My latest choice for reading, A Crack in the Edge of the World, published in 2005, has proven to be very interesting. It's the second book I've read by Simon Winchester (the first was The Professor and the Madman), with one more to go (Krakatoa).
Mr. Winchester has a gift for making the most complex technical subject not only understandable, but compelling. I learned that when I read with relish his story of the making of the Oxford English Dictionary, a topic that would seem designed to excite only philologists.
This time he's writing about an inherently interesting topic, the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, yet he risks venturing off into potentially sleep-inducing scientific realms to bring his readers not only an appreciation of the complex geology of the earth and its capricious movements, but a much greater understanding of how devastating quakes like the one in 1906 could occur.
I'm about a third of the way through, but already I understand more about the San Andreas fault than I ever did when I lived near it and experienced first hand its effects. But Winchester doesn't limit himself to that one point of plate dynamics; he takes into account all the plates that cover the earth, the history of their movements (as far as we know it), and how we have come to learn more and more about them over time.
So, it's a fascinating book and I'm glad I'm finally reading it. I'll let you know what else I discover in the next post.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Arts and Crafts
This week was another quick read, this time supplied by Stephen King, one of my long-time favorite authors. The book I read this time, though, was not a scary novel; it was On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. In it Stephen King gives an account of his life (including his horrific accident in 1999) and his work and then spends some time talking about how to become a better writer if you're already competent. If you're a bad writer, he says, there's no hope for you.
That kind of blunt advice makes this book a bit different from others that are obviously designed to be used in a creative writing course. King is highly skeptical of such courses, even though that's where he met his wife back when he went to University of Maine and was going through a period of writer's block, a malady he hasn't suffered from very often over the fifty-plus years he's been writing professionally. In addition to the fifty novels he's published, he's written numerous short stories, screenplays, and other works--enough to prove that he writes almost continuously.
I have to say I agree with King's doubt about the usefulness of creative writing courses. One of my creative writing professors once said that writing is self-taught, and I knew he was right, despite the fact that we were both there in a creative writing class trying to prove otherwise. What creative writing classes are good for, King admits, is to provide a place to seriously discuss and engage in writing, and to provide good jobs for writers.
King's attitudes are a large part of what I find refreshing about his book; the other part is the truly useful advice he gives. Some of it I've heard before; for instance, he says that to be a good writer, you have to write a lot and read a lot. But other advice was new to me: don't worry about plot; put your characters in a situation and let them work their way out of it--plot will take care of itself. That bit of advice was a revelation to me. Hey, I can stop worrying about plot! If anyone besides Stephen King had said that--say someone who writes "serious" novels that don't have a plot--I'd be skeptical. But King, like most popular fiction writers, knows how to keep a story moving forward. Writers like him are good at plot, so maybe it's not so mysterious after all.
Throughout On Writing, I get the sense that King is being honest and practical. Here's how I do it, he says, and here's what I think writers need to succeed at the craft. Interestingly enough, throughout the book he never refers to what he does as art (at least I can't think of a single instance). It seems to me that he has a worker's sensibility about writing, especially writing popular fiction. It's not high culture, but it is something valuable, something more than mere entertainment. A good story is essential to our lives, and in order to work, it has to be accessible. A story that hides its truth from readers is not doing its job.
Obviously, King and his stories have done their job for decades. And he's not ready to quit yet.
If you're interested in writing or reading, or if you're just interested in Stephen King, I recommend this book highly.
Now, on to the next. This time I'm going back to history with a story about the 1906 earthquake, A Crack in the Edge of the World. Another disaster awaits!
That kind of blunt advice makes this book a bit different from others that are obviously designed to be used in a creative writing course. King is highly skeptical of such courses, even though that's where he met his wife back when he went to University of Maine and was going through a period of writer's block, a malady he hasn't suffered from very often over the fifty-plus years he's been writing professionally. In addition to the fifty novels he's published, he's written numerous short stories, screenplays, and other works--enough to prove that he writes almost continuously.
