Visit Sunny Chernobyl: And Other Adventures in the World’s Most
Polluted Places by Andrew Blackwell
The author makes a tongue-in-cheek case for establishing
tourism in the world’s most polluted places, and he almost convinces the reader
by enjoying himself in each of the spots he visits. From his writing style, I suspect this is
because he’s a roguishly charming guy who could make friends with a hostile
interrogation squad. The people he meets
are the highlight of the book, but you learn a lot along the way about strip mining,
the treatment of nuclear waste, the “trash island” in the Pacific, etc. He not
a rabid environmentalist, so he seems to present a relatively unbiased picture
of each location, acknowledging the needs of people to coexist with nature
instead of assuming that any human action that damages the environment is inherently
evil.
Wilson by A Scott Berg
I pre-ordered this book on the strength of the excerpt
published in Vanity Fair and because I really enjoyed the author’s biography of
Lindbergh. Unfortunately, that excerpt
comprised the most interesting 15 pages of what was a very long book. Although I picked up some interesting
historical context along the way, like the lengths that women went to in their
fight for the vote and the fact that segregation wasn’t “invented” as an official
government policy until the 1910s, mostly I just ended up hating Woodrow
Wilson. What a sanctimonious
windbag. Perhaps that is what comes of
being a career academic with just a couple of years as governor before assuming
leadership of what coincidentally became the world’s largest superpower during
his time in office. I was also struck by
how little time he seemed to spend actually working and by how easy it was for
his wife and a few key advisors to hide the fact that he was incapacitated by a
stroke for half of his second term in office.
However, the interesting bits of this book did not make up for the hours
I spent with toothpicks holding open my eyelids wishing I would just get to
footnotes and citations and be able to read something else.
Hans and Rudolf: The true story of the German Jew who tracked down and
caught the Kommandant of Auschwitz by Thomas Harding
This author is a descendant of the Nazi tracker, but he
still does an admirable job of presenting an unbiased view of both major
characters. In part, this might be
because he had no idea of the role his relative had played after the war until
attending his funeral. About half of the
book takes place before World War II and explains the context in which each man
develops to lead to the climactic capture.
On the side of Rudolf, it’s an interesting expansion on the “I was just
following orders” defense that so many Nazis gave. For Hans part, the story demonstrates how
strength of character can allow someone to move on even after the most horrific
events. One surprising note was how
difficult Hans found it to join the British military due to his German origins,
even though he and his family were all refugees. For quite some time, he and his brother were
wasted digging ditches since they couldn’t carry guns. However, the Brits were eventually desperate
for any resources they could muster and made better use of the twins and other
refugees keen to defeat their former fatherland.
Winter Season: A Dancer’s Journal by Toni Bentley
Like many women, I’ve always been intrigued by ballerinas,
which seem like some kind of ethereal human-swan hybrid. I read that this was one of the most accurate
depictions of life as a dancer in the corps, although the diary is limited to
one stage season in her career. I
suspect it’s other ballerinas who have found her account so compelling, because
90% of the book is her internal struggle with whether the total dedication
required is worth the meagre output while only 10% covers the day-to-day
details in which non-dancers might be interested.
Most interesting, and difficult to relate to, was how
resistant she was to join her union in seeking additional compensation, even
though the dancers all seem to live just this side of poverty. Somehow being fairly paid would reduce the
sacrifice in being a dancer and thus make the experience less valuable to
her. Perhaps if she’d eaten a full meal in
the last 20 years she might have been able to think more clearly about her own
best interests.
When Dogs Cry by Markus Zusak
I’ve enjoyed all of this author’s books I’ve read, particularly
The Book Thief, which I’m interested
to see on the big screen when the film is released. I’m also a little proud that he’s an
Aussie. This short book details the
perspective and experiences of a working-class Sydney teen who lives in the shadow
of his two more stereotypically masculine brothers. In large part it’s a love story, but it stays
just this side of cheesy. Each chapter
begins with part of an epic poem he’s composing, which I didn’t really get, but
aside from that the book is a good, quick read.
