From Work to Ancient Warfare

Well, I didn't quite finish Working, but I needed to move on so I could get to more of my books. I've chosen one of my "M" books this time: Greek Fire, Poison Arrows & Scorpion Bombs: Biological and Chemical Warfare in the Ancient World, by Adrienne Mayor, a research scholar in the Classics Department at Stanford University. Here is her website: Adrienne Mayor. And here is her picture, which I copied from that website:

Adrienne Mayor

The book was published in 2003, but has been since updated with a new introduction by the author. It is quite fascinating so far. I had a notion that chemical and biological weapons were deployed in ancient times, but really didn't know the vast extent. This area of history is Ms. Mayor's life's work, apparently, and you can feel her enthusiasm on every page.

People are capable of quite diabolical means of terrorizing and destroying one another, a reality we continue to face. Not much has changed over the millennia, except that our methods have become ever more lethal. I'll have more to say about particulars as I read further. Later . . .

Working Winding Down at Last

Well, I've been away for a while, but I've been continuing to read Working and enjoying it. The book is so big that it's taking a long time to finish.

Some of the things I found worth noting about this book:

1.  There are a great many different jobs out there, some of them still in existence despite the passage of forty years.

2.  Almost every person interviewed liked something about his or her job.  A few people liked everything about their jobs.

3.  A few people were not very likable and were in fact despicable. A couple of people were downright frightening. But most of the people seemed to be ordinary people with some flaws and some virtues. I wonder if they weeded out all the really bad people before putting the book together. 

4.  There were a number of people who were prescient concerning the way things were going with respect to work.  For instance, some people thought that automation was slowly taking away jobs. Other people feared that unions were fading out of importance.  Some people could see the demise of mom and pop stores and independent businesses.

5.  The interviewees were steeped in their time--the early 70s, with all its hippies and counter culture and racial strife and war worries and women's lib. It was fun to get that reminder of what things were like back then for ordinary people.

6.  There are a wide variety of people interviewed, each different from the other. I appreciated that.  I think the compilers did a very good job of making it an interesting book.

I'll be glad to be finished with it, however, because I'm finally going to get done with the T's (except for one more Terkel book which I am saving for later).

I don't know what I'm reading next, but I'll keep you posted!


Studs Terkel

Mysteries of Working

I took a little detour the last couple of weeks to read a Ruth Rendell mystery--her latest, No Man's Nightingale--as a reward for staying on my diet for an entire week. (More on that in my diet blog, Following Shirley.) But yesterday I went back to reading Studs Terkel's Working and was once again reminded of what an excellent book it is.

One of the things that struck me about Working is its descriptions of jobs that are no longer available to people. There were quite a few, but those I remember the best so far are telephone operator and installment dealer.

The job of telephone operator was very important back before direct dialing was common and when people didn't have long distance because it was so expensive or because they didn't have a private line. Also very common then was to use a pay phone. So there were a lot of operators, but they weren't paid very well, probably because they were women for the most part and because it wasn't a highly skilled job (at least, according to employers). But the interviewee's description made the work sound very difficult--long days spent sitting in one spot in an uncomfortable chair with a headset on, talking, talking, talking, pulling and pushing the connectors, biting her tongue when a caller was rude or abusive.

The operators weren't allowed many breaks and they weren't allowed to waste time chatting with a caller. Sometimes that was a problem, such as when the person on the other end of the line seemed to desperately need to talk to someone. The operator Terkel interviewed said that she felt bad when a soldier would call from Vietnam and the number he was wanting was busy or not answering and she would have to disconnect even though she could tell he was really lonely and wanted to talk to her.

That made me remember the song by Jim Croce, "Operator," in which he tells the operator that she was "so much more than kind" to stay on the line with him when he was trying to call his old girlfriend who had dumped him for his best friend. I also remembered how little we cared about the soldier during the Vietnam War and how now we would bend over backward to provide the soldier with someone to talk to. Of course, these days we provide them with cell phones and Skype and every other kind of communication device such as email and Facebook and Twitter so they can stay in touch with their loved ones. It makes me feel sad that we were so indifferent to those guys during the Vietnam War.

The job of installment dealer was one I'd never heard of. The man being interviewed said that he sells credit rather than merchandise. He goes door to door asking people what they need and he gets it for them on the installment plan. He works for himself, catering to people who can't go shopping or don't want to and extends credit to them for the cost of the item. He then collects the weekly payment in person. It's amazing to think that this service was still needed back in 1970 when these interviews were being conducted. No one needs the service anymore, of course, thanks to the ubiquity of credit cards, catalogs and online shopping opportunities. And that's too bad, I think. Another opportunity for face-to-face human interaction is gone.

The dealer told an interesting story about riots in the city where he worked (Chicago, probably) following the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968. He had many customers in the ghetto, he said, and had a hard time getting to them to collect his weekly payment during and after the riots. A few of his customers were burned out. Some of them, afraid for his life, sent him the payments in the mail. In his description, he speaks respectfully of his impoverished customers. I think he really felt he was needed and was doing them a genuine service. When later in his career he changed to working in the white suburbs, he said, he was dealing with "honkies" who fled the city due to the changing racial mix. He didn't seem to have as much respect for those people.

This is a fascinating collection of stories and one I believe everyone should read. But it's a thick book, so I'll be dwelling in this world a while longer.

Until next time . . .

Woman Wandering in the Working Class, Wondering about Will

Well, I finished Working Class Women in the Academy, and was inspired to get back to my dissertation topic. I came up with all kinds of ideas that I could apply to a possible article or book on working class as represented in Shakespeare. I've also been reading Radical Shakespeare, by Chris Fitter. It's a literary criticism book on the element of lower class resistance in some of Shakespeare's plays. That is, of course my topic, but I see that no one is arguing exactly what I'm arguing yet. It gives me hope.

In addition to those two books, a third book that I've started reading is actually on my reading list, Working, the famous and wonderful book of oral history by Studs Terkel. It relates to my topic, and I can check off one more "T" book when I've finished it!

So, I'm steeped in working class issues at a very good time, it seems, since it's lately been a media focus: the increasingly wide gap between rich and poor giving people a cause for concern.

I'm having fun with all this. I'll get back to you with my thoughts soon.

From Murder to Lit Crit

The Walter Mosley book, When the Thrill Is Gone, was very entertaining and philosophical (for a murder mystery), as all Mosley's books are. I always enjoy them--they are fast paced but somehow also deep. The characters are flawed but noble. He's a great writer. The only problem I have with his novels (and others of that genre) is his insistence on honoring the tradition among murder mystery writers of including detailed descriptions of characters' clothing. I don't know how this sartorial motif started, but it's puzzling--and a bit annoying--to me. Ah well, it's also amusing in a way, too.

Next I decided to return to the "T" books so I could get the complete set read. Having perused a free book by Time magazine called The Making of America containing some of the old traditional stories of American history, I decided the book would just make me irritated because by now most of the old historical accounts I learned in school have been thoroughly debunked or revised. So that one's going to the library.