I have to say I agree with King's doubt about the usefulness of creative writing courses. One of my creative writing professors once said that writing is self-taught, and I knew he was right, despite the fact that we were both there in a creative writing class trying to prove otherwise. What creative writing classes are good for, King admits, is to provide a place to seriously discuss and engage in writing, and to provide good jobs for writers.
King's attitudes are a large part of what I find refreshing about his book; the other part is the truly useful advice he gives. Some of it I've heard before; for instance, he says that to be a good writer, you have to write a lot and read a lot. But other advice was new to me: don't worry about plot; put your characters in a situation and let them work their way out of it--plot will take care of itself. That bit of advice was a revelation to me. Hey, I can stop worrying about plot! If anyone besides Stephen King had said that--say someone who writes "serious" novels that don't have a plot--I'd be skeptical. But King, like most popular fiction writers, knows how to keep a story moving forward. Writers like him are good at plot, so maybe it's not so mysterious after all.
Throughout On Writing, I get the sense that King is being honest and practical. Here's how I do it, he says, and here's what I think writers need to succeed at the craft. Interestingly enough, throughout the book he never refers to what he does as art (at least I can't think of a single instance). It seems to me that he has a worker's sensibility about writing, especially writing popular fiction. It's not high culture, but it is something valuable, something more than mere entertainment. A good story is essential to our lives, and in order to work, it has to be accessible. A story that hides its truth from readers is not doing its job.
Obviously, King and his stories have done their job for decades. And he's not ready to quit yet.
If you're interested in writing or reading, or if you're just interested in Stephen King, I recommend this book highly.
Now, on to the next. This time I'm going back to history with a story about the 1906 earthquake, A Crack in the Edge of the World. Another disaster awaits!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Lakes and Rivers
Well, I guess I've neglected my reading blog for too long! I've read three books in the three weeks I've been away, so I haven't been exactly shirking my reading duties, but I now have three books to write about.
I finally finished Rising Tide, the story of the 1927 flood, last week. I had to take a break from it while I was on vacation, partly because it's hard to focus on and partly because I needed a break from the frustration and sadness I felt reading about all the really big mistakes and the abuse of power that created the disaster.
So I read a murder mystery instead. Mysteries are fast reads, light and satisfying. Everything works out in the end--we learn who dun-it, the perpetrator gets punished, and none of the principal characters get killed. The book I read, Motion to Suppress, by Perri O'Shaughnessy--really a pair of sisters, Pamela and Mary O'Shaughnessy--was their first novel, and it was quite gripping. It takes place in Lake Tahoe and is about a wrongly accused woman and her defense attorney who is trying to prove she is innocent before the murder trial is over. It's a familiar plot, but it had some inventive elements and plenty of twists! I recommend it and the authors to all mystery lovers.
Rising Tide was an eye-opener on many fronts; I learned a lot about the Mississippi River's history as an avenue of commerce, about the depth of corruption in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and about the immense suffering of African Americans living in the Mississippi Delta and elsewhere in the south during this time. It's still terribly shocking to think such horrors went on in our supposedly law-revering country in full view of the public (and often with its consent if not participation), including the media!
I was also taken with how complex the issue really was--no simple solution could be found for dealing with all the warring factions that coalesced around the mighty Mississippi and its habit of flooding the land. Even now, the river still holds sway, despite all the measures taken to contain or control it over the last two centuries.
Rising Tide is an interesting book--filled with lots of detail and human drama. And to think that the author only talks about one small part of the vast area affected by the 1927 flood! I recommend it, especially for those who love American history. It's a story that everyone should know, but be prepared to be outraged.
Once I finished Rising Tide, I felt the need for something smaller, more intimate and shorter. The book I settled on, Shadow Tag, filled the bill. It's the latest novel by Louise Erdrich, an Ojibwe writer from Minnesota who has an amazing range. She writes about indigenous people--individuals and families--but she also writes about the non-Indians who live with and near them. Her stories are always compelling and sometimes disturbing, but never fail to ring true. Shadow Tag, about a couple's failing marriage and the attempts of their family to deal with it somehow, seemed especially real in that it was, I think, partly autobiographical. As I was reading it, I couldn't help recalling Erdrich's own seemingly perfect marriage that ended after years of turmoil that no one knew about until it happened. Not long after, Erdrich's husband, himself a writer, committed suicide. You may want to read an interesting article about the family's problems here: A Writer's Descent. I recommend waiting, though, until you've read the novel so you're not looking for connections.
