The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris by David McCullough (audio)

greaterjourneyThis is my first experience with the very well-respected David McCullough. “Americans in Paris” is a huge topic; but if anyone can do it justice, we’re told, McCullough might be that one. This feels like a quite comprehensive study of Americans in Paris in the 1800’s, complete with name-dropping and historical context. (I say “feels like” because I don’t have the historical knowledge myself to confirm or question McCullough’s comprehensiveness!)

McCullough follows Americans in Paris more or less chronologically, starting with the 1830’s and following through the end of the century. His subjects range over various disciplines and the story he tells seems to ramble, from art & literature, to medicine, to culture, war, and back to art. In the 1830’s we meet those who were among the first to make the journey, including Ralph Waldo Emerson, James Fenimore Cooper, Samuel Morse, and Oliver Wendell Holmes. A number of chapters are devoted to visual artists and writers, and the artistic superiority of France and the Continent which was only beginning to be challenged by Americans. Samuel Morse not only painted his masterpiece in Paris, but began work on what would become the telegraph; Harriet Beecher Stowe sought escape from the publicity following Uncle Tom’s Cabin; the first American female medical students studied there; and Charles Sumner’s observation of black students in Paris would lead him to a new understanding of black Americans’ abilities, and help him become one of our first abolitionist Congressmen. Rather fewer chapters* are devoted to the medicals, but I enjoyed very much McCullough’s descriptions of the École de Médecine and the American students who studied there. At the time, France was the place to study medicine, and the personalities who taught it loomed large; their role in this section of the book was very entertaining to me. (Also, I thought of The Lady and Her Monsters as McCullough discussed the dissection of cadavers, and their sources.)

Moving forward a few decades, later waves of American visitors to Paris would more commonly bring their families with them to live a fuller life than that of the student or artist; and there would be many more of them. One of the strongest sections of The Greater Journey describes the Franco-Prussian War (1870-71), and the role of American ambassador Elihu Washburne. He was the only ambassador who stayed, and he saved innumerable Americans as well as Germans, helping them evacuate and generally organizing and supporting – literally, in many cases, as he fed & boarded a number of the displaced. He was well regarded for this work, above and beyond the call of duty. The Franco-Prussian War (which felt vaguely familiar to me from my recent readings of de Maupassant), is well told; and McCullough’s description the Paris Commune is evocative and powerful.

Another figure that receives personal attention is sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens, an Irish-American kid from a family of decidedly modest means who travels to Paris and becomes a world-renowned artist. You may know him for his bronze Robert Gould Shaw Memorial on Boston Common and his statue of William Tecumseh Sherman at a corner in New York’s Central Park. Saint-Gaudens’ life is examined from his youth through his old age and death; I found this study of an artist to be a very interesting sub-story within The Greater Journey. Likewise the life of Mary Cassatt, an American painter famous for Impressionism who was significantly shaped by Paris.

In other words, while McCullough seems almost to ramble amongst various people, disciplines, and issues, each of his individual subjects is well-treated and fascinating; and any seeming lack of structure is happily tolerated because all the stories are so enjoyable. It’s not really that the book lacks structure, only that following Parisian Americans chronologically takes us through all these twists and turns. The whole is highly readable and a good primer in French/American history in the 1800’s. For example, one consistent thread throughout is the close relationship shared by our two countries during this century, beginning with General Lafayette’s support of the American Revolution in 1776.

The Greater Journey is an interesting and enjoyable read, a good central place to learn a number of individual facts and anecdotes about Americans traveling and living in Paris in 1830-1900. I have the impression that McCullough’s research is good; I am charmed.

*I am not entirely clear on the proportions of the book devoted to each subject, because I listened to the audio and thus could not grab chunks of pages for visual comparison. It is a shortcoming of the audio format. You get only my impressions.


Rating: 7 croissants.

The World Until Yesterday by Jared Diamond

An ambitious but effective–and charming–exploration of the salutary lessons offered by traditional societies.