I have two Studs Terkel books I'm saving for later, and one literary criticism book edited by Michelle Tokarczyk and Elizabeth Fay called Working Class Women in the Academy, a volume of essays that came out about 20 years ago. I've read one or two of the articles, but decided it was time I read the rest. So that's what I've been doing this week, and much to my surprise, I'm enjoying it immensely. I'm also remembering why I was studying the subject back in my graduate school days.

So I guess it'll be a while longer before I get to the "M" books.

I'll report on my progress next time.

Into the Woods, Into the Past

I actually am enjoying Thoreau's Maine Woods the second time around. I keep trying to picture Maine more than 170 years ago.  His is a more philosophical account of travels than the average person would write, I think. He seems respectful of people and nature as well.  He makes interesting observations about the logging business and the fading trapping business.  He seems interested in the indigenous people he encounters; he asks about their words and their customs. At the end of the book there is a glossary of place names that are translated from the native language into English.  Many native place names are gone now, so it's interesting to see what they were when still being used.

He talks about tiny towns like Greenville that are now not really much bigger than they were then. I keep reflecting on my ancestors and other cousins and trying to imagine what they were doing when Thoreau was in their midst. When Thoreau sails down the Penobscot toward Bangor, for instance, he goes by my cousin's house as it is now and was then, since it was built in the 18th century. He talks about Sugar Island, where my grandfather was born about 50 years after that. In fact, my great grandparents weren't even born yet when he was passing through Greenville.  My great-great grandparents were just getting started on their lives in the United States, having migrated from Canada a few years before.

Thoreau details the plants and animals he finds as he travels; the lists are a little boring to me, but his impulse is interesting. It's as if he wants to document these phenomena before they are gone forever.  I get the sense that he knows much of the wilderness will soon be gone and he is mourning its passing.  I wonder if he would have been surprised by just how much wilderness remains in Maine, though most of it is probably regrowth from logging.

It's been a worthwhile read, I think. I recommend it to all who want a close up history of a particular region of our country, and a window into a time when the wilderness was vanishing before our eyes.

Next I'll launch into one of the "M" books, I think. I've started a Walter Mosley novel so I'll probably continue with that.

French Fun, Southern Portraits, Maine Travels

After reading French Fun, I moved on to fiction by Jean Toomer: his signature book, Cane. It has been called a novel, but is really not that organized, being made up of a variety of poems and sketches about fictional African-American people of his era, mostly women, mostly Georgian country folk. 

Toomer was born Nathan Eugene Toomer in 1894, was raised by middle-class grandparents, attended several colleges and later taught at a black college in Georgia before settling into a writing career. It was while he was teaching in Sparta, GA that he wrote the book for which he is still known. Cane was published in 1923, just in time for the Harlem Renaissance, when interest in all-things-negro was at a high. The edition of the book I have was published in 1975, but there is a new addition out with an afterword by Henry Louis Gates. Cane is no doubt still a staple of African American Studies programs, so it will probably continue to stay in print.

Jean Toomer

I'm glad I started with the introduction to the book; it was informative and helpful for understanding the unusual structure of the work.  I enjoyed reading Cane for the most part, but I must admit that although it was well written, I had to fast-forward through parts of it.  All in all, I'm glad I discovered it at last since it's been sitting on my book shelf for quite a few years having been bought while I was still a graduate student at UC Davis, back in the nineties.  I recommend it to those interested in African American literature and history, but do read the introduction first to help you get more out of it.

Next, I want to try to finish reading Henry David Thoreau's The Maine Woods, a collection of his writings about his travels in Maine in the mid-nineteenth century. I started it a while back, but didn't get very far, so I'm hoping this time it will prove more entertaining.

Until then . . .

They're Still There

Bloods, by Wallace Terry, was a great book--disturbing, enlightening, depressing, thought-provoking.  I hadn't read any Vietnam veteran literature for quite some time and this compilation of oral history narratives reminded me of what a complicated war that was and what a shattering experience it was for so many veterans.

The experiences of black veterans is the focus of this collection; their additional difficulties dealing with race issues made their war stories more interesting and in many ways different from the accounts of white or other race combatants who survived the conflict that spanned a decade.

What really struck me about the stories presented in this book is the range of attitudes the men expressed toward Vietnam, the Vietnamese people, the military, the U.S., their reception when they returned home, as well as the impact of race relations and the civil rights struggle that was going on during that time.

Some of the men were bitter or traumatized by what they saw and did while there and angry with the government who sent them there, especially when they were treated so poorly at home.  Others were not critical of the military or the policies that required them to fight. Some believed we were right to go there and still believe it.  Some started out believing in the mission but changed their minds after they'd been there a while.

Some didn't see much action; others saw too much.  A number of them spoke frankly about atrocities that they witnessed (on both sides) or participated in. Those were chilling accounts. Those who seemed to be the most well adjusted were ones who stayed in the military and made a career out of it.  I've always thought that to be true; being around other soldiers probably allowed them to adjust to peacetime in a more gradual way. They had people to talk to who understood what they went through. They weren't judged or feared; they were appreciated.

I've read other accounts from Vietnam veterans, but I think this collection was the most balanced, giving a fuller picture, I think, than those which try to present a more unified view of the war, whether pro or con. I recommend it highly, especially now that we're having to deal with a whole new generation of war veterans. Even though we give them parades and presents, awards and decorations, we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that they are still going to be deeply affected in unpredictable ways by what they have gone through.

And I think we should not lose sight of the fact that many of the Vietnam vets are still out there, still suffering and continue to need our help.  Just because we want to forget how we treated them doesn't mean we should forget them. 

After Bloods I read a light, fluffy little book that was really more of a reference book: French Fun: The Real Spoken Language of Quebec, by Steve Timmins.  It was a dictionary-style collection of French Canadian idioms. It's designed for English-speaking students of French who live in Canada, though, as the author admits, it can also be useful for non-Canadian English speakers.  There were some pretty funny idioms that, when translated literally, evoked a comical mental picture, accompanied, in some cases, by an actual picture--a drawing depicting its literal meaning. It was a much more entertaining read than I had imagined it would be.  Another "T" book accomplished!

Until next time!

Extraordinary People

I finished Ann Tyler's Searching for Caleb and I must say it was a very good book! The characters were very strange but interesting, and I got involved in their dilemmas.  All worked out well in the end, though, so I highly recommend this book.  Next on my list: Bloods.

Here's a review of Searching for Caleb that came out in The New York Times in 1975. I think it beautifully captures the book's essence:

January 3, 1975

Searching For Caleb

By KATHA POLLITT

It's hard to classify Anne Tyler's novels. They are Southern in their sure sense of family and place but lack the taste for violence and the Gothic that often characterizes self- consciously Southern literature. They are modern in their fictional techniques, yet utterly unconcerned with the contemporary moment as a subject, so that, with only minor dislocations, her stories could just as well have taken place in the twenties or thirties. The current school of feminist-influenced novels seems to have passed her by completely: her women are strong, often stronger than the men in their lives, but solidly grounded in traditional roles. Among our better contemporary novelists, Tyler occupies a somewhat lonely place, polishing brighter and brighter a craft many novelists no longer deem essential to their purpose: the unfolding of character through brilliantly imagined and absolutely accurate detail.