I haven't decided what I'll read next. Maybe another novel, maybe something else. I'll let you know, and as always, I'll keep you posted. Sooner this time!
I finally finished Rising Tide, the story of the 1927 flood, last week. I had to take a break from it while I was on vacation, partly because it's hard to focus on and partly because I needed a break from the frustration and sadness I felt reading about all the really big mistakes and the abuse of power that created the disaster.
So I read a murder mystery instead. Mysteries are fast reads, light and satisfying. Everything works out in the end--we learn who dun-it, the perpetrator gets punished, and none of the principal characters get killed. The book I read, Motion to Suppress, by Perri O'Shaughnessy--really a pair of sisters, Pamela and Mary O'Shaughnessy--was their first novel, and it was quite gripping. It takes place in Lake Tahoe and is about a wrongly accused woman and her defense attorney who is trying to prove she is innocent before the murder trial is over. It's a familiar plot, but it had some inventive elements and plenty of twists! I recommend it and the authors to all mystery lovers.
Rising Tide was an eye-opener on many fronts; I learned a lot about the Mississippi River's history as an avenue of commerce, about the depth of corruption in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and about the immense suffering of African Americans living in the Mississippi Delta and elsewhere in the south during this time. It's still terribly shocking to think such horrors went on in our supposedly law-revering country in full view of the public (and often with its consent if not participation), including the media!
I was also taken with how complex the issue really was--no simple solution could be found for dealing with all the warring factions that coalesced around the mighty Mississippi and its habit of flooding the land. Even now, the river still holds sway, despite all the measures taken to contain or control it over the last two centuries.
Rising Tide is an interesting book--filled with lots of detail and human drama. And to think that the author only talks about one small part of the vast area affected by the 1927 flood! I recommend it, especially for those who love American history. It's a story that everyone should know, but be prepared to be outraged.
Once I finished Rising Tide, I felt the need for something smaller, more intimate and shorter. The book I settled on, Shadow Tag, filled the bill. It's the latest novel by Louise Erdrich, an Ojibwe writer from Minnesota who has an amazing range. She writes about indigenous people--individuals and families--but she also writes about the non-Indians who live with and near them. Her stories are always compelling and sometimes disturbing, but never fail to ring true. Shadow Tag, about a couple's failing marriage and the attempts of their family to deal with it somehow, seemed especially real in that it was, I think, partly autobiographical. As I was reading it, I couldn't help recalling Erdrich's own seemingly perfect marriage that ended after years of turmoil that no one knew about until it happened. Not long after, Erdrich's husband, himself a writer, committed suicide. You may want to read an interesting article about the family's problems here: A Writer's Descent. I recommend waiting, though, until you've read the novel so you're not looking for connections.
I haven't decided what I'll read next. Maybe another novel, maybe something else. I'll let you know, and as always, I'll keep you posted. Sooner this time!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
The Mighty Mississippi
Despite my best intentions, I didn't get past the introduction to Henry Louis Gates' lit-crit book, The Signifying Monkey. Perhaps another time I'll be up for reading it. I decided to switch to another book that continues my river theme: Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How it Changed America, by John M. Barry, who wrote another book I have but haven't yet read, The Great Influenza.
Before reading this book, I'd heard of the 1927 flood, but only from references to it over the years, the most compelling of which is the song, "Louisiana, 1927," by Randy Newman. Here's a rendition of the song on YouTube, complete with pictures of the flood: Louisiana.
Rising Tide doesn't start at the time of the flood, though. It starts back in the early 19th century, when people in power were trying to determine how to control the Mississippi's mighty course and its frequent inundations of the surrounding lands. Their goal was to make the Mississippi more amenable to commercial river traffic so that goods could be transported more quickly and easily between the north and south and between east and west, to accomodate the rapid expansion of settlement to the newly acquired territories.
