laugh with me, not cringe and want to move to Switzerland under assumed names. But for all I knew, a translated version might make my family look like fools. Even though I had not used my maiden name in the original printing of the book, it took about twelve minutes for the average Iranian to figure out my last name, Jazayeri. Iranians are very good that way.
I decided to make my own preemptive strike and find a translator in Iran. This was not as easy as it sounds. Humor, like poetry, is culture-specific and does not always work in translation. What’s downright hilarious in one culture may draw blank stares in another.
When we came to America, my family could not figure out why a pie thrown in someone’s face was funny. The laugh tracks told us it was supposed to be hilarious, but we thought it was obnoxious. We also saw it as a terrible waste of food, a real no-no for anyone from any country in the world except for the United States.
We were also baffled by Carol Burnett’s Tarzan yell. Anyone who watched her show regularly knew that during the audience question-and-answer section, one person would inevitably ask her to do her Tarzan yell. We always hoped she would say, “Not tonight.” But instead, she would let out a loud and long yell that left the audience in stitches and us bewildered. “She shouldn’t do that,” my dad always said. We agreed and waited for all her other sketches, which we loved. There was just something goofy about her that made us laugh, especially when she was with Tim Conway. His humor had much to do with facial expressions and body language, which, thankfully, did not require translation. There is also something universally funny about the contrast between a short man and a tall man, which was played out with Harvey Korman. Given that most of the men in my family are closer in height to Tim Conway than to Harvey Korman, I assume there was among us a nervous understanding of the foibles of the short man.
We also adored Flip Wilson, especially when he became Geraldine. That character sketch, with “Geraldine’s” sassy attitude, had us rocking back and forth in laughter on our ugly brown striped sofa. One time, Flip Wilson sang “He put the lime in the coconut” in his high-pitched mock-sultry Geraldine voice, and my father laughed so hard that he cried. I didn’t think it was that funny, but watching my father laugh made us all laugh. The odd thing is that thirty-five years later, my father still remembers some of the words to that song, singing it as Kazem imitating Flip Wilson imitating Geraldine. It sounds nothing like the original, especially when he ekes out a “nee nee nee nee” instead of the forgotten lyrics.
I knew that Funny in Farsi would be a difficult book to translate because so much of its humor has to do with the American culture of the seventies. How does one translate “Shake ’n Bake” for cultures where slow cooking, not speed and ease, is the preferred method of food preparation, where a woman standing in her kitchen shaking a drumstick in a plastic bag and looking downright happy would cause concern? How does one convey to someone who has never seen The Price Is Right that the words “Come on down!” are always followed by a hysterical person shrieking and jumping up and down?
Through my uncle, who knew someone who knew someone, I was put in touch with a well-known humor translator living in Iran. The same week I started corresponding with him I received a very polite e-mail from Mohammad, another translator in Iran, asking for permission to translate my book. I thanked him but told him I already had someone. I deleted his e-mail.
Before we had a chance to formally agree on anything, my designated translator became ill, and it was obvious that I would have to find someone else. I was stuck, since I had deleted Mohammad’s e-mail. A month later, I received another e-mail from Mohammad telling me that he was still interested should I write another book. And this is how Mohammad Soleimani Nia, my translator, came into my life.
To test Mohammad’s skill, I asked him to translate one of my stories. I was quite pleased with the results and knew that, serendipitously, I had stumbled upon the right person.
Then we got started. Mohammad translated story by story and e-mailed each one to me. My father and I read each one and I e-mailed back our comments, most of which had to do with nuance. My father particularly objected when Mohammad translated “my father’s receding hairline” to “my father’s bald head.” I immediately sent Mohammad an e-mail quoting my father exactly: “I am not Yul Brynner!” A profusely apologetic e-mail followed.
Some of Mohammad’s mistakes revealed what life is like in the Middle East. In one story, I mentioned “eyes meeting across a room and va va va boom.” This was translated as “eyes meeting across a room and bombs going off.” I had to explain to Mohammad that, in America, “boom” is love.
In a story about Christmas, I wrote about “the bearded fellow” coming down people’s chimneys. Mohammad translated this literally. In Iran, however, a “bearded fellow” coming down the chimney is not a happy thought. The idea of going to bed so a bearded man, Khomeini perhaps, can come down the chimney would not cause visions of sugarplums dancing in anyone’s head. Instead, one would find frantic people packing their belongings, fast.