In "Searching for Caleb" she has invented a family whose very conventionality borders on the eccentric. The Pecks of Baltimore are wealthy, standoffish, stolidly self-satisfied. In their suburban enclave of wide lawns and spacious houses, for generations have lived quietly together tactfully ignoring a world they consider loud and frivolous and full of rude people with outlandish surnames.

To be a true Peck is to sink into a kind of lukewarm bath that is comforting but enervating, a perpetual childhood presided over by the brisk, formal, aging grandfather, Daniel. Only two have rebelled: Caleb, Daniel's dreamy, cello-playing brother, who disappeared without a trace 60 years ago, and Duncan, Daniel's grandson, a wild boy in love with scrapes and danger who grows into a strange, private, restless adult.

When Duncan marries his cousin Justine, hitherto an ardent Peck, she begins to discover her own thirst for adventure. For years the two careen through the small towns of Maryland and Virginia as Duncan quits one makeshift job for another. He refuses to acknowledge the past that propels them both into an ever bleaker and dingier future. Justine is pulled both forward and back: an amateur teller of fortunes who advises her clients always to go along with change, she remains in thrall to her own childhood. And so, when Daniel decides to find his lost brother, Justine is the one who joins him. For the old man the quest is a way of recapturing the past, but for Justine it becomes a search for the self she has mislaid. The outcome is marvelously ironic, since the answers to her questions are themselves enigmatic. Yet she emerges triumphant, her own woman at last.

Less perfectly realized than "Celestial Navigation," her extraordinarily moving and beautiful last novel, "Searching for Caleb" is Tyler's sunniest, most expansive book. While etching with a fine, sharp wit the narrow-mindedness and pettishness of the Pecks, she lavishes on them a tenderness that lifts them above satire. Consider Daniel Peck. A cold and unoriginal man, aging gracefully but without wisdom, he is yet allowed moments in which we glimpse his bewilderment at a life that has been in the end disappointing: "In my childhood I was trained to hold things in, you see. But I thought I was holding them in until a certain time. I assumed that someday, somewhere, I would again be given the opportunity to spend all that save-up feeling. When will that be?"

Reading "Searching for Caleb," one is constantly being startled by such moments: gestures, words, wrinkles of thought and feeling that are at once revelatory and exactly right. But at the center of Tyler's characters is a private, mysterious core which is left, wisely, inviolate. Ultimately this wisdom is what makes Tyler more than a fine crafts- man of realistic novels. Her complex, crotchety inventions surprise us, but one senses they surprise her too.

Katha Pollitt is a reviewer of contemporary fiction.

Ann Tyler and Literary Fiction

Well I finished the Ballard book and it was very good! A feel good story about teaching and sports.

I'm now back to my list, reading Ann Tyler's Searching for Caleb.  It's a little strange, but compelling--a family saga of a sort that reminds me of Isabel Allende's work.  It proves the maxim that I believe I first heard from Stephen King: literary fiction deals with extraordinary people in ordinary situtations; popular fiction deals with ordinary people in extraordinary situations.  Tyler's book is in the literary fiction category.

More later . . .

One Shot at Compelling

Well, I finished the collection of short stories (or at least as many as I wanted to read).  They were of that "literary" type, of course, and were therefore sometimes confusing and sometimes depressing and sometimes wonderful.  There were a few of each in Best American Short Stories of 1999. 

Next I started on another "T" book, Caliban's Shore: The Wreck of the Grosvenor, a history of late 18th century India and some English colonists who attempt an ill-fated voyage to England around the bottom of Africa.  The author, Stephen Taylor, is South African.  I tried reading it, but there was so much detail about the politics of the East Indian colony that I just couldn't get interested in it.

So, I've decided to abandon that book and move on to one a co-worker lent me, One Shot at Forever, by Chris Ballard, a sports writer.  The book is a true story of a high school baseball team in a small Illinois town and their quest to compete at the highest level in the state.  It takes place in 1971 and their improbably successful coach is a hippie dude who coaches (and teaches) in a completely different way from what they and their parents are used to.  Rather than using the drill-sergeant-style method of discipline and training, this coach allows them to find their own way and to train and discipline toward a self-imposed goal of improving and playing competitively while also having fun.

It's very well written and compelling, so I'm enjoying it.  I'll return to my list when I'm finished.

Meanwhile, I've also been listening to audiobooks of Ruth Rendell's Inspector Wexford series (as incentive for walking).  Reginald Wexford is a middle-aged police detective in a suburb of London and he is a great character! Rendell started writing these books back in the early 1960's, when Inspector Wexford was around 50 years old.  She's still writing them, although now the inspector, who should be over 100 by now, is still middle-aged and adjusting to the social and technological changes of the 21st century, as he did with each decade of the 20th century since the 60s.  Despite their protagonist's apparent deal with the devil, Rendell's novels are just as well-written as ever--cleverly plotted with interesting, realistic characters and very little violence or sexual suggestion (never any actual sex being described).  They count as what are called "cozy" mysteries, which I prefer, I think.  I like the puzzle of it--I can imagine the violence myself.

Until next time . . .

From History to Short Fiction: Continuing on the T-Train

The past week I finished the Troy, Maine history and started on a collection of short stories edited by Amy Tan (another "T" author): Best American Short Stories of 1999.  I've read a couple of the stories so far and have been enjoying them.

I'll have more to say next week on this.

Stories of Ordinary People Continued

Well, I finally finished Studs Terkel and found it to be a very interesting collection of interviews from a great variety of people, mostly from the Chicago area.

Meanwhile, I also read the latest Michael Connelly mystery, The Black Box, featuring his continuing detective character, Harry Bosch. It was quite good--had a nice twist at the end.

Now I'm reading another "T" book, the history of Troy, Maine, titled Troy, Past and Present: 1793, 1827-1977.  The book was written back in the 70s by two of the townspeople, Leola and Edith Mitchell, both school teachers. I have the fifth edition, printed in October 2001.  It's not great writing, but it's not bad writing, either, considering it was published by the town and has not been edited by a commercial publisher.  And because it concerns my ancestors and their neighbors, it's interesting to me.  There are numerous pictures, maps, and even some recipes from the old days. I'm enjoying it so far.

Next I may go to fiction, perhaps Jean Toomer or Ann Tyler.  I'll keep you informed.

Greed Again

I did indeed turn to Studs Terkel this week, beginning his book on the divisions in our society, The Great Divide, a collection of interviews by Mr. Terkel and his staff in which they asked Americans what they thought about the state of the American Dream. It's quite interesting, especially since it was compiled in the mid-80s, an era characterized by tremendous greed, its signature movie being Wall Street, which came out in 1987, around the time this book was published (early 1988).

Some things I've learned so far are that some people were disappointed with Reagan, some regretted voting for him, but others thought he was right on--smart, courageous, wise.  Indeed, there seems a tremendous desire on the part of some of the interviewees in the book to explain why "greed is good" (to quote Wall Street).

One interesting aspect of the book was that the stock market crash occurred during the interviewing process so that the interviewers were able to go back to people they had talked to before the crash to get their responses after it happened.  Not surprisingly, those in the financial profession were the most anxious to play down the significance of the crash.