People of the early 19th century also knew that the land beside the river, because the river had flooded it for millennia, was particularly rich land, good for farming. People in power wished to claim that land for farming and settlement and to bring more people, more workers, and more money to areas that were previously considered wasteland. If only they could control the mighty Mississippi, they thought, they could make that wish a reality. So they set about solving the flooding problem, thinking the combination of American ingenuity and American capital would be no match for even the strongest river.
Unfortunately, according to John Barry, American politics also got involved, and that's where things started to go wrong. I've read about a third of the book so far (it's a hefty 500+ pages), and I'm finding it quite informative but also suspenseful, knowing that all the bad decisions are going to result in the most devastating river flood in American history.
The book also includes a side story of civil rights and the terrible effects of Reconstruction. Barry focuses in on the Mississippi Delta region and the efforts of some powerful families to shape it into a model of the New South, reborn with the help of better cotton and bigger plantations and streamlined river transport, with newly freed African Americans as key players, or some would say, pawns.
All the drama of greed and the machinations of powerful men make this book more of a tale than a history, which also makes it a good read. Though Barry does bring in quite a bit of evidence to back up his claims, I have to remember that this is one man's take on the events of that era.
In my next post, I'll let you know how things are going with the river and the men who seek to control it.
Before reading this book, I'd heard of the 1927 flood, but only from references to it over the years, the most compelling of which is the song, "Louisiana, 1927," by Randy Newman. Here's a rendition of the song on YouTube, complete with pictures of the flood: Louisiana.
Rising Tide doesn't start at the time of the flood, though. It starts back in the early 19th century, when people in power were trying to determine how to control the Mississippi's mighty course and its frequent inundations of the surrounding lands. Their goal was to make the Mississippi more amenable to commercial river traffic so that goods could be transported more quickly and easily between the north and south and between east and west, to accomodate the rapid expansion of settlement to the newly acquired territories.
People of the early 19th century also knew that the land beside the river, because the river had flooded it for millennia, was particularly rich land, good for farming. People in power wished to claim that land for farming and settlement and to bring more people, more workers, and more money to areas that were previously considered wasteland. If only they could control the mighty Mississippi, they thought, they could make that wish a reality. So they set about solving the flooding problem, thinking the combination of American ingenuity and American capital would be no match for even the strongest river.
Unfortunately, according to John Barry, American politics also got involved, and that's where things started to go wrong. I've read about a third of the book so far (it's a hefty 500+ pages), and I'm finding it quite informative but also suspenseful, knowing that all the bad decisions are going to result in the most devastating river flood in American history.
The book also includes a side story of civil rights and the terrible effects of Reconstruction. Barry focuses in on the Mississippi Delta region and the efforts of some powerful families to shape it into a model of the New South, reborn with the help of better cotton and bigger plantations and streamlined river transport, with newly freed African Americans as key players, or some would say, pawns.
All the drama of greed and the machinations of powerful men make this book more of a tale than a history, which also makes it a good read. Though Barry does bring in quite a bit of evidence to back up his claims, I have to remember that this is one man's take on the events of that era.
In my next post, I'll let you know how things are going with the river and the men who seek to control it.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Reached the Pacific! On to the Next!
I finished River Horse this week, as predicted. The last part was a bit anti-climactic, though, and perhaps deliberately so. Once Heat-Moon and crew reached the Columbia River, there were few challenges other than to stick with it to the end, and that's kind of the way I felt about the book.
Curiously, Heat-Moon tells us more about himself at the end, especially his trouble with keeping a relationship going. He even hints that he is emotionally reserved, possibly the reason he had two failed marriages. It was an odd part of the book. After reading through all those pages of physical description, I didn't really want to know all that personal information, especially because it puts him in a rather bad light. I wanted to go on thinking of him as a great adventurer, not as an emotional cripple running away from relationships.
Oh, well. I may decide to read his Blue Highways at some point; it's the one of the four books by him that I don't own. I have PrairyErth, but have not read beyond the first couple of chapters. That one is also on my list. I see from looking at Heat-Moon's Amazon.com page that he's written another travel book, published in 2008, Roads to Quoz, about looking for the peculiar in America. He takes his wife (third?) along on that one, so maybe he got a clue about relationships after his river journey "flattened" (as he puts it) his second marriage.