The title also had to change. Funny in Farsi is not funny in Farsi, or rather Persian, which is the correct name of the language in English. Saying, “I speak Farsi,” is like saying, “I speak français.” I was more than happy to let that title go since it has been the subject of many long e-mails from Iranians with far too much free time on their hands, accusing me of spreading misinformation about our vastly underappreciated culture. “The language is called Persian!” they tell me. I know. Please, should any reader, Iranian or otherwise, feel the urge to e-mail me with a complaint about the incorrect use of the word “Farsi” in the title of my previous book, please, instead, look up the words “humorous alliteration.”
In Iran, the title was changed to Atre Sombol, Atre Koj, meaning The Scent of Hyacinths, the Scent of Pine, which refers to the contrasting smells of the holidays. The Iranian New Year is associated with the scent of hyacinths, and Christmas, with the scent of pine—not to mention the bearded fellow coming down the chimney, although technically, that should not smell.
Then it was time for the censors. No movie or book can be made in Iran without approval from the government. Although there are no written guidelines stating exactly what is prohibited, common sense dictates that in an Islamic theocracy, nudity, profanity, insulting the religion or government, and perhaps anything having to do with Paris Hilton are all no-nos. Aside from those guidelines, one is at the mercy of the individual government employee assigned to each book. I hoped my stories would end up in the hands of one of those fun-loving, laugh-a-minute censors who would wave his teacup in the air, declaring, “Let’s change the name of that street again, this time to Firoozeh Dumas Avenue.”
I asked Mohammad how long the government would take to return my book. Surprisingly, there are no guidelines there, either. Perhaps some sort of Oil-for-Guidelines program could be negotiated.
Mohammad told me that the translation for James Joyce’s Ulysses has been at the censor’s office for seventeen years. I imagined the bearded censor sitting as at his desk, book open, chin back, mouth open, snoring loudly. That’s an example of a book that could use some nudity.
My stories were returned after six months. Three changes had to be made, two minor, one major.
The censor objected to my describing someone looking as if God had switched her nose with the beak of a toucan. One cannot blame God, I was told. In the Persian version, I reworded the sentence, using a passive voice, claiming that the woman’s nose looked as if it had been switched. One would think that in a book of humor some things would be obvious, but apparently not. Perhaps I had written the equivalent of Carol Burnett’s Tarzan yell.
From the Hardcover edition.
Excerpted from Laughing Without an Accent by Firoozeh Dumas. Copyright © 2008 by Firoozeh Dumas. Excerpted by permission of Random House Trade Paperbacks, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
About Firoozeh Dumas
The book was a finalist for both the PEN/USA Award in 2004 and the Thurber Prize for American Humor, and has been adopted in junior high, high school and college curricula throughout the nation. It has been selected for common reading programs at several universities including: California State Bakersfield, California State University at Sacramento, Fairmont State University in West Virginia, Gallaudet University, Salisbury University, University of Wisconsin–La Crosse and the University of Wisconsin–Madison.
Dumas is also the author of Laughing Without an Accent, a collection of autobiographical essays published in May 2008. She currently lives with her husband and their three children in Northern California.
Author Q&A
A Conversation Between Firoozeh Dumas and Mark Salzman
Mark Salzman is the author of Iron & Silk, The Laughing Sutra, The Soloist, Lost in Place, Lying Awake, and True Notebooks.
Firoozeh first heard of bestselling author Mark Salzman in college, when her husband announced that Mark was one of his favorite contemporary writers. Years later, Firoozeh met Mark at the Sun Valley Writers’ Conference and decided that, indeed, the Frenchman was right. Their families soon became friends and, in a strange twist of events, Mark’s mother-inlaw became Firoozeh’s son’s fencing instructor. The motherin- law also regularly gifts the Dumas family with peacock feathers and goose eggs from her yard, but that’s a whole other book. Mark’s wife, Jessica Yu, is an Oscar-winning filmmaker, and so theirs is the most talented family Firoozeh has ever known. Inexplicably, they are also the nicest.
Mark Salzman: I’m sorry you weren’t able to find an eBay buyer for your cross-shaped potato. Just out of curiosity: Is there an equivalent in Muslim culture? Or are Christians unique in placing value on food items that seem to resemble religious icons?
Firoozeh Dumas: It’s a new and emerging market in Islam. I am currently looking for members of the squash family that resemble minarets.
MS: You cherish the culture in which you were born, but also appreciate the opportunity to live in this one. You point out that having freedom doesn’t automatically mean we all make good choices. Do you think it’s possible to have too much freedom?
FD: Our founding fathers assumed the existence of common sense along with freedom, but clearly they never predicted those pants that sag. Every time I visit a high school and walk behind someone displaying three inches of underwear, I think of Benjamin Franklin. But if that’s the price we pay for freedom, I’ll just have to learn to avert my eyes.