It seems Mr. Terkel tried to include all walks of life in the book, from dentist to stock broker to factory worker to farmer. Some of the opinions are harsh, some surprising. It's an interesting look at that era.

What was perhaps most disturbing about the book, though, is how much that time resembles our own. It seems that we didn't learn much, that not much has changed in 25 years, and in fact the "great divide" is wider than ever.

Until next time . . .

Hemingway and Curwood

I've finished reading Personal Injuries and I enjoyed it very much, though the ending was kind of sad.

In the meantime, I've been reading another of my books to my mother over the phone: Nomads of the North, by James Oliver Curwood. I think she's enjoying it, although she would probably agree with me that the author does get a bit carried away with description from time to time.

Curwood wrote in the early 20th century and was very popular in his day. Nomads of the North was published in 1919, at a time when detailed description in novels was expected and commonplace. As I was reading the novel, it struck me that Ernest Hemingway, who began publishing in the early 1920s, offered the reading public a style that at the time must have seemed terribly stark and annoyingly spare of information. These days it is Hemingway's journalistic style that's commonplace, so it's hard for us to appreciate what a shock that kind of minimalist writing must have been to readers used to the florid prose offered by writers such as Curwood.

Here is an example of what I mean. Following is a passage from Nomads of the North:

He was about to gasp his last gasp when the force of the current, as it swung out of the whirlpool, flung Neewa upon a bit of partly submerged driftage, and in a wild and strenuous effort to make himself safe Neewa dragged Miki's head out of water so that the pup hung at the edge of the driftage like a hangman's victim at the end of his rope.

In this passage, the narrator is attempting to describe a life-or-death struggle, but by the time the reader slogs through all the words to get to the action, the terror of the moment is lost.

Compare with this passage from Hemingway's story, "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," which also depicts a life-or-death struggle:

the gun-bearer shouted wildly and they saw him coming out of the bush sideways, fast as a crab, and the bull coming, nose out, mouth tight closed, blood dripping, massive head straight out, coming in a charge, his little pig eyes bloodshot as he looked at them.

Hemingway was a master at this style of writing, sometimes referred to as journalistic. The theory behind it, called the iceberg theory, requires that most of the meaning of a passage remains below the surface. Here is a Wikipedia article that elaborates on it: Iceberg Theory.

I've found an October 31, 1926 New York Times' review of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises that shows how new this technique was to readers at the time. Here's an excerpt:

The "more literary English" this reviewer refers to may be the kind employed by Mr. Curwood and his ilk as opposed to the "lean, hard, athletic narrative prose" that Mr. Hemingway became synonymous with in his lifetime.

My next book will be non-fiction, I think. One of the "T" books, of course. Perhaps I'll go to Studs Terkel next. I'll keep you posted, in any event.

I've been reading Scott Turow's 1999 novel, Personal Injuries this week. It's pretty good--a mystery, of course, but not a murder mystery. It's a legal thriller not unlike John Grisham's typical effort. Plenty of flawed lawyers, judges, police and suspense keep the reader reading.  Nothing profound, just entertainment. A film of the book was planned but never materialized, though Dustin Hoffman was promoting it back in 2007. What else can I say? I'm enjoying it.

The Yank's Adventure

Well, I finally finished A Connecticut Yankee and I must say it was an enjoyable book, though a bit chaotic at times. There was a lot of satire in it besides a pretty decent story; Twain makes fun of some very serious issues, chief among them slavery. Though it was over by the time the story was published in 1889, Twain was no doubt still seeing slavery's deplorable after-effects and lamenting man's inhumanity to man.  Though I must say, his character Hank Morgan was certainly far from perfect and subject to many of man's worst flaws.

I recommend the book, especially if you haven't read it since high school, but you'll have to tolerate a little bit of old fashioned writing.  One of these days I want to see the movie with Bing Crosby again, as I remember very little of it.

I'm on to another "T" book next, though I don't know which one yet.  Maybe a non-fiction this time . . .  I'll keep you posted!

A Humorous Sojourn

This week I began my "T" books, starting with a popular book about punctuation (!) by Lynne Truss, Eats, Shoots and Leaves.  It was very funny and very well written!  I had been given it as a gift years ago (since it came out in 2004, it was probably 9 years), and never gotten around to reading it.  Its audience seems to be puncto-philes (I'm making that word up) or even puncto-fanatics, which means I'm the perfect person to read it.  Fortunately for the publisher, it was, as they claim on the book's jacket, "a runaway bestseller," much to the author's astonishment.

I enjoyed reading about her exasperation at the signs we see every day--supposedly to communicate an important message--that are atrociously punctuated, and at the alarming increase in poorly punctuated emails and other such published writings that should be more carefully composed and proofread. It was heartening to realize I'm not alone!

But if someone were reading it just to learn about punctuation, I think the book would be less than ideal. The author tends to get into the weeds about how words should be punctuated, ending up discussing all the exceptions to the rules, something that, I've learned, confuses puncto-phobic people to the point where they throw up their hands and say, "Well, it doesn't really matter, then, does it?" That's not exactly the result Ms. Truss and I are looking for.

But if you just want a laugh about how language is constantly evolving and sometimes stumbling on its way to communication, you'll enjoy this book as I did.

Since that was a short book, I was able to start another on the "T" list, this time a novel by Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.  I had read the book many years ago, but don't really remember it.  I've also seen the movie starring Bing Crosby, but don't remember much about it, either, other than that there was singing, as there always is with Bing Crosby movies.  The story involves a factory worker in late-nineteenth-century Hartford, CT who is hit on the head with a crowbar, and when he comes to, finds himself in King Arthur's court. Since the character, Hank Morgan, is a pragmatic sort of fellow, he makes the most of his time-travel.  And since Twain is telling the story, he does it in a very comical way.

In the years since reading the book the first time, I've studied the history of the middle ages, so I'm enjoying the book in a different way this time, appreciating how Twain is making fun of that era as well as his own.  It's a funny thing about Twain: I always forget what a good writer he was! Once I get used to the late nineteenth-century style of writing (rather full and florid, as a rule), I find myself thoroughly entertained by Twain's clever way of looking at the world and its people.

So, two humorous books in a row ain't a bad thing!  I'll let you know how our Connecticut Yankee fares in the next installment.

Detour Abroad

Well, after a short detour to mystery and other fiction I finally finished the letter A with Of Love and Shadows, by Isabel Allende.  It was a good book, but towards the end I think she went overboard a little bit with describing the atrocities of the military junta that dominated Chile for so many years.  It pretty much stopped the narrative, which is not what a writer should do in a work of fiction.  I think Allende should go ahead and write a non-fiction book about that era (if she hasn't already done so), and get it over with.

During my detour I read one of Ruth Rendell's mysteries, Tigerlily's Orchids.  It was quite good and a fast read, fortunately.  Following that, I read J.K. Rowling's latest book, this time for adults, The Casual Vacancy, which reminded me quite a lot of Ruth Rendell, especially in the way Rowling writes of the class warfare that is endemic in English society. It was a very good book, well written and fast paced, if a bit disturbing and sad, especially at the end. Rowling seems to have a mission of presenting the world from an adolescent's point of view.  Not knowing any adolescents in today's society, I can't attest to her accuracy in portraying them, but I do admire her desire to do so.