When I finished River-Horse, I returned to the Dick Francis novel I was reading, Crossfire, co-authored by his son, Felix. (I sometimes wonder how much Dick got involved with writing in the last few years of his life.) Felix is as talented as his father, it seems, and will surely continue the Francis tradition of writing compelling mysteries about the horsey set. Crossfire was a very good read--a complex plot involving an Afghanistan veteran who lost his leg in an IED explosion. When he returns to England to reluctantly begin his civilian life, he finds he must rescue his horse trainer mother, whether she wants him to or not. I recommend it highly, especially to Francis fans.
But what to read next? I think this time I'll take another turn to the scholarly, and read a book I've been meaning to read for many years: The Signifying Monkey, by Henry Louis Gates, first published in 1988. It's a book that attempts to help readers understand African American literature through understanding African American mythology and cultural roots.
You may know Gates from his PBS specials about genealogy, African American Lives and Faces of America. You may also remember his dispute with the Cambridge police when he was arrested for trying to break into his own house. (See report here: Gates' arrest.) Later, he and the police officer had a "beer summit" with Obama.
Though The Signifying Monkey will not be an easy read, I'm looking forward to delving back into lit crit. Since I am currently watching the Ken Burns miniseries Jazz, I think Gates' book will add to my enjoyment of it.
So stay tuned!
Curiously, Heat-Moon tells us more about himself at the end, especially his trouble with keeping a relationship going. He even hints that he is emotionally reserved, possibly the reason he had two failed marriages. It was an odd part of the book. After reading through all those pages of physical description, I didn't really want to know all that personal information, especially because it puts him in a rather bad light. I wanted to go on thinking of him as a great adventurer, not as an emotional cripple running away from relationships.
Oh, well. I may decide to read his Blue Highways at some point; it's the one of the four books by him that I don't own. I have PrairyErth, but have not read beyond the first couple of chapters. That one is also on my list. I see from looking at Heat-Moon's Amazon.com page that he's written another travel book, published in 2008, Roads to Quoz, about looking for the peculiar in America. He takes his wife (third?) along on that one, so maybe he got a clue about relationships after his river journey "flattened" (as he puts it) his second marriage.
When I finished River-Horse, I returned to the Dick Francis novel I was reading, Crossfire, co-authored by his son, Felix. (I sometimes wonder how much Dick got involved with writing in the last few years of his life.) Felix is as talented as his father, it seems, and will surely continue the Francis tradition of writing compelling mysteries about the horsey set. Crossfire was a very good read--a complex plot involving an Afghanistan veteran who lost his leg in an IED explosion. When he returns to England to reluctantly begin his civilian life, he finds he must rescue his horse trainer mother, whether she wants him to or not. I recommend it highly, especially to Francis fans.
But what to read next? I think this time I'll take another turn to the scholarly, and read a book I've been meaning to read for many years: The Signifying Monkey, by Henry Louis Gates, first published in 1988. It's a book that attempts to help readers understand African American literature through understanding African American mythology and cultural roots.
You may know Gates from his PBS specials about genealogy, African American Lives and Faces of America. You may also remember his dispute with the Cambridge police when he was arrested for trying to break into his own house. (See report here: Gates' arrest.) Later, he and the police officer had a "beer summit" with Obama.
Though The Signifying Monkey will not be an easy read, I'm looking forward to delving back into lit crit. Since I am currently watching the Ken Burns miniseries Jazz, I think Gates' book will add to my enjoyment of it.
So stay tuned!
Saturday, June 11, 2011
The Rockies: All Downhill from Here!
At this point in River-Horse we're in the Rockies, boating or canoeing down mountain streams. It's a difficult way, since the water is unpredictable, and what's underneath the water even more so. But they're slowly heading toward the Continental Divide, where they will finally be going downstream, after weeks of traveling upstream on the Mississippi and the Missouri Rivers.