MS: Reading your book made me determined to taste at least some of the foods you described before I die. Could you suggest a sort of Persian Food for Dummies sample menu that I might order from at a restaurant so that I don’t order the equivalent of chop suey?
FD: You can always go with the grilled meats–lamb, chicken, or beef. It’s just meat, spices, and fire, so it’s pretty basic preparation yet full of exotic flavor. For vegetarians, I recommend lentil rice or any eggplant appetizer. Make sure you ask for tadig, the crunchy rice on the bottom of the pan. Better yet, try to get invited to the home of an Iranian. We love to feed people while describing our foods. But be forewarned: “No thank you, I’m full” means nothing to us. Wear loose clothing.
MS: Let’s play Alternate Universe for a moment. I’ve just been elected president of the United States and, having read your books, I’m convinced that you would make a tremendously gifted diplomat. I’ve chosen you to be the U.S. cultural ambassador to Iran. What aspects of American culture would you most like to introduce to contemporary Iranians in hopes of improving their impression of us as a society?
FD: I would begin by assuring Iranians that American teenagers are not like what is shown on MTV and that Pamela Anderson is not a typical American woman. With that hurdle out of the way, I would tell Iranians about the backbone of America, volunteers. I would describe how people in my neighborhood bring food to families in need, even though they have never met. We have a program at my local hospital where trained volunteers hug preemie babies for hours at a time to help them grow. Parents at my local public school make sure that the low-income children never have to pay for school supplies, or yearbooks, or the annual pancake breakfast. A friend of mine, who is rich and could spend all her time getting deep-tissue massages and avocado facials, instead spends her time in a program she started that prepares kids to be the first in their families to go to college. I would also hand out warm chocolate chip cookies at all diplomatic events.
MS: When you first came to this country, you were surprised by how lenient schoolteachers here were compared to schoolteachers in Iran. If your school district were to hire you right now as a teacher, how strict do you think you would be?
FD: I have often toyed with the idea of becoming a high school teacher, but I know I would be too strict for this culture. I would want the kids to show respect to me and to one another and I wouldn’t put up with any sassiness. I can see myself getting fired already.
MS: In America today, we place a great emphasis on the cultivation of our children’s self-esteem. Your parents and teachers in Iran seemed to assume that your self-esteem would take care of itself as long as you acquired good habits and a sufficient degree of knowledge. How on earth did you recover from the damage they must have inflicted upon you by failing to honor your specialness?
FD: Somewhere along the way, the self-esteem movement in America has gone terribly wrong. Self-esteem is not something you can give your kids; we can only give our kids the opportunity to earn it. Self-esteem is not immediate gratification. Maybe that’s why people have resorted to shortcuts. Instead of encouraging our kids to persevere and do good things so that they can eventually feel good about themselves, we just tell them they’re great kids! It’s not the same thing.
MS: You are a writer and you are a stay-at-home mom with three children. How do you deal with the challenge of having so little control over your time, especially since you don’t have an electronic babysitter (television) in your home?
FD: Every day, there are things that get done, and things that don’t get done. I gave up on perfection a long time ago. I am forever indebted to Trader Joe’s for having quality frozen foods and vegetables. (This was an unpaid ad, but I am willing to accept compensation, Joe.) Like all moms, I fantasize about having an organized house and toned upper arms, someday. I just do what I can and try to take time to have conversations with each of my kids every day. That’s one of my top priorities. I talk with my husband, too, if I’m not too tired.
MS: What is it with immigrants and Costco-style shopping? My wife’s grandparents, who were Chinese, would go to Costco and inevitably come home with five cases of relish even though they hardly eat relish. It wasn’t really about saving money, because they gave most of the relish away, so it ended up being expensive. Your parents apparently do the same thing. Please explain.
FD: I can’t explain. No one is immune. One day I went to Costco to buy paper towels but somehow also wound up with a set of expensive wooden shoehorns for my husband– who has never, ever used a shoehorn–and twelve rolls of wrapping paper. I think there’s some KGB-style mind control at work, probably something embedded in the free samples.
MS: Let’s imagine that your kids are grown up and have collaborated on a memoir. Please complete this sentence for them: “Our Iranian-American mother tried to be normal, and tried not to embarrass us, but one thing I could never explain to my friends was why she would always . . .”
FD: “. . . engage them in conversation.” Apparently, every word I utter to their friends is wrong. Just yesterday I said, “So Tommy, have you made a list of girls you’re considering asking to prom this year?” My kids call that embarrassing. I call it making bridges with the younger folk.
MS: To me, you seem completely American (i.e., an “insider”), only with an added dimension–like a computer with an extra hard drive. I feel limited by comparison. But you mention the loneliness of feeling like an outsider here when you were a child and then in college. Do you still feel like an outsider?