For many decades, Pulitzer Prize-winner Jared Diamond (Collapse; Guns, Germs and Steel) has split his time between his native United States and the traditional societies of New Guinea. In The World Until Yesterday, he compares traditional ways of life with “WEIRD” (“Western, educated, industrialized, rich, democratic”) methods of problem-solving. Recognizing the daunting breadth of such a subject, he selects a few areas for examination, including dispute resolution, child-rearing, elder care, religion and the connection between lifestyle and non-communicable diseases like Type II diabetes. In each area, he compares traditional practices with modern ones, considering the evidence from angles both strictly scientific and personal.

Diamond supplements his extensive fieldwork with substantial research to draw credible conclusions and posit plausible theories. But he writes conversationally, using the first person liberally as he meanders across disciplines such as anthropology, sociology, geography, statistics and evolutionary biology. This disarmingly personal tone is one of the greatest strengths of the book. Diamond also discusses preconceived notions that he and the reader may have, then moves on to new theoretical ground. While acknowledging aspects of traditional societies to which we do not wish to return–cyclical violence, infanticide, frequent starvation–he identifies certain strengths as well, like negligible rates of heart disease and restorative justice systems. “What can we learn from traditional societies?” Diamond asks in his subtitle; his plan to discover the wisdom and experimentation of more than 10,000 years of human society is well-executed.


This review originally ran as a *starred review* in the January 4, 2013 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!


Rating: 8 yams.

Life Below Stairs: True Lives of Edwardian Servants by Alison Maloney

A simple but thorough glimpse into the lives of British house servants in the early 1900s.

In the wake of Downton Abbey‘s wild success, Alison Maloney’s Life Below Stairs offers an in-depth look at the lives of the serving class in the era of King Edward VII (1901-1910) and the Great War. She examines all aspects of servants’ place in society and relationships to their masters and one another, including social backgrounds, the responsibilities of each servant in households large and small–from the lowly house or hall boy and the maid-of-all-work to the butler and housekeeper–and their working conditions. She also provides details on fine dining, complete with table service instructions and menus that boggle the mind. Finally, she describes servants’ opportunities for retirement or marriage out of service, giving the modern reader an idea of exactly how limited their lives could be. Many poor children and teens would feel lucky to get a position in a “good house,” and not feel dishonored by such a post–in contrast, a contemporary source relates, “service [was] considered rather degrading in America.”

Although comprehensive in its survey of staff’s lives, options, and conditions, Life Below Stairs is a surprisingly easy read. Short chapters and accompanying tables, contemporary newspaper clippings and illustrations make this an accessible and charming way to study the lives of Edwardian servants. As a companion to Downton Abbey or simply a dip into another time, Maloney’s study satisfies.


This review originally ran in the January 4, 2013 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!


Rating: 6 eyes lowered.

Lost in a Good Book by Jasper Fforde

lostAll those books on my shelves waiting to be read, and I couldn’t resist taking this one out from my local library and jumping in. You will recall that I enjoyed the first Thursday Next book on audio. I couldn’t find this one in that format, so text it is. I have some observations on the format, but first, what is it about?

Thursday Next is back, recently married, and pregnant. She and Landen are happy, but overwhelmed by the publicity linked to her successful but still controversial victory over Acheron Hades, which involved changing the ending of Jane Eyre. The forces of darkness are not through, however: Goliath Corporation wants Jack Schitt back (oh, these names!), and his brother Schitt-Hawse is not afraid to use some pretty ugly blackmail techniques to get him. Landen is in trouble, and Thursday will have to follow Schitt into Poe’s The Raven to execute both men’s safe return. And finally, Acheron Hades may be dead, but (shockingly) he had friends…

Everything I liked about the first book is here: silliness and hilarity, but also some rather sober statements on the ugliness of war, and an evil, all-powerful corporation that is both deliciously ogreish and frighteningly true to life. Not to mention that most central quality: that in this alternate world, books and literature are deeply important to everyone. This fantasy is deeply enjoyable for those of us who feel that way in the real world but who are, sadly, the minority.