The Tiger’s Wife by Tea Obreht
I can’t remember how I came to own this book, and my
expectations were pretty low as the title had me expecting an emotionally
wrought Oprah’s booklist novel. I
suspect it’s because I was crossing it with The
Life of Pi, which features a tiger.
Regardless of my low expectations, or perhaps because of them, I really
enjoyed this book. The story is of a
young female doctor attempting to practice modern medicine in divided,
superstitious villages of former Yugoslavia whilst unravelling some myths
passed along by her recently deceased father.
The political/historical context with which she struggles is as interesting
as the story itself, and while the antiquated beliefs are not shared by the
author, she is clearly sympathetic to how they developed over centuries of
isolation and hardship.
Mr Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan
This is another book that must have been a gift, although I’m
not sure from whom at this point.
Anyway, a big thank you to them as it was a really enjoyable read. Beneath the plot is an interesting reflection
on the role of technology versus tradition in our society, but the dilemma is
couched within quirky, engaging dialogue and characters. The main character takes a job in what seems
to be a dying bookstore after losing his job as a web designer, only to find
himself embroiled in a mystery as old as the printing press. He includes his eclectic friends, all of whom
work in the technology industry in the Bay area, in his quest to break the code
held in a secretive international library.
I’m not usually a reader of mystery or adventure novels, but I could
barely put this one down until I finished it.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
Written in the 1950s, this was one of the first novels of
the African experience written by an African author, who grew up around
villages similar to the ones depicted in his book before going on to
international renown as a writer and academic.
Similar to The Tiger’s Wife,
the book depicts local superstitions and customs that seem silly to modern
Western readers sensitively and within the context in which they
developed.
The book follows the patriarch of one village family through
his struggles between doing what is expected of him and what his emotions compel
him to do. The book doesn’t pull any
punches, and he is at times a less than relatable character when he chooses to
follow tradition over what his conscience, and modern morality, would suggest
as the best course. During the latter
part of the book, and the reason for the title, white missionaries begin
infiltrating the villages and challenging the traditions that have held the communities
together for centuries to disastrous effect.
Grimus by Salman Rushdie
I’ve always said that Rushdie is one of my favourite authors
because of his cleverly written dialogue and stories, but I’ve found the last couple
of his books that I’ve read quite painful.
During my slog through Grimus,
I pondered whether this might reflect a change in my preferences but arrived at
the conclusion that Rushdie’s books that I love are the ones like The Satanic Versus and Midnight’s Children that take place
within a real historical or cultural context.
All of his books have an element of fantasy, but his books that I’ve
read recently are complete fairy tales without any insight into the real
world. He’s still very clever in his
language (i.e., referring to the shaman as the sham-man in this book), but it’s
not enough when I’m not interested in the story or characters. At least I’ve cracked the mystery so that in
the future I can read his books I am most likely to enjoy and thus avoid “losing”
one of my favourite authors.
The Road to Prevelly by Geoffrey Edwards
Prevelly is the little hillside village on the beach where
Eric surfs and I walk with Oscar on many days.
I picked this local history up on a whim from the shelf at the library,
and I’m so glad I did. The author’s
parents came over from England on the Group Settlement Scheme in the 1920s,
about which I watched a documentary at the local cultural centre (No Milk, No Honey). He knocked around south of Perth doing
various trades until signing up for World War II and being shipped to Crete,
where he made a daring escape from the Nazis.
After returning from the war, he married his sweetheart and they pursued
their dream of building a holiday park on a remote piece of land accessible
only by a rutted dirt fishing track.
Their ambition, persistence, and incredibly hard work lead to the establishment
of a whole beachside community, which he named after the Monastery of Preveli
in Crete, which assisted him during his escape from the Nazis. While not a professional author, his
enthusiasm and positivity make the book a delightful read. When Eric asked me how the book was, I just
told him it was “adorable.”