FD: Mark, if you’re hinting at becoming a dual Iranian/ American citizen, I can arrange that. I still feel like an outsider, but now I know that everyone else does, too, so that makes us all insiders. If you read that sentence again, it does make sense.
MS:We in America tend to be puzzled by the tradition of professional mourners, people who feign emotion at funerals. We think: But that’s not sincere! Grief ought to be sincere! Can you think of any American customs that, to an Iranian, seem to defy what might be described as emotional logic?
FD: I’ve always found Thanksgiving to be an interesting holiday. A lot of people absolutely dread having to spend time with their families and yet they have to because of Norman Rockwell. As wonderful a holiday as it can be, it’s also a monument to denial: “Let’s pretend we get along and then we can avoid each other for another year.” I think there should be a sincerity clause embedded in that holiday. If you have to take nine antacids to get through a meal with Uncle Louie and his inappropriate jokes, then you should get a free pass to skip Thanksgiving with the family.
MS: You described a pretty bad day as a parent. Do you have bad days as a writer? Do tell.
FD: I have so little time to write that I generally don’t have really, really bad days. I have days when my writing is uninspired and flat. I panic and think that my talent, if I ever had any, has evaporated. But before I can get really morose and angst-ridden, I have to finish the laundry or go to Trader Joe’s. (There it is again, Joe. Call me!) So what keeps me from total despair is manual labor in the form of housework. By the way, I am willing to share my housework with any artists who need labor therapy.
MS: You make a good case for the positive benefits of letting go of anger–even justifiable anger–but it’s hard to do. How do you manage it? Any tips?
FD: Letting go of justifiable anger is one of the hardest lessons out there. I spent the first few years of my marriage justifiably angry that my husband’s family did not like me. Finally, a Catholic friend suggested I talk to a Jesuit priest she knew. I’m a secular Muslim, so it made sense.
The Jesuit priest told me that I would not be able to let anything good into my life until I completely let go of the anger. My father had always said that, too, but sometimes you have to hear something from somebody else for the words to penetrate. I started forcing myself to think of my inlaws simply as flawed humans, just like myself, albeit in a dif- ferent way. After a while, the anger was replaced with acceptance and even compassion at times.
When my husband and I had children, I never uttered a bad word to them about their grandparents. I consider that one of the best decisions I ever made in my life.
My in-laws and I finally had a reunion a few years ago and my children are getting to know their grandparents. We now see each other several times a year and our relationship is cordial and nice. We never talk about the past, but we are all trying to make up for lost time. We have also gotten to know my children’s French cousins, who are absolutely delightful. Thankfully, it no longer takes me years to let go of anger. Once you learn to let go of anger, you realize what a burden it is to carry it. Letting go becomes easier with practice. My Catholic friend, my Muslim father, that Jesuit priest– they were all on to something!
Praise
"Dumas builds on her first memoir, Funny in Farsi (2003), offering more amusing tales from her life in this follow-up. Like her first outing, her latest is a collection of anecdotes from different points in her life: stories from her youth in Iran mix with memories of her experiences as a wife, mother, and author. Dumas’ parents remain a big influence in her life, whether she’s dealing with her mother’s frequent and sometimes, in the case of one bright red comforter, unsightly gifts, or trying to understand her father and his brothers’ fixation on The Price Is Right. In one of the funniest chapters, Dumas recalls the time she and her kids decided to try to sell a potato shaped like a cross on eBay, hoping to make a whopping sixty grand. There’s such warmth to Dumas’ writing that it invites the reader to pull up a seat at her table and smile right along with her at the quirks of her family and Iranians and Americans in general." - Booklist“These stories, like everything Firoozeh Dumas writes, are charming, highly amusing vignettes of family life. Dumas is one of those rare people–a naturally gifted storyteller.”—Alexander McCall Smith
“Humorous without being sentimental, [Dumas] speaks to the American experience.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer
“[Dumas is] like a blend of Anne Lamott and Erma Bombeck.”—Bust magazine
Discussion Guides
1. Firoozeh says that humor differs from one culture to the next, but it also varies from person to person. Is there something that you find hilarious that others don’t?
2. In Laughing Without an Accent, Firoozeh uses humor to tackle some very difficult topics–like the death of a loved one in “Seyyed Abdullah Jazayeri,” or Iranian censorship of her previous book in “Funny in Persian.” Do you believe humor is appropriate in all situations? Or are there times when it is not appropriate?
3. Cultural norms are very different from country to country, such as all middle-class families having servants in Iran, unlike in the United States. After reading Laughing Without an Accent, which stood out for you? Are there any from other cultures that you have encountered that surprised you?
