Book report 8

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.”