I will now get back to reading my book collection, starting this time with the letter T.  There are a number of books in this group, some fiction, some non-fiction.  I'm not sure yet which I will begin with, but I'll be sure to report on it here.

Stay tuned . . .

From Molecules to Magic

Well, I finished The Year of the Flood this week and I must say I was somewhat disappointed.  I never did understand all that was happening to the people in scientific terms.  Who perpetrated the "flood"?  I think it was done deliberately, but I'm not sure, because Atwood did not really make it clear.  The story surrounding the characters was interesting, and I did care about what happened to them.  But the rest of it was pretty incomprehensible. 

I don't know if Atwood researches the science before she writes a book like this, but I found the descriptions and explanations for how things got the way they are kind of vague and sometimes confusing.  It reminded me of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, where the information about how the not-so-good doctor managed to bring his patched-together person to life is never provided.  (Movies made from the book simply make up that part.)  Since Shelley's was one of the first science fiction novels, I suppose Atwood is in good company.  But today's readers expect more realism in their sci-fi, or at least more plausibility, and that comes from being specific about how the science works (or could work in the future).

I don't recommend this book unless you must know what happened to the characters in Oryx and Crake.

After Atwood, instead of leaping into the "T" collection, I decided to finish off the "A"s with the second novel I have by Isabel Allende, Of Love and Shadows.  It was made into a movie, apparently, starring Antonio Banderas.  It takes place in Chile, as most of her novels do, during the rule of Pinochet.  As usual, there is the spirit world familiar to magic realism fans, as well as the super-real world of life under a ruthless dictator. 

In contrast to Atwood, Allende doesn't leave you guessing about anything.  Her lush description is legendary and always compelling.  So far I'm enjoying it.

In between the two novels, I read a short book, John A. Roebling, about the man who designed both the Cincinnati and the Brooklyn bridges.  It was somewhat informative, but lacking information about the building of the bridge, I thought, especially of the deaths of the workers.  It was a quick read, though, and was written by Don H. Tolzmann, which satisfies the "T" requirement of my next list.

Until next time . . .

Another Devastating Flood Wrecks the Earth

I'm about 2/3 the way through The Year of the Flood, and I'm enjoying it, pretty much.  I get annoyed at times by all the new words I'm forced to learn, mostly the names of gene spliced animals like rackunk (combination of raccoon and skunk). I guess that's a problem with all science fiction--a long list of new terms.  But the basic story seems pretty traditional--man's inhumanity to man and their bad decisions with respect to nature.

Told mostly in flashback, the main characters describe how they got to the point where they are in the present time of the story, that is, the year of the flood.  The flood is called "waterless" because it is a flood of microbes, I think.  But they haven't really detailed that yet.  I guess I'll find out eventually what has happened to the earth to make most of the people disappear.

Atwood is a great writer and she manages to get me involved in the lives of all these not-too-distant future women and men.  I can barely remember the novel to which this is a sequel, Oryx and Crake, so I may have to go back to it eventually so I can connect it with this book.

I'll report my findings in the next post.

From a Troubled History to an Uncertain Future

I spent the week reading and skimming Making Waves, an anthology of mostly non-fiction writing by and about Asian American women, edited by the Asian Women United of California (hence its inclusion in the "A" books).  It was published in 1989, and for that reason it's a bit dated, but there were many interesting articles, some poems and a few stories to keep me reading or at least perusing the book over the course of the week.

I got out of it as much as I wanted, I think, though I didn't read most of the more scholarly articles as they were a bit too dry for bus reading.  If I were trying to gain information to write a paper for a course, this book would be just the thing.  I believe that was my original intention when I bought it years ago, but I'm no longer moved to write about the subject.  I may keep it, though, in case I need to learn something in the future about Asian American women, as it is quite thorough in its coverage of their somewhat troubled history and (then) current situtation in the U.S.

So, having finished Making Waves, I'm turning once again to fiction, this time a novel by Maragaret Atwood (the famous speculative fiction writer who is one of my favorites) entitled The Year of the Flood.  This book continues the saga begun in Oryx and Crake, which I read back in 2004.  The story takes place in a future world that has been all but destroyed by humankind's neglect of the environment.  It should be interesting, and moreover, will complete my sojourn through the "A" books in my collection.

Stay tuned . . .

From Welsh to Asians

Well, after having read most of A Hiding Place, and not having discovered the reason for the title yet, I'm putting it aside.  It's just too depressing.  So far nothing has gotten better and everything has gotten worse, even to the present time of the story, towards the end, when the girls have a reunion at their old house.

So it's on the the Asian American Women's collection of fiction and non-fiction, which should prove interesting and hopefully less depressing than the last book.

I'll let you know how I fare.

Ordinary Maltese

I don't have much more to say about Telling the Truth About History.  The authors spent the final chapters detailing what they believe to be a better approach to teaching and studying history. I didn't retain much of that, but it did get me thinking about why people enjoy reading about history.

Since this book was published in 1996, there has been a trend in publishing historical accounts that are more like fiction than scholarship.  Since they are meant for the general public, this is appropriate, I think.  I've enjoyed reading quite a few of those popular histories, despite their sometimes lack of documentation. 

People do like to learn about the past, and I think the authors of Telling the Truth are right in saying that we want to know about past lives in order to give meaning to our own present existence.  The authors also warn, though, that accounts of what happened in the past can be used to manipulate perceptions of people in power and their decisions.  For instance, the westward migration of European immigrants in 19th century America can be characterized as heroic or as horrific, depending on how the stories are told, and who tells them. 

It has been said that the victors of conflicts are the ones who write the histories, but that doesn't mean that stories about the events of the past are erased.  As long as some people remember and pass along what that time was like for them, then the complexity of the past can be preserved and perhaps brought to light at some future time.

I guess that's one reason I like genealogy research.  What I can find out about my forebears is interesting because they are related to me, however distantly, but also because they are ordinary people and what they thought about or did is a small piece of the fabric of the past and gives meaning to it, even if only in that small way.  Imagining what it was like for them to live in 1864 or 1910 or 1795 allows me to see the past as connected to the present and their lives as connected to mine.  How were they affected by the Civil War or the Industrial Revolution or the coming of the railroad?  Those are answers I may never get, but knowing the people a little allows me to at least imagine their responses.

I've now moved on to the next "A" book, this time a novel by Trezza Azzopardi, a Welsh writer or Maltese descent, entitled The Hiding Place. It is about a Maltese family who live in Cardiff, Wales.  There are five daughters, one of whom is the main character in the story. So far I find it interesting and well written, but a bit depressing because the people are so dysfunctional, especially the father who has a gambling problem that causes financial ruin for his family. I am enjoying it, however.

The book is Ms. Azzopardi's first novel, published in 2001; it was shortlisted for the Booker prize. I found a little bit of information about the name Azzopardi in an article which also tells a bit about the history of Malta; I also found an article about the migration of the Maltese people to Britain here.

