The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver (audio)

Posted on April 30, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Another long review – sorry – but one of the best books I’ve read this year, so consider sticking it out with me. Or, go to the very bottom for my two-sentence review. 🙂 Many thanks.

Reviewing The Lacuna daunts me. How to capture the enormous world that is this book in a brief (readable) blog post? I have only read three other of her books (liked The Bean Trees and Animal Dreams; not so much The Poisonwood Bible; all pre-blog, unfortunately) but from what I know, this is by far her best. (Her own website calls it her “most accomplished novel”). It is a Big Thing.

I shall take this one step at a time. Plot summary. A young boy named Harrison William Shepherd is born in 1916 to an American father, a bean-counter for the government in Washington, D.C., and a Mexican mother, Salomé. He spends his childhood mostly in Mexico, with a brief interlude at a military school in the US, and ends up working in his teens for Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, first as Diego’s plaster mixer, then as a cook and secretary and Frida’s companion. When Lev Trotsky arrives as a political exile from Soviet Russia, he acts as secretary and cook to him, too, following Trotsky when he splits from the Riveras; he is at Trotsky’s side when he is assassinated. Shepherd (who goes by various names depending on who’s talking) never considers himself exactly an ideological follower of the communist cause, but his sympathies are naturally aligned with those of his famous employers, for whom he has great respect.

Following the assassination, he begins a new life in Asheville, North Carolina, becoming a famous author of novels set in ancient Mexico; but the trauma of Lev Trotsky’s bloody demise, Shepherd’s sexual orientation, and his extremely shy and self-effacing demeanor keep him isolated from an American world that feels foreign. He closely follows international politics through the second World War, the United States’ sudden reversal of regard for Stalin, and the Dies Committee (which contacted Trotsky when Shepherd was with him) becoming the House Unamerican Activities Committee – which eventually begins to investigate Shepherd himself. This turn of events shocks our protagonist, who sees himself as an insignificant and apolitical player, but whose new Jewish-New-Yorker lawyer is alarmed at the skeletons he hides in his closet: to the point, an association with the late Trotsky and the still-active Kahlo and Rivera. The Asheville era in Shepherd’s life yields new and likeable characters in the lawyer, Artie Gold, and Shepherd’s secretary-companion, Appalachian native Violet Brown. (I think Kingsolver had fun with these *colorful* names, ha.) The FBI’s investigation of Shepherd threatens to tear down the precariously balanced, agorophobic life that he has so carefully constructed in Asheville; and here I’ll stop. I liked the ending, despite its considerable sadness.

Violet Brown is an important part of the story in terms of format. The story is told almost entirely in Shepherd’s own voice. As presented, he wrote the first chapter of his memoir and then quit; this chapter opens the book, and then we get Mrs. Brown as “archivist” explaining the reversion to Shepherd’s journals starting at age 14. The rest of the book is pulled from these (fictional) journals, with interjections from our archivist here and there, as well as a number of newspaper and magazine articles (Kingsolver notes which are real articles at the beginning of the book for your reference; my impression without checking each one is that most are real) and assorted samples of Shepherd’s correspondence. It is a very interesting format, raising all kinds of questions about voice and the progression of voice. I wondered, upon that first shift from an already-published 30-year-old author’s writing to a 14-year-old’s journal, whether Kingsolver didn’t trust her audience to start off that way? But I ended up feeling that this shifting voice felt very real; I enjoyed it. Violet’s role in Shepherd’s life was ambiguous quite far into the story, which kept me wondering, in a good way.

Another aspect of format I must mention is the audio version I listened to – narrated by Kingsolver herself, and to great effect. I loved her work here; every character had a voice, an accent, a lilt, a manner of speaking, and these were important in a story peopled by Mexicans with various backgrounds, a cross-bordered Mexican-American confused about where he might belong, an Appalachian-hills woman who worked hard for her education, and a New York Jew. Shepherd’s speech cadence as performed by his creator was remarkable and memorable; it increased my enjoyment of this story. The only drawback to the audio format is that I am always driving, or washing dishes, or in the gym, etc., when I’m listening, and therefore failed to mark down for you any number of remarkable lines I would have liked to share.

