Fireworks mean celebration in any language. They herald coronations, inaugurations, jubilees, and glorious beginnings. Be they cherry bombs, skyrockets, girandoles, Roman candles, maroons, or sparklers, fireworks have long transfixed Americans with their explosions of color and sound against a night sky. Rarely, however, are enthusiasts granted a glimpse behind the extravaganza. With an eloquence and urbane wit surpassed only be his enthusiasm, author George Plimpton gives a lively account of pyrotechnic display, its legendary enthusiasts, and the people and families who dominate the field today. Meet "basement bombers" and a "Blaster Pastor," learn the difference between pinwheels and Catherine wheels, and discover the when and were of fireworks displays around the world. Plimpton's exuberance is infectious; his lavish, entertaining, fact-filled paean to fireworks and the human spirit should keep anyone in a holiday mood all year round.
"A something-for-everyone quality... A family treat." -Self Magazine
"A beautifully illustrated book... A very informative work on the history and celebration of fireworks." -Book Alert
"Written in the usual genial and chatty Plimpton style... well illustrated... [with a] wealth of information... He has a gift for sharing his obsessions." -Christian Science Monitor
George Ames Plimpton was an American journalist, writer, editor, actor, and gamesman. He is widely known for his sports writing and for helping to found The Paris Review.
Fireworks by George Plimpton (Doubleday 1984)(662.1). Plimpton, the eternal dilettante, apprenticed with an extended family of pyrotechnic exhibitionists. He had a great time making things explode. He took us along for the fun, and it was a hoot! My rating: 7/10, finished 2002.
George Plimpton in "Fireworks" argues that pyrotechnics are one of the few art forms designed purely for the immediate "arrest of attention." It's a visual performance that leaves no physical trace behind, existing only in the collective gasp of a crowd:
"The firework is the most transient of arts. It has no permanent canvas, no lasting stone. It is born, it flourishes, and it dies in a matter of seconds, leaving behind only the ghost of an image on the retina and a faint smell of sulfur in the air."
Plimpton notes that true blue-collar pyrotechnicians rarely use the word "fireworks" when they are working. They call them "the goods," "the stuff," or simply "shells."