Well, there are only three "A" books left unread.  But once I'm done with this letter, instead of going on to "B" books, I plan to mix things up by picking the next letter from a hat!

Until next time.

Truth, Justice, and the American Way

I did decide to stop reading the Shakespearean Whodunits.  Alas, they just aren't well written enough! But I may go back to them in the future, so I'm hanging on to the book.

I'm about 2/3 done with Telling the Truth about History, and so far it's pretty interesting, though a bit slow-going for the bus because it requires more concentration that the typical narrative. It's argument is that history as a subject has undergone changes over the centuries, especially since the 18th century in Europe (and by transfer, America), where the "Enlightenment," as it was called, made it possible for people to study the world around them without the restrictions of (mostly Christian) religious doctrine, and that those changes have brought us to a place where unchecked relativism (this was in 1994) is undermining the power of science to help us understand our world and ourselves.

The Enlightenment's promotion of empiricism developed science into what the authors call Hero-Science, a discipline that rescued learning and knowledge of the universe from the dark ages of the past when people were not encouraged to describe the physical world as it was, when people like Galileo could not publish his findings about the true nature of the heavens without serious consequences from the religious establishment.

The belief in science as heroic continued to dominate Western thinking well into the fifties, when nuclear science and its terrifying power started to change people's attitude toward science.  Perhaps science wasn't as heroic as they thought; maybe the applications of scientific inquiry and experimentation and discovery required intervention from humans, some restrictions placed on how far and how fast science could progress. According to the authors, how this relates to history is this: at the turn of the 19th century, when history was becoming a legitimate subject for school study (along with English), Hero-Science was also predominant, so scientific principles and the scientific method were applied to the study of history, with the result that history became the search for factual truth rather than a collection of stories about the past.

You may think that this is how history has always been taught--it's certainly the way I learned it in school--but it is in fact an invention of the 19th century.  Dickens' character Thomas Gradgrind is only a slightly exaggerated figure--many a teacher of the past believed that memorizing the dates and places and "facts" of battles, territorial conquests, and political contests was the proper way to study history. A great example of that is in one of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books: as a high school student trying to get a teaching certificate in 1880s South Dakota, young Laura is expected to memorize a long, fact-filled account of American History and recite it in front of her classmates. Even today, though we no longer go in for recitation, this fact-digesting-and-regurgitating method of studying history is employed by public school teachers.

Since the 1960s, however, that approach to pedagogy has changed.  Now there is a much more skeptical eye trained on the past; the civil rights era taught us how many people's stories had been left out, how many facts of the past (some sad, some sordid) had been ignored or actively obliterated. The drive to include those stories and facts changed the discipline of history to something more akin to social history.  And once included, the voices of some of those previously left out of the official history (minorities and women, for instance) made for a much less heroic account.  The standard, monochromatic story of our nation's founding, development, and attainment of greatness slowly becomes a bit tarnished, disappointing and, in some instances, frightening. 

Multiculturalism remains controversial, but there's no mistaking its impact on how we see ourselves and our past as a country. One result, for instance, is that we are now ambivalent about Columbus Day: once seen by many as a celebration of the founding of our country, it's now also seen as marking the beginning of the end for indigenous Americans.

According to Appleby et al, all this has brought us to where we were in 1994, the year Telling the Truth About History was published.  The understanding that the history we all learned in school is incomplete and therefore wrong led us to think that all history heretofore written by the dominant groups of our society--mostly white, male, Protestant, Anglo-Saxon, middle-class folk--must be discarded as biased and even harmful.  The authors believe this sea-change has happened, but they also believe that this new way of looking at mainstream teaching has gone too far, that truth can still be obtained from scientific inquiry, even considering the biases of those who do the investigations and tell us about them.  This is where I am in the book right now.  I'm looking forward to learning about how we can have it both ways: both truth and justice, if you will, in the American way of learning.

I'll let you know how it turns out.  Until next time . . .

History Writ Large and Small

I finished Julie Andrews' autobiography (with some judicious fast-forwarding) this week and found it to be quite entertaining for the most part. I'd recommend it for light reading.

After Ms. Andrews' book, I decided to start reading one of the volumes of short stories entitled Shakespearean Whodunits. The premise is interesting (as I pointed out in my last post), but the writing is only so-so. I've read several of them now, and I must say I'm not overwhelmed. I may decide to cut this adventure short and move on to the next book.

The next book on my list is one I've had a while: Telling the Truth About History.  It's a scholarly work, apparently, by a team of historians, the first of whom is Joyce Appleby (one of the "A" team).  It got a pretty good review in the NY Times when it came out in 1994: "Truth by Consensus."

I think it will be interesting, but I'll let you know.

Julie's Home

I've been reading Julie Andrews' autobiography, Home, this week.  The version I actually owned was given to me by my mother, who'd read it.  It was in large type for her, but unfortunately, I can't read large type without hurting my eyes and my head, so I decided to take Ms. Andrews' book out of the library and read it that way.  (I sent the large type book back to my mother, who won't mind reading it again.)

I wasn't sure I would like it (I don't usually go for celebrity autobiographies), but I must say it's pretty good, despite being somewhat episodic in format.  Once in a while I have to skip over parts that are a bit too detailed for my interest (when she's listing the show business pals she had at certain times and places, for instance).  But for the most part I'm involved in her struggles and her successes.  The part about enduring the bombings during WWII is very informative.  Also interesting are her stories about her career.  She doesn't mind recounting her failures and mistakes--I like that about her.  It makes her seem more like a real person.

One thing that has struck me from reading this story is that Julia never had any other work but entertaining.  She grew up in a family of entertainers and just accepted her role in the family business with no complaints; in fact, she was happy with it.  There was no speculating on what she was going to do when she grew up--she was already doing it, from the age of eight or so.  Even as a child she worked hard at learning to sing, dance and act and those efforts helped her to succeed later on.

She counters the professional stories with the stories of her troubled family, mostly her mother and stepfather, who ended up as alcoholics she had to support.  But there were plenty of joys with her family as well, and she makes a point not to criticize her family members too much.  She just matter-of-factly describes what they did and said and how it affected her and others in her family.

Right now I'm at the part where she's making her Broadway debut with The Boyfriend, followed by My Fair Lady.  She's a hit, something that seems to surprise her.  I sometimes wonder if she was as humble as she makes herself out to have been, but I suspect that she was.

I didn't know much about Julie's career before Mary Poppins, so this is all new information to me.  Probably what makes it most interesting, however, is getting to know her, something she makes possible with the way she writes the book.

So, I'll likely finish Home this week.  Then it's on to the next, which I think will be Shakespearean Whodunits, edited by Mike Ashley, which is a collection of mysteries (in two volumes) based in part on Shakespeare's plays.  Each writer starts with a play and then comes up with a mystery that relates to the plot.  It's an interesting premise, but the writers are not well known, so I'm not sure I'm going to like them yet.

But I will let you know, of course, one way or the other.

Staying Alive

I'm enjoying reading How to Stay Alive in the Woods, but the amount of technical information the author is conveying is starting to overwhelm me. I think I will set this one aside and relabel it Reference, since it seems to be something one reads in order to learn something specific, and not to enjoy for its own sake.