I was completely drawn into Shepherd and his world. I found Frida Kahlo compelling, which I think is faithful to her real life. The Mexico Kingsolver paints is so real, so filled with sensory stimulation, and in some ways familiar – the foods I eat, the places I’ve visited – which I think always gets a positive reader reaction. And the linguistic nuance of a boy (and man) who speaks both his languages with an accent, who brings Spanish structures into English, was so authentic, I just ate it up. (Like Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, one of my most favorite books ever.) And then the politics – the evocation of such a complex, rapidly changing, schizophrenic period in our history, through the Bolshevik Revolution, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, Hoovervilles, WWII, Roosevelt’s death, HUAC… it was so very dense. I was reminded of Stephen King’s 11/22/63 (which is the more recent work), another novel set in real historical events that successfully evoked a vivid time and place; but The Lacuna built a bigger world, was more literary and flowery, and in my opinion was better (sorry, Stephen).

Part of this book’s fascination for me lay in its explanation of the hatred and fear of communism, Communism, and its various permutations and misunderstandings during an era before my birth. Kingsolver’s characters helped me work through some of my questions about this time and this perplexing, unreasonable fear; Shepherd shares my confusion, and the lawyer Artie Gold does a fair job of helping him think it through (as does Violet Brown, for that matter). Coming near on the heels of A Difficult Woman which I loved so much, and which raised so many questions for me, The Lacuna‘s further exploration of the anticommunist era and my reading of it was very timely.

I’m sorry I’ve gone on so long; it’s only out of my enthusiasm for this dense and complex story that brought me so many emotions and questions. In a few words, The Lacuna is beautifully constructed and beautifully written, a story about artists and the power of art, about Frida Kahlo and Lev Trotsky and American anticommunism. I highly recommend it.

Rating: a rare 10 Mexican murals.

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A Sand County Almanac: With Essays on Conservation by Aldo Leopold

Posted on April 28, 2012 by pagesofjulia

First, let me say a word about this edition. I requested A Sand County Almanac from my local public library, and took what they gave me. It was only by luck (or, more to the point, the wise purchasing decisions of said library) that I got this lovely anniversary edition, with introduction by Charles W. Schwartz and photographs by Michael Sewell. The introduction explains that Schwartz & Sewell spent time on Leopold’s ranch, the place where Leopold wrote, and that he wrote about; all the photographs were taken either on the ranch or in the surrounding environs (where Leopold wandered as well). If you can get a hold of this edition, by all means DO: the photos are to die for, and really add something to the text itself, and I found Schwartz’s introduction to be helpful in placing, and appreciating, Leopold’s work. I’m not completely clear on what’s included in every edition of the title ‘A Sand County Almanac‘, so please ‘scuse my ignorance, but this edition did include two essays following the twelve-month formatted almanac: “Marshland Elegy” and “The Land Ethic.” I’m not sure they’re included in every edition.

I was drawn to this book by its place in the genre of literary nature writings that I am recently enamored of; starting with Fire Season of course, which then led me through Edward Abbey and miscellaneous others. It was also recommended on the Gila National Forest’s recommended reading page (scroll to bottom), which I’ve been referencing in preparation for a trip there this summer.

Aldo Leopold was an pioneer in the conservation and restoration movement, early in the definition and creation of ecology or environmentalism. His Almanac belongs in line with the works of Muir, Thoreau, Rachel Carson, and Edward Abbey. This is a beautiful book. Leopold is among the best of his genre: he writes lyrically, passionately, bringing to life and recognition the smallest and most seemingly insignificant pieces of his world. There is humor, celebration, and thoughtful consideration and development of a philosophy for the burgeoning movement; Leopold is one of its fathers, without question (see Schwartz’s discussion in the introduction of how far his influence extends today). This book is filled with calls to action, as well as quiet, reverent praise and celebration of the minutest members of the natural world.

Leopold writes from his ranch in the “sand counties” of Wisconsin, where he dedicated himself on weekends to restoring the land and its inhabitants to their previous state of nature, before agriculture, cattle ranching, and industry encroached. Schwartz’s introduction emphasizes that Leopold’s great work on conservation and restoration is now perhaps best applicable to restoration, as “almost all the wilderness that can be saved has been saved. For the duration of our time on the planet – for whatever piece of eternity we have left here – restoration will be the great task” (Schwartz). Leopold was quite successful on the 120 acres under his care. “On the road to extinction, traffic travels both ways,” writes Schwartz, noting the repopulation of sandhill cranes in the state of Wisconsin since Leopold’s day.