What is better about book 2 than book 1 is that there is far more entering of books: in this edition, Thursday acquires the skill, with the help of the Cheshire Cat and Miss Havisham, of reading herself into any book she chooses. Thus we get to visit Sense and Sensibility and The Raven, and of course Great Expectations, as well as a few others, even unpublished manuscripts. Great fun! This aspect of the story’s possibilities (that is, the possibilities of Fforde’s delightful invented world) is not perhaps exploited fully; but the series continues, and I am joyfully anxious to read the next installment.

Format-wise, I loved the voices (and the accents) on the audiobook I listened to of book 1; but there’s a lot to be had in the print version of this one. For one thing, certain inhabitants of Book-World speak to Thursday in foot-notes, which only she can hear and which appear to me as actual foot-notes on the bottom of the page – the disjointedness of which was quite appropriate. I don’t know how that would have been executed in audio format. And there are other things: spellings, subscripts, and the like, that are very much printing jokes, and thus best (only?) enjoyed in print. So while I like the convenience of audio (and the accents!), this may be a series to read in actual book form. Which is probably how Thursday and her Book-World/JurisFiction cohorts would have it, anyway.


Rating: 7 pounds of cheese. (It fits, really.)

The Brave Cowboy by Edward Abbey

bravecowboyThe Brave Cowboy was Abbey’s second novel, published in 1956. It introduces Jack Burns, the eponymous cowboy, who will reappear in a number of Abbey’s works of fiction hereafter. We meet Jack as he rides into town (somewhere in New Mexico) on his horse, grumbling in typical Abbey fashion about the military-industrial complex creeping across the desert wilderness he loves. He visits a friend, Jerry, and her son Seth, to ask about her husband Paul, imprisoned in city jail awaiting transfer to a federal facility for a two-year term for draft dodging. Paul and Jack, it turns out, share a past as anarchist opposers of the war in Vietnam. Jack hides two files in his boots and proceeds to get drunk and look at people funny at a bar; this leads, predictably, to his joining Paul at the city jail, where his plan can begin to take action.

Obviously, Jack is there to bust his friend out of jail. But Paul wants to take an ideological stand, points out that he turned himself in and debated the question of his “crime” purposefully, and intends to serve out his term, not least because jailbreaking would lead to a life on the run and negatively effect his family. Jack is disgusted, frustrated, and miserable in jail himself (being something of an archetypal wild creature that cannot be caged) and breaks out the first night, alone.

Local law enforcement follow Jack and his horse into the hills, bound for the wilderness where they will be unable to track him, ultimately (Jack hopes) to Mexico, or who knows where. No spoilers here.

Jack is a symbol. He is everything that is wild and untameable, and counter to the “civilization” (I think of Huck Finn’s “sivilization”) of city & town, military test ranges, factories, and regular baths. He’s rough-n-tough and (I imagine) everything Abbey dreamed of being. He and Jerry, Paul’s wife, share a moment of sexual tension that goes unexplained; I wonder if light is ever shed on this subject in other novels, or if it’s just a gratuitous moment of sexuality – otherwise absent in this book, unusually for Abbey. The manhunt scenes in the desert canyons are excellent, and reminiscent of those in The Monkey Wrench Gang (which Abbey wouldn’t write for another nine years). And the opposing symbol to Jack Burns, the sheriff Morlin Johnson, is an exquisite picture of everything wrong: he picks his nose and scratches his armpits, grumbles at his wife on the phone, is incompetent in every way; and yet, to Abbey’s credit, he retains some humanizing characteristics as well. For example, he struggles to control the enthusiastic manhunters, reminding them that their quarry is not a murderer and should not be shot on sight.

Literary critics, I imagine, could find points to contend over. The good and evil may be a little straightforward; Abbey never bothered with subtlety in his values. The plot is simplistic. But I don’t necessarily find these to be weaknesses. Jack Burns is an archetype, yes, but he’s a strong and entertaining one. I found the ending (still no spoilers!) powerful. Abbey’s highly realistic descriptions of natural scenery, man’s crude habits and strengths and weaknesses, campsite routine, and urban decay are among the best I’ve encountered. Jack’s horse, Whisky, and the relationship they share were a charming addition. While not complicated in form or message, I found The Brave Cowboy to be an excellent read, and a fair representation of Abbey’s work.