I must say, though, that the man is a very good writer (if a bit on the formal side, stylistically speaking).  So it makes sense, as I read in Chapter 14, "Choice of Clothing, that Angier left his job as an editor when first venturing out into the wilderness.  The chapter begins with these words, which tell a lot about the man's philosophy, expressed as it was well before the back-to-nature movement of the 1960s:

The necessaries of life are food, shelter, warmth, and clothing.  When we have obtained these, it is claimed, there is an alternative to struggling for the luxuries.  That's to adventure on life itself, our vacation from humbler toil having commenced.

With such philosophy not everyone will agree, although I was fortunate enough to find no reason for disputing it when I went to the wilderness to live, and it may at least answer the questions of a few to note that we have never regretted the decision not to waste what are called the best years of life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable freedom during the least valuable part.  (145) 

I think my husband would agree with Bradford's choice to spend his youth in exploration rather than piling up cash for retirement (although I daresay Angier probably made plenty of money from his books). The idea does have a certain appeal, even now, in the "least valuable part" of my life.  Perhaps it's not too late to take to the woods?  Some people believe it won't be long before we're forced to do so, when the economy or the government or the environment or the infrastructure collapses.

For now, though, I'm moving on to Julie Andrews' biography, Home: A Memoir of My Early Years.  It got a pretty good revew from the NY Times, so I think I'll enjoy it.  But I intend to keep Angier's very useful book around for when I may need it.

Until next time!

Back to Nature

The book I'm currently reading is a classic in the back-to-nature genre: How to Survive in the Woods, by Bradford Angier. So far it's very interesting, though I think it's intended to be more of a reference work than something you'd read through once.  Mr. Angier is an excellent writer, clear and pithy.  His explanations of how to kill and eat various wild animals are straightforward and informative, without seeming deliberately violent or gory.

More later on this fascinating book, first published in 1956.

Skipping from Alexie to Angelou

Well, I didn't end up reading Dr. Amatuzio's book because it was about people who believe they communicate with the dead. That's not my cup of tea, but I would've been willing to give it the benefit of the doubt if it had been well written.  It was not, however, so I put it into the donation pile and moved on.

The next book on the list was Maya Angelou's famous autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.  It's the story of her life from early childhood through adolescence.  She was born in 1928, thus the story tells of what life was life for an African American during the 1930s and 40s.  I've been meaning to read it for many years, so I was really happy to finally be starting it.

It's a very well written book--exciting, interesting, and thought provoking.  Maya talks about hardships as well as joys.  There are a great many passages, of course, that deal with the sorrow of race relations during the first half of the twentieth century, but also many colorful, poignant and disturbing stories about the people she knew and lived with in the segregated society of Stamp, Arkansas as well as the integrated society of California.  I'm learning a lot about her friends and relations, and learning to love or despise or feel sorry for them as she does.  Her grandmother, whom she calls "Momma" throughout the book, is an especially wonderful person: courageous, wise, kind and strong; Ms. Angelou makes me wish I had known her.  She must miss her terribly.

The title of the book comes from a Paul Dunbar poem: "Sympathy."  It's a fitting title, I think. See if you agree.  Here's the poem: Sympathy.

I'm about 3/4 through with the book, but I already know it's great, and I highly recommend it.

Seattle Revelations

This week I read the 10 stories that comprise Sherman Alexie's collection of stories, Ten Little Indians, published in 2003. They are all good and sad and funny, as Alexie's work is.  The stories are about 10 different American Indians, all living in Seattle.  They are different by occupation, age and class; some are of mixed race, some not.  But all are interesting, and each is exposed to the reader's view in a rather extreme way.

What the stories have in common is this openness, this stark honesty that reveals the characters' dark secrets, not only to the reader, but also to other characters, many of them total strangers to the protagonist.  In fact, it is this confessional aspect of each story that ties it to the next. It's almost as if the characters are acting as readers for each other.

Alexie always has a storyteller in his fiction; he sees the storyteller as central to his culture, even perhaps to all cultures.  As a storyteller himself, Alexie knows that for the storyteller to complete his mission, there must be a listener who is willing to enter the storyteller's world. In each of the stories in Ten Little Indians there is such a listener: kind, tolerant, responsive, insightful.  And I would add: grateful. Grateful for the story, for the chance to the see the world through a stranger's eyes.

It's been a few months since I've read Alexie's work (See my October 11, 2012 post), so it was nice to get back to his world, although I must say that Alexie's vision is not for the faint of heart. It's intense, but rich in its intensity.  A little Alexie goes a long way, but that little bit is immensely satisfying.  And the feeling lingers; after reading one of his stories, I think about it for hours and sometimes days.

The best story in the collection, in my opinion, is "What You Pawn, I Will Redeem." It's a story with a classic structure, comprising 24 hours in Jackson Jackson's life, starting when he sees his grandmother's dance regalia in the window of a pawn shop.  The pawn broker tells him that if he can raise the $1000 it cost, he will sell it to him. But he gives Jackson only 24 hours to raise the cash or the deal is off.  He even gives Jackson $20 to get him started on his quest.

And it is a quest, like that of Odysseus in a way--a long, winding journey that gets sidetracked many times because, you see, Jackson is a homeless alcoholic who tends to spend any money he comes into on alcohol.  He has many friends, though, including the local police officer, who accompany him at various points on his journey.  It seems likely that Jackson will not succeed, but as with many of Alexie's stories, miracles (of the earthly sort) have a way of happening.  The outcome is unexpected, and very satisfying.  I recommend this book highly.

My next book will be non-fiction, and in keeping with my alphabetical selection method (I'm still in the As), I'll be reading Beyond Knowing: Mysteries and Messages of Death and Life from a Forensic Pathologist, by Janis Amatuzio. It appears to be a memoir of Dr. Amatuzio's life and career as a pathologist, with the focus on mysteries of death, in particular spiritual mysteries. It looks interesting; I'll let you know what I think later.

Liar, Liar

I finished (finally) When Presidents Lie, but I must admit I fast-forwarded through much of it, not only because there were a great many details, but also because many of those details were distressing.

The chapter on LBJ was upsetting in that it seems those at the top spent little time thinking about the many American men and women (not to mention the many Vietnamese people) who would die or be forever maimed, mentally and physically, before committing us to a war no one (including the South Vietnamese) seemed to want. Who benefited? Other than companies supplying the war effort, no one, it seems.

The chapter on Reagan was worse, in that not only did we get involved in conflicts that were unnecessary, but our involvement was almost wholly secret (and arguably criminal) and covered up by our government (both executive and legislative branches, apparently).

None of the presidents featured in the book (FDR, JFK, LBJ, Reagan) came off looking very noble, attractive, or even moral.  They were all described as pathological liars and they seem in the book to have little feeling for the people who were hurt by their lies.

The point Alterman is ultimately making, however, is not just that the presidents were bad men and talented liars, but that their lies hurt our country and our democracy.  After reading and skimming the book, I would agree with him.  But his solution--to never lie--seems not only impossible, but also not the best course in every situation.  Maybe our presidents could try a little harder, though, to determine when a lie is absolutely necessary and whether it is worth its considerable cost before launching into one (or two or 300). 