The writer is an interesting fellow; his voice is quite distinctive. He characterizes his crew and others he meets along the way as highly skeptical of his venture, and critical of him for trying it. It seems in every chapter he needs to make it clear to the reader and his crew that he's the one true believer in their ability to make it to the Pacific. Every day, it seems, he must convince them to stick with it. He keeps going despite the odds because to him it's a quest--they're just along for the ride. I wonder if his crew would characterize it the same way. It'd be interesting to see if their comments have been published anywhere.
Heat-Moon does seem an egotist, but he also seems very concerned about the environment and how industry and government are wrecking it. He acknowledges the changes that are slowly taking place, though, in how waterways are treated and used. (He gives a begrudging nod to the Corps of Engineers now and again.) Sometimes he even seems conflicted about what is better--the improved waterway or the wild river. The wild river is more scenic, more natural, but not very easy to navigate, and in those places where it has been made into a channel or a reservoir, Heat-Moon seems at times relieved to have a break from the natural river with all its twists and turns, variable depths, and unexpected hazards. One can imagine that's how people in the 19th and early 20th centuries felt when the improvements were first made.
I'm still enjoying the book and the author's rich descriptions of each place with its flora and fauna and its bipedal inhabitants and their structures. I think, though, that I too am going to be happy when we're on the downhill side of the journey, at the tail of the Snake, as it were. The fact that I feel that way is a masterful stroke on the author's part, I think. He is not just chronicling the journey; he's making the reader feel it as much as possible the way he felt it. When we come to the end we will be as jubilant as he, I think.
There's an interesting part of the book that points to that effect in a way. When he's traveling through the flat landscape of the Dakotas, instead of narrating the highlights day by day, as he has done throughout the book, he reproduces his journal entries covering several days at once. In this way he shows us that it is so tedious, so unchanging from one day to the next, that summary is the best way to convey it. What was most interesting to me, though, is realizing that he had been narrating one day at a time (a day per chapter)--he had purposely been going that slowly.
I hope to have River-Horse finished by next week. I'm going to feel a little like Lewis and Clark, I think, by the time I reach the Pacific: "Ocean in view! O! the joy."
The writer is an interesting fellow; his voice is quite distinctive. He characterizes his crew and others he meets along the way as highly skeptical of his venture, and critical of him for trying it. It seems in every chapter he needs to make it clear to the reader and his crew that he's the one true believer in their ability to make it to the Pacific. Every day, it seems, he must convince them to stick with it. He keeps going despite the odds because to him it's a quest--they're just along for the ride. I wonder if his crew would characterize it the same way. It'd be interesting to see if their comments have been published anywhere.
Heat-Moon does seem an egotist, but he also seems very concerned about the environment and how industry and government are wrecking it. He acknowledges the changes that are slowly taking place, though, in how waterways are treated and used. (He gives a begrudging nod to the Corps of Engineers now and again.) Sometimes he even seems conflicted about what is better--the improved waterway or the wild river. The wild river is more scenic, more natural, but not very easy to navigate, and in those places where it has been made into a channel or a reservoir, Heat-Moon seems at times relieved to have a break from the natural river with all its twists and turns, variable depths, and unexpected hazards. One can imagine that's how people in the 19th and early 20th centuries felt when the improvements were first made.
I'm still enjoying the book and the author's rich descriptions of each place with its flora and fauna and its bipedal inhabitants and their structures. I think, though, that I too am going to be happy when we're on the downhill side of the journey, at the tail of the Snake, as it were. The fact that I feel that way is a masterful stroke on the author's part, I think. He is not just chronicling the journey; he's making the reader feel it as much as possible the way he felt it. When we come to the end we will be as jubilant as he, I think.
There's an interesting part of the book that points to that effect in a way. When he's traveling through the flat landscape of the Dakotas, instead of narrating the highlights day by day, as he has done throughout the book, he reproduces his journal entries covering several days at once. In this way he shows us that it is so tedious, so unchanging from one day to the next, that summary is the best way to convey it. What was most interesting to me, though, is realizing that he had been narrating one day at a time (a day per chapter)--he had purposely been going that slowly.