Connections…

This book was adapted into a movie called Lonely Are the Brave, starring Kirk Douglas, in 1962, and I will now be seeking that out.

Also, a later Abbey novel called Fire on the Mountain (which I reviewed, and enjoyed) shares an ambiguous connection. The little boy in that book is named Billy, and seems to be the wrong age to grow up to be Jack Burns. But they share the same grandfather, whose ranch meets the same fate in each telling. Abbey wrote Fire later, and I have no explanation for the disjointed connection between the two stories. Are Billy & Jack brothers? Cousins? Mismatched versions of the same man, early & later in life? I am intrigued.

Another great Abbey novel. Luckily, like Hemingway, Abbey is on the one hand dead and no longer writing, but on the other hand, was prolific enough in life to keep me stocked for the time being. Keep ’em coming.


Rating: 7 stoic, unshaven stares into the middle distance.

The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde (audio)

eyreaffairThe Eyre Affair is the first in the Thursday Next series of bookish mysteries by Jasper Fforde, and I am pleased to have discovered it. The alternate world inhabited by Thursday Next (our protagonist) is ingeniously imagined, fully realized, and great fun: centrally, books are very, very important, and justify an entire branch of law enforcement (which is, admittedly, sort of a stepchild in the law enforcement community, but we’ll take it). Extinct species have been recreated through genetic engineering: Thursday has a pet dodo bird named Pickwick. In a sobering parallel to reality, the Crimean War is ongoing; Thursday opposes it, having served, herself, and having lost her beloved brother in action. Wales is an independent republic. And on, but you get the picture: Fforde is a fine worldbuilder, and his is a world both hilarious and serious.

Thursday works as a LiteraTech, one of those book-police, and is still scarred by her experience in the Crimea, and the loss of her brother there. She remembers fondly her former fiancé, who lost a leg in the same battle, but can’t quite be with him, for reasons we have to learn as the book unfolds. Her father is a time traveler, put briefly, and we get occasional time-stopping visits from him which also color the alternative universe Thursday dwells in. She finds herself a villainous opponent in Acheron Hades, her former college professor and now professional criminal extraordinaire. He has special powers (appearing in various forms, impervious to gunshot wounds) and Thursday is uniquely able to combat him, although not without personal injury and great risk. Their conflict takes Thursday back to her hometown, where we meet her delightful inventor uncle Mycroft (he of the bookworms), and witness the (clearly inevitable) reunion with the former fiancé.

The genius of The Eyre Affair, in case I have not sufficiently made this point, is the world that Fforde creates. All the little details are charming, fun, and silly in the best possible way; the characters are likeable and real. Thursday’s trauma as a war veteran is believable and makes her a fuller character. Her uncle is sweetly flawed and fabulous. Only Landen, the former fiancé, might be a little saccharine; and this is the book’s only real shortcoming: where Fforde digresses into romance he tends to be a little too sweet. His skill is not particularly apparent in terms of plot. The mystery story is fine, passable, amusing – and the villain is deliciously evil, taking pleasure in evil for its own sake – an adequate vehicle for the characters and worldbuilding that are Fforde’s greatest strengths. The love story is a little bit pat, but who cares? Give me more Thursday Next, set in this outrageously entertaining alternate universe, and I will be happy. Oh, and audio reading by Susan Duerden is fun and perfect; I will be looking for her reading of the next book in the series as well.


Rating: 7 dodos.

On Extinction by Melanie Challenger

A lyrical contemplation of biological and cultural extinctions and their significance in our human future.

Poet Melanie Challenger (Galatea) was alarmed to note that while she knew both her grandmother’s and her mother’s favorite wildflower, she did not have a favorite because she didn’t know enough wildflowers from which to choose. In On Extinction, she travels to places that embody the history of human connections to nature and muses on our growing estrangement from our environment.