I can't say I enjoyed reading this book, but I did learn a lot from it--some of it I'd rather not have known.

Next up: some fiction, I think.

American Wars, South and North

I finished The House of the Spirits last week and did finally get the answers to my questions posed in the last post.  The other "I" of the story turned out to be the granddaughter of the main character, Esteban.  And I decided that we occasionally get Esteban's narration to provide some perspective on a character who might otherwise be seen as wholly negative. For those who might read the book, I won't reveal what happens at the end, but for me it ended satisfactorily, if not entirely happily.

Toward the end of the book I was starting to get impatient with the narrative's many, many rich and evocative details.  Though I found them enjoyable throughout most of the novel, I got a bit bogged down by them when the narrative reached modern times.  Maybe because much of what was being described was the country's political turmoil, I wanted to move through those grisly details more quickly.  I had no idea Chile was going through so much; I want to read more about this country's history when I get the chance.

It's an odd experience, though, reading novels that incorporate real history, especially when it's history I'm not aware of.  The descriptions of the terror, corruption, torture, and other shocking events seem almost cartoonish in The House of the Spirits.  I had the same reaction to a book I read that was set in India, Six Suspects. (See my blog  8/14/11.)  It makes me think that this style of presenting terrifyingly real details in a comic light is frequently employed, probably to make the subject more palatable to those who would otherwise be repulsed by it.  It reminds me of how Native American writers jokingly tell of the despair that continues to haunt their people.  The ability to rise above suffering through humor not only reveals the suffering, but also shows the bravery of those who suffer.

Interestingly, in her novel Allende does not seem to take sides.  She presents each side of the socialism vs republicanism debate (and the negative consequences of each type of government) from multiple perspectives, primarily through the eyes or voices of the characters, while the omniscient narrator stays mostly neutral, except to condemn dictatorship.

As I said, I enjoyed the book but was ready to move to non-fiction for a while, so I jumped the alphabetical list a little bit to choose the next non-fiction book, When Presidents Lie, by Eric Alterman, a columnist for The Nation and author of many books about politics and history.  Though published in 2004, When Presidents Lie does not take up George W. Bush's lying to start a war with Iraq, but past instances of presidential lying about international conflicts that had, Alterman believes, grave consequences.

At the moment I'm in the section about Kennedy's lies during the Cuban Missile Crisis.  The book is not a story, but an analysis, and for that reason is a bit dry, but it is interesting since it discusses events I know very little about.

I'll let you know how it goes. Stay tuned!

Women's Worlds: Real and Magical

I finished Writing Women's Worlds, enjoying it greatly.  I wrote to the author, a professor at Columbia, to tell her so, and she very graciously wrote back, thanking me.  That's one of the nice things about reading a scholarly book: the writers are often not famous (other than in academia), and their email addresses are completely accessible on the websites of their schools.  If your email doesn't go in the person's junk mail box, you may get a reply.

I'm now almost finished with Isabel Allende's first novel, The House of the Spirits.  It's really quite good, and I don't know why I didn't get into it the first time I tried to read it.  It's a saga about a family in Chile, the Pruebas, from the turn of the 20th century into modern times.  They are an upper middle class family, land owners, who go through the turbulent 20th century and are affected by it in various ways.

What makes this novel different from others of its genre is that it incorporates magic realism in telling its story.  Magic realism is a technique that describes magical and supernatural events as if they were no big deal, placing them in an otherwise ordinary, realistic narrative.  At first, readers are startled to see magic in what they assumed was a realistic story (not science fiction, horror or fantasy), but eventually, they get used to it and come to accept it as natural and ordinary, the way the story's characters do.

But even though the magic elements stand out, they are not what make The House of the Sprits a great story.  In this story, it is the realism that gripped me.  When I think of sagas, I think of romance fiction and its ilk, since that's the genre where sagas normally appear.  But the family saga in this story is not in the least romantic because it shows the way people really act and think.  The main characters are all flawed, and their flaws cause them and the people around them great pain, even while their perfections give great joy. 

Because of the stark realism, it's hard to know who to root for in this story, but it seems that Allende gives the women a slight edge, though several of the men seem worthy of praise and admiration.  Wanting to know what happens to all the characters is what keeps me reading.

What is perhaps the most striking feature of this novel, though, is the wonderfully detailed descriptions of the people, places, and events of this (not entirely) imaginary world.  It presents a rich tapestry that is quite satisfying (especially if you like details).  It makes me wonder if James Lee Burke picked up this method from Allende. Maybe I'll ask him.

One thing I don't understand in this story, though, is why we occasionally get the first-person narration of the main character, Esteban.  Along those same lines, who is telling another part of the narrative and referring to her/himself as "I"?  Perhaps I'll find these things out before I finish the book.

I am enjoying it and recommend it highly.

Working Through the A's

I'm getting toward the end of Writing Women's Worlds, and learning this week about weddings and related customs.  I have been wondering throughout this book if much has changed since Lila last visited this society in 1989.  I should look that up and report back.

The next book on the list is a novel by Isabel Allende, the Chilean writer (and second cousin of ex-president Salvador Allende).  I've read a couple of her books, but the one I have planned is her first: The House of the Spirits, which was made into a movie by the same name in 1993: The House of the Spirits.  Though it starred Jeremy Irons, Meryl Streep and Glenn Close, it was not well received. I've never seen it, myself.  Maybe I'll give it a go after I read the book.

I started reading House of the Spirits once before but didn't get very far.  This time I hope to finish it. More later.

From Desert Solitaire to Desert Solidarity

I finished Desert Solitaire, although by the end I was starting to lose interest, I must say. I'll probably go back and read the ending again sometime; maybe my mindset will be different by then.

Right now I'm reading the next book on the list, Writing Women's Worlds: Bedouin Stories, by Lila Abu-Lughod, a Palestinian-American anthropologist. She has written about the Bedouins of Egypt before. This time she focuses on women and aspects of their lives, from birth to death.

Lila writes beautifully, and the stories are very interesting and enlightening. One of things that has finally been made clear to me is the impact modernization has had on Muslim cultures. We think that modernization is all good, but it is really the reason for the tightening of restrictions on women. Before, in their rather isolated societies, women were freer, paradoxically, because the dangers of the outside world were not felt. Women were safe within their kinship circles because the men were all relatives. When the world intrudes with its strangers, women have to retreat to their households and spend all their time outside covered up to avoid being seen by non-relatives. It's not comfortable for them; they don't like it, but the reality of being surrounded by strangers leaves them with no alternative, given their cultural/religious restrictions of only being "themselves" around family.

Of course, we would say: change your culture, then! Not any easy or a quick solution, because women who try it are only viewed as non-honorable, "fallen" women (as they used to call them in our culture).

Lila's book takes us behind the scenes and shows us the women relatively unguarded and what they think. It's a fascinating look at a culture we don't often readily understand.

I'm enjoying the book very much. Though it is a scholarly work, I recommend it highly.