I hope to have River-Horse finished by next week. I'm going to feel a little like Lewis and Clark, I think, by the time I reach the Pacific: "Ocean in view! O! the joy."
Sunday, June 5, 2011
The Slow Route to the Sea
Nikawa is slowly crossing the country by waterway, and encountering many interesting people and places along the way. There have been challenges, mostly because the year they chose to make this journey was a year of exceptionally high water and flooding. Both the Mississippi and the Missouri Rivers were quite full and flooding in some places. They've encountered people building sandbag levees to keep the water out, and they've dealt with the effects of fast moving, deep water. One of the most nerve-wracking effects is the number of uprooted trees and the amount of other debris that ends up in the water, lurking just below or above the surface, nearly invisible until they're close to it.
They've almost run out of gas on more than one occasion, having to hike into town with gas cans to get enough to take them to the next town. But they've had lots of unexpected help, too. In many towns and even a few cities, people have been willing to give them rides to get gas or supplies and offer them tips on where to stay or get a good meal. A few people have even tagged along for a stretch, helping them negotiate a particular portion of the river, guiding them around its hidden dangers. And in cafes and taverns along the way, people have provided conversation and cameraderie and interest in their project.
I'm past the middle now, as are Mr. Heat-Moon and his companions. They're on the upper Missouri, where the river is still largely untamed. (That has its advantages and disadvantages, apparently.) Soon they'll have to switch to mountain streams and face all the challenges those waterways will bring.
Despite the slow pace of the narrative (which matches the slow pace of the journey), I find myself eager to see what waits for the intrepid travelers around the next bend of the river. That to me is the mark of a good book!
See you in the Rockies!
They've almost run out of gas on more than one occasion, having to hike into town with gas cans to get enough to take them to the next town. But they've had lots of unexpected help, too. In many towns and even a few cities, people have been willing to give them rides to get gas or supplies and offer them tips on where to stay or get a good meal. A few people have even tagged along for a stretch, helping them negotiate a particular portion of the river, guiding them around its hidden dangers. And in cafes and taverns along the way, people have provided conversation and cameraderie and interest in their project.
I'm past the middle now, as are Mr. Heat-Moon and his companions. They're on the upper Missouri, where the river is still largely untamed. (That has its advantages and disadvantages, apparently.) Soon they'll have to switch to mountain streams and face all the challenges those waterways will bring.
Despite the slow pace of the narrative (which matches the slow pace of the journey), I find myself eager to see what waits for the intrepid travelers around the next bend of the river. That to me is the mark of a good book!
See you in the Rockies!
Monday, May 30, 2011
More to Come Soon!
I'm afraid I've been remiss in posting to my blog these last couple of weeks. I have a pretty good excuse: I was on vacation, and busy with traveling, so I wasn't able to do much reading, except for a couple of mysteries which I may discuss later.
I've returned to work this week, however, which means bus rides and reading. I'm still working on River Horse. Mr. Heat-Moon and his pilot are now traveling down the Ohio River, sometimes through locks and dams, past a variety of towns and cities where they encounter interesting places and people.
I'll write more about this book this coming weekend. So stay tuned!
I've returned to work this week, however, which means bus rides and reading. I'm still working on River Horse. Mr. Heat-Moon and his pilot are now traveling down the Ohio River, sometimes through locks and dams, past a variety of towns and cities where they encounter interesting places and people.
I'll write more about this book this coming weekend. So stay tuned!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Dispatches from Nikawa
Well, it turns out that River Horse is a very interesting book! It's a travelogue of sorts, being the chronicle of William Least Heat-Moon's journey across America by watercraft (mainly his C-dory he has named Nikawa, an Osage word meaning river-horse). He starts at the mouth of the Hudson River and ends at the mouth of the Columbia River, staying on rivers the whole way except for two places where he portages his C-dory for some miles, in New York and in the Rocky Mountains.
So far I've read about the Hudson River, the Erie Canal, Lake Erie, and the Allegheny River. The author describes the trip down (or up) each waterway, bringing in history and geography about the river and the surrounding areas. The first surprise I got was that the Erie Canal is still open, although no longer being used for commercial shipping. There were interesting descriptions of how the locks work and what the towns along the way look like.