The title suggests Challenger’s initial focus on extinctions: not only of plants and animals, but of cultures, languages and industries. She quickly discovers a growing secondary interest in nostalgia, like our attraction to extinctions, which makes the dodo bird the subject of so much curiosity. In her travels through the Arctic and the Antarctic, England, South America and Canada, she attempts to reunite with nature and find her own favorite wildflower. She also asks: Can humans live productively in this world without destroying it? She is made hopeful by our reverence for the past and for natural beauty.

Challenger brings a loving sense of wonder to the natural world, realizing how little she knows and relishing the process of learning. She looks backwards with the intent of remaking our future relationship with the planet. She does, as one might expect, discuss Muir and Thoreau, but she also turns to Locke, J.S. Mill, Rousseau and especially Darwin, seeking a philosophy of the natural world and our place in it. Highly literate with a lovely, almost reverent tone, On Extinction notes human threats to our environment but ultimately remains hopeful that we can reestablish a healthy relationship with the Earth.


This review originally ran in the December 21, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!


Rating: 6 falling leaves.

guest review: Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, from Pops

Pops joins us again today to write about a book firmly within his area of expertise: running. We’ve all heard something about Born to Run, I believe. I’ve certainly heard good things; but have never been strongly inclined to pick it up. Pops may change my mind, though.

borntorunI am writing to make a public apology to myself for not reading this book three years ago; and to make a few personal comments for what they’re worth. It’s not coincidence that I pulled it from the shelf soon after reading Ayers’ The Longest Race; that book reminded me that McDougall’s work might contain some of the same magic, which I had (indeed!) delayed for too long. That instinct was accurate; there are similarities between the two that I really appreciated: inspiring depictions of running, fascinating science & history and a wonderful (though different) voice.

Much has already been written about this book, mostly positive and in great thoroughness. I won’t add much to that effort. Another place to look for insight would be McDougall’s website where you can peruse selected readers’ comments; this book has literally changed lives and inspired people. There are also some wonderful photos, which illustrate that this really is non-fiction, as absurd as that may seem while reading it.

I have mentioned before that I collect books about running, particularly in an often frustrating search for good fiction. This is one of the best running books I have ever read. In spite of its connection to reality, it reflects some of fiction’s best elements: humbly heroic characters who are larger than life; a compelling story that defies reality; a romantic adventurous heart; a witty rollicking storyteller’s voice; and sexy women running hard & kicking ass.

I knew bits & pieces about many of the characters in this story, about the ultra running culture and community, about the barefoot running revolution it stimulated and about the Tarahumara Indians. None of that prepared me for such a fun, informative, exciting and ultimately poignant journey. It is always risky to compare writers or books, but I must say that McDougall’s work reminded me in some ways of both Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson. I kept stopping to think “I know this is based on fact, but it’s so wild and so much fun I can’t believe it!”

Arnulfo Quimare, “elite” Tarahumara runner

Arnulfo Quimare, “elite” Tarahumara runner


The poignant part of the story actually arrives outside the book, sharply in the realm of real life but in some ways as hard to believe. This probably qualifies as a spoiler so stop right now if you want to read the book first; but for me it is an important part of the tale. It’s almost like McDougall should write the sequel.

Here is a relevant quote from the book that sets up the surrealistic “real life” conclusion. The main character in the book, Caballo Blanco, is speaking (he worshiped Geronimo as a kid and retained great respect for the Apache warrior.)

“When I get too old to work, I’ll do what Geronimo would’ve if they’d left him alone… I’ll walk off into the deep canyons and find a quiet place to lie down.”

The author then comments: “There was no melodrama or self-pity in the way Caballo said this, just the understanding that someday, the life he’d chosen would require one last disappearance.”

In March of this year (2012) Caballo was visiting southwest New Mexico so he could run the rugged mountain trails in the Gila Wilderness. One day he planned an easy solo run of 12 miles or so – and he never returned. The Forest Service began a search, and many of his friends (including the author and many characters from the book) arrived from around the country to join the hunt by running the trails. On search day 5, it was a group of Caballo’s running friends who found him off an obscure trail near a stream, dead from heart failure apparently unrelated to any disease or abnormality. He was 58 years old.