The loving and thoughtful process Leopold undertook on this ranch is contemplated in this book, first in twelve month-chapters, January – December, in which he describes what he sees and discusses the significance of the passing seasons, the migrations of the sandhill cranes, the felling of “the good oak.” Thus the reader is let inside the process, not only of Leopold’s growing and maturing love for his world, but of the development of ecological philosophy. As Schwartz points out, the philosophy has continued to develop beyond Leopold’s understanding: for example, he overplanted pines on his land at the expense of other trees; he was an avid hunter, which habit would at least come under discussion today. But his legacy is palpable. Following the twelve-month almanac, in two essays, he further develops eco-philosophies, for example, the concept of the pyramid of life, in which he takes our well-known concept of food chains and ties these innumerable chains together into an infinitely complex pyramid.

I found much to appreciate in this book. Leopold is thoughtful, writes beautifully, poignantly, evocatively, makes me want to see and touch and smell the world he describes. Sewell’s accompanying photographs complete the experience; the only thing better would be to be there, myself. It is an important work; despite being more than 50 years old now, the philosophies Leopold develops are, heart-breakingly, more relevant than ever.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite lines:

Books on nature seldom mention wind; they are written behind stoves.

Leopold has gotten out into the draft to bring back to us the sensation of movement. Read him!

Rating: 9 lovely drifting leaves.

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Down the River by Edward Abbey

Posted on April 24, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Down the River is a collection of Abbey’s essays, mostly (if not all) previously published in various publications but generally (if not always) reworked for latter publications, as was his habit. The theme here, of course, is rivers; but he uses his theme lightly and spreads it out wide. The collection has four parts. Part I, “Thoreau and Other Friends,” gives us “Down the River with Henry Thoreau,” a lengthy study of that man over the course of Abbey’s ten-day trip down the Green River in Utah with friends. “A crusty character, Thoreau. An unpeeled man. A man with the bark on him.” …about which the same could be said of Abbey himself. Also in this first section appears “Watching the Birds: the Windhover,” about a season spent as a fire lookout, looking out also for birds, in which he gives us this lovely image:

The redtail hawk is a handsome character. I enjoyed watching the local hunter come planing through the pass between our mountaintop and the adjoining peak, there to catch the wind and hover in place for a while, head twitching back and forth as it scans the forest below. When he – or she – spots something live and edible, down she goes at an angle of forty-five degrees, feet first, talons extended, wings uplifted, feathers all aflutter, looking like a Victorian lady in skirts and ruffled pantaloons jumping off a bridge.

Part II is “Politicks and Rivers” and earns its name; here Abbey waxes philosophical and praises nature while criticizing our treatment of her. Part III, “Places and Rivers,” tells more stories of Abbey’s river trips, to which I am especially partial; his descriptions of lost (or soon-to-be-lost) rivers and valleys and canyons are poignant and might in fact make you cry. Finally, Part IV, “People, Books and Rivers” contains “Footrace in the Desert,” detailing possibly Abbey’s first and last running race, and a lovely portrait of John de Puys (“My Friend Debris”), Abbey’s good friend. It finishes with “Floating,” another dirge for lost rivers.

Repeatedly Abbey is funny, even ridiculous, and often lecherous. But this is also a man who has me looking up words like ‘gelid’ (‘very cold, icy, or frosty’), ‘dithyrambic’ (‘wildly enthusiastic; wildly irregular in form’), ‘oleaginous’ (‘rich in, covered with, or producing oil’), and who uses phrases like ‘concupiscent scrivener’ (definition: Edward Abbey). Remember, he had a master’s degree in philosophy. But he also writes, in “Meeting the Bear,”

Though a sucker for philosophy all of my life I am not a thinker but – a toucher. A feeler, groping his way with the white cane of the senses through the hairy jungle of life. I believe in nothing that I cannot touch, kiss, embrace – whether a woman, a child, a rock, a tree, a bear, a shaggy dog. The rest is hearsay. If God is not present in this young prickly pear jabbing its spines into my shin, then God will have to get by without my help. I’m sorry but that’s the way I feel. The message in the bottle is not for me.

This collection, like *almost all the Abbey I’ve read, I highly recommend. It offers a great and varied example of his best nonfiction; it’s poignant, funny, light-hearted and deathly serious, and beautifully, beautifully done. I hope you love it as much as I do.

*Continue to beware of Black Sun for its self-indulgent and unrealistic fantasy of the middle-aged man landing a sex-hungry teenaged virgin for wild romps in a natural paradise.