4. In “Maid in Iran,” we learn that Firoozeh’s father changed the life of the maid’s son by making sure he had access to education. Do you believe that we each have the power to change the course of someone’s life? Why or why not? Who in this culture, besides Oprah, changes lives?
5. In “The Jester and I,” a slightly misused word causes a great mix-up. Discuss a time when language barriers or mishaps have caused confusion for you.
6. School is very different in Iran than it is in America. Many Americans believe that the educational system in the United States is failing many of its students. If you agree, what changes would you make? Why is it difficult to make changes? What are the obstacles?
7. In “My Achilles’ Meal,” we see that Firoozeh’s parents felt she was too young to deal with the death of her grandmother. Each culture, and each family, deals with death in a particular way. How does your family deal with death?
8. Firoozeh is guilty of being “the boy who cried wolf” in “Me and Mylanta.” Have you ever had a similar experience? Was it difficult to regain the trust of the person involved?
9. Everybody’s family embarrasses them. Discuss family quirks that cause you to cringe.
10. It may be true that both kids and adults rely too much on television to entertain them. Do you think not having a tele- vision would make someone more creative, or unlock some creativity that has been stifled by hours of TV?
11. “In the Closet” proves that Firoozeh’s mother definitely believes that one man’s trash is another’s treasure. Do you believe this is true?
12. Firoozeh writes about the challenges of finding appropriate clothing for her teenage daughter. How do you feel about the clothing choices available for tweens and teens, especially for girls? Do you think the type of clothing one wears affects one’s life?
13. Have you ever falsely accused someone of wrongdoing, as in “Doggie Don’t”? Did the accusation come back to bite you, as in Firoozeh’s case?
14. How would you feel if someone accused you of wrongdoing, or disliked you simply because of where you are from? How does the media’s portrayal of people from different countries shape how people feel about them?
15. Firoozeh describes some foods she finds disgusting, whether maggot cheese, bovine urine, or the unsettling andouillette described in “Last Mango in Paris.” Discuss a time when you were presented with food that you found difficult to eat. How did you react? Was your host offended? Some people travel so that they can try new foods; others do all they can to avoid trying new foods. Which could be said of you?
16. Selling a cross-shaped potato proved not to be the best get-rich-quick scheme for Firoozeh and her son. Have you ever tried a get-rich-quick scheme?
17. If you were to give a graduation speech, what bit of wisdom would you want to impart to the students?
18. Firoozeh made friends with an American once held hostage in Iran. What does this friendship say about the power of the ordinary person to act as a bridge builder? Do you think bridge building between nations is solely the job of politicians?
19. “Most immigrants agree that at some point, we become permanent foreigners, belonging neither here nor there.” If you are an immigrant yourself, or the child of an immigrant, do you agree with that statement? If you are not, what could you do to help the immigrants in your community feel at home?
20. What does the term “global citizen” mean to you? Do we have to lose something to become a global citizen, or do we simply gain? Firoozeh was born in Iran and raised in the United States, and is married to a Frenchman. She considers herself a global citizen. But how can others become global citizens? Does it involve living in another culture, or can we simply learn to think globally?
21. Firoozeh says that she thought guilt was a pillar in parenting. Do you know someone who uses guilt effectively? Have you ever used guilt? Did it work?
- Laughing Without an Accent by Firoozeh Dumas
- August 11, 2009
- Family & Relationships; Biography & Autobiography - Personal Memoirs; Biography & Autobiography
- Random House Trade Paperbacks
- $15.00
- 9780345499578
- About Random House
- History
- Our Publishers
- Our Authors
- Contact Us
- Careers@Random House
- Manuscript Submissions
- Publicity & Press
- Random House Worldwide
- Website
- Advanced Search
- Author Events
- Newsletters & RSS
- Blogs & Podcasts
- Reading Groups
- Sitemap
- Privacy Policy
- Terms of Use
- Services
- Randomhouse.biz
- Publisher Services
- Author Portal
- Educator Services
- Rights & Permissions
- Vendor Services
- Insight Web Service
- Technology Services
- Affiliate Program
- Random House Speakers Bureau
- Shopping
- View My Account
- View My Cart
- FAQs and Help
- Shipping Information
- Return Policy
- Children's Books
- Bestsellers
- Awards
- Signed Editions
- Personalized Books
- Ordering Info:
- U.S. Consumers
- International Consumers
- U.S. Booksellers
- International Booksellers
- Educators
- Libraries
- Corporations
Use of this site indicates your consent to the Terms of Use. Copyright © 1995-2013 Random House, Inc. All rights reserved.