(This is also a curious “synchronicity” for blog readers who remember our family fixation with Fire Season, which is set only a few miles away from where Caballo met his end.)

You can read more about this sorrowful ending on the author’s web site, various other online sources, or this NY Times story. The author told his own version of this ending in a piece for Outside Magazine.

Caballo Blanco, RIP.

Caballo Blanco, RIP.

Thanks for another solid review, Pops. You make a strong case. Narrative nonfiction (aka “creative nonfiction”) about exciting, culturally diverse, outdoorsy, unbelievable experiences is right up my alley.

Two Friends and The Lancer’s Wife, by Guy de Maupassant

photo credit

Guy de Maupassant (photo credit)

I recently read my very first Maupassant, Boule de Suif, and found it stellarly crafted. Recently I had a few more loose reading moments – the perfect chance to dip back into his short story collection briefly. The next two stories of his that I’ve encountered continue very much in the same subject area. The French are being occupied by the hated Prussians, and the French citizens are more or less commonly outraged, but they all react differently. As in Boule de Suif, the incisive portrayals of human character are the strength of these stories, along with character sketches and images of occupied wartime.

The Lancer’s Wife sees a small band of French soldiers, after a French defeat, living under Swiss protection. Their captain is furious at being removed from the action, and takes a handful of his men, including our narrator, secretly back into France to fight guerrilla-style. This tiny group, joined by the captain’s loyal and martial wife, encounters a tiny Prussian group of fighters, which includes the Prussian lancer’s wife as well. Without spoilers, I shall say that the two wives come face to face, and the issue is one of honor. If the qualities and moral of this story are a little idealistic, I am happy to be forgiving, because it’s well done and a joy to read.

In Two Friends, two Frenchmen who have enjoyed fishing together in the past, but who are now living under Prussian occupation, endeavor to go fishing once again, and are captured by the enemy. Again there is a question of honor. Again high standards are met, and I am left, after these two stories, with a feeling of nostalgia for the fine men and women of a time gone by. These are lofty emotions to be evoked by stories about war; but Maupassant renders the setting so beautifully that, again, I can only marvel at the craft.

I believe Boule de Suif is more or less accepted as his finest story, and it’s true that these, while impressive, were shorter and less impactful. However, they were easy to lose myself in. This man is a master of the short story.


Rating: 7 chins held high.

The Black Box by Michael Connelly

Harry Bosch’s investigation into a 20-year-old murder linked to the Rodney King riots and the first Gulf War is set to a moody jazz soundtrack.

The Black Box, Michael Connelly’s 25th novel, comes 20 years after his first, The Black Echo, which introduced readers to Los Angeles detective Hieronymus (Harry) Bosch. These days, Bosch is working with the LAPD’s Open/Unsolved Unit, and he decides to pursue a 20-year-old case that was originally his: the murder of Danish photojournalist Anneke Jespersen during the 1992 riots. Bosch never got a chance to investigate thoroughly–but, as regular readers know, Bosch never gives up. As he pursues the reason Jespersen came to Los Angeles in the first place, he finds himself investigating war crimes dating back to Desert Storm. Searching for the “black box” that will reveal the recorded secrets of Jespersen’s murder, Bosch also lands (not unusually) on the wrong side of the police department’s leadership.

All the strengths that Connelly’s readers have come to expect are on display. He employs an expert sense of place in evoking a gritty, stark Los Angeles, and the mood of the novel is dark and brooding. The pacing is taut, the characters well developed. Bosch’s side interests in jazz artists like Art Pepper and baseball greats like Casey Stengel provide depth and layers to his personality. Series readers will enjoy the updates on ongoing story lines, as Bosch’s daughter, Madeline, continues to mature and his relationship with girlfriend Hannah struggles along. But like all Connelly’s atmospheric, fully realized novels, The Black Box can also be read as an entirely satisfying stand-alone mystery.


This review originally ran in the December 14, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!


Rating: 6 furrowed brows.