I was also surprised to learn that Lake Erie was rough sailing. Heat-Moon and his pilot had such a tough time going across it, in fact, that they decided to get out of it sooner than they had planned. The reason, apparently, is its relative shallowness, along with the winds that rake across it constantly.
As someone used to traveling by car or plane or train, I was struck by the different perspective one gets from a watercraft--seeing the backsides of towns, as it were. And also striking was the realization that the country is no longer set up for water transport as it was long ago; the car has taken over as our means of getting from one place to the next, and all the commerce is geared toward attracting motor-vehicle-borne travelers. I would imagine that in the old days, billboards and other signs could be found just outside a town, but facing the river!
Heat-Moon gives us all the details of the trip, from the technical aspects of sailing through locks to his more poetically-expressed thoughts about what he sees. He's a man who loves words, so he uses plenty of them, yet I never get the sense that his prose is wordy in the pejorative sense. And since I love words too, I don't mind!
Next is the Ohio, which is a long river with many towns and cities along the way. Should be interesting! Stay tuned for more dispatches from Nikawa.
So far I've read about the Hudson River, the Erie Canal, Lake Erie, and the Allegheny River. The author describes the trip down (or up) each waterway, bringing in history and geography about the river and the surrounding areas. The first surprise I got was that the Erie Canal is still open, although no longer being used for commercial shipping. There were interesting descriptions of how the locks work and what the towns along the way look like.
I was also surprised to learn that Lake Erie was rough sailing. Heat-Moon and his pilot had such a tough time going across it, in fact, that they decided to get out of it sooner than they had planned. The reason, apparently, is its relative shallowness, along with the winds that rake across it constantly.
As someone used to traveling by car or plane or train, I was struck by the different perspective one gets from a watercraft--seeing the backsides of towns, as it were. And also striking was the realization that the country is no longer set up for water transport as it was long ago; the car has taken over as our means of getting from one place to the next, and all the commerce is geared toward attracting motor-vehicle-borne travelers. I would imagine that in the old days, billboards and other signs could be found just outside a town, but facing the river!
Heat-Moon gives us all the details of the trip, from the technical aspects of sailing through locks to his more poetically-expressed thoughts about what he sees. He's a man who loves words, so he uses plenty of them, yet I never get the sense that his prose is wordy in the pejorative sense. And since I love words too, I don't mind!
Next is the Ohio, which is a long river with many towns and cities along the way. Should be interesting! Stay tuned for more dispatches from Nikawa.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
From Murder Mysteries to Nature's Mysteries
I finished Body Work this week and while it did have a slow start, it picked up after a while and I got involved in the plot and some of the characters, once they were finally introduced. It remained a plot that had trouble hanging together, though. Loose ends were finally tied up, but by then my interest in those plot segments had waned. I would recommend this book only to dedicated mystery readers.
So now I have to choose a new book, and I'm thinking about River Horse, by William Least Heat-Moon. All the current talk of rivers and flooding has got me interested in reading about them. River Horse: The Logbook of a Boat Across America chronicles a journey the author took from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, all by river. I bought the book quite a while ago, and have been wanting to find the time to read it. But now it seems I have run out of excuses. The book's not short, though: 528 pages. Perhaps that's what discouraged me from reading it before; like Jackie Robinson, the daunting heft of River Horse kept it on the shelf all these years.
But no more. River Horse will fall like the others, and I will be better for it. And so, I hope, will you!
So now I have to choose a new book, and I'm thinking about River Horse, by William Least Heat-Moon. All the current talk of rivers and flooding has got me interested in reading about them. River Horse: The Logbook of a Boat Across America chronicles a journey the author took from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, all by river. I bought the book quite a while ago, and have been wanting to find the time to read it. But now it seems I have run out of excuses. The book's not short, though: 528 pages. Perhaps that's what discouraged me from reading it before; like Jackie Robinson, the daunting heft of River Horse kept it on the shelf all these years.
But no more. River Horse will fall like the others, and I will be better for it. And so, I hope, will you!
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