Rating: 8 raft trips.

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Lonely Planet Ireland

Posted on April 22, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I took a fresh new 2012 copy of Lonely Planet Ireland with me on our trip there recently. My parents are fairly experienced travelers and users of travel guides, and my mother recommended Lonely Planet just barely above Rick Steves for our use on this trip. Also, the first Dublin taxi cab driver we encountered raved on and on (and on; he was a real talker) about the author of the Dublin & Cork sections, Fionn Davenport. The book was recommended, is what I’m saying.

And frankly, I was disappointed. This book frustrated me repeatedly. A few beefs:

  • A number of places and businesses that I was interested in appeared on maps of various cities but apparently had no other reference in the book. These include the hotel nearest the Guinness Storehouse (showed on the map with a name but no other info: no contact info, no price range) and, surprisingly, the Jameson Distillery. I know they give tours there because a friend of mine took one recently; but again, other than appearing on a map, no Jameson in the book.
  • The price of a train from Cork to Dublin was quoted in the book, and was within a Euro of being correct (it is a current book, after all; and I happily allow a few dollars’ discrepancy) but there was no mention of the fact that that price applies for online purchases only and if you show up to buy tickets in person the price almost doubles. This cost us almost $100 and is a great example of where a guidebook could have paid dividends. But didn’t.
  • Recommended that we not order Guinness in Cork but didn’t explain why. What is the cultural beef there? What are the consequences? Please teach me something!
  • Map unclear on national border between Republic of Ireland and North Ireland. As we drove from one to the other we kept wondering; no map in the book helped. Beyond that, I looked around for discussion of the two countries, their relationship, differences beyond the pound vs. the Euro, and found none.
  • Perhaps the biggest issue of all: no warning about “dry Friday” (Good Friday, when no alcohol is sold in the Republic). This, after saying something to the effect that “pubs are likely to be a large part of your reason for visiting” (they were) and “you may find it awkward to turn down a drink.” I think “dry Friday” deserved a mention. Even in the “Holidays” section, when I looked it up, it indicated that “many businesses close” but it is not a formal or legal holiday; which is not what we found there. Again, another failed opportunity for this guidebook to save the day.

I think this book missed several important points. But on the other hand, having it around was far better than having no book at all! The maps helped us get around on a few occasions (although they were far from ideal), and it gave us a few options for activities that we hadn’t considered. It helped explain Dunluce Castle after we saw a sign, and that helped us decide to stop. It told us about the Belfast black taxi tours of the political murals, that we ended up enjoying so much. It recommended the restaurant we ate at in Cork – which, by the way, despite being this book’s “top pick” we found just mediocre. Final verdict? Carry this book rather than no book at all. But in the future, I will look elsewhere than Lonely Planet for my travel guide needs.

Rating: 2 pubs.

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Taco USA by Gustavo Arellano

Posted on April 19, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A deliciously close-up look at Mexican food in the United States.


Gustavo Arellano is the author of the nationally syndicated column ¡Ask a Mexican! (and a 2008 book by the same title). Fans will recognize his voice in Taco USA: wise and knowledgeable, but always conversational and informal, even rambling–and very, very funny. Arellano capably handles the history of Mexican people and their cuisine, but Taco USA is less about Mexican food in Mexico than about its interpretations in the United States.

Several waves of Mexican food that have swept the U.S. (beginning with tamales and chile con carne or “chili”), and Arellano treats these as historical trends, tying them to larger themes in U.S. food history. We are reminded that Mexico is the source for global food staples such as corn, tomatoes and chocolate as well as the chile itself. Arellano refutes an emphasis on “authentic” Mexican cuisine in favor of the various permutations (Cal-Mex, Tex-Mex, southwestern, even Midwestern Mexican) that we know and love today. These are not bastardizations, he argues, but legitimate culinary heritages unto themselves, related to the Mexican tradition but not beholden to any of its rules. He is obviously passionate about his subject, which takes him from Taco Bell to Mission-style burritos to Rick Bayless.

Even the experienced border-dweller or Mexican food aficionado is likely to learn a lot, and giggle while doing so. What more can one ask of nonfiction? Just beware a growing desire to run out and get a burrito.

This review originally ran as a *starred review* in the April 17, 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: 8 delicious burritos.

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Jeeves in the Morning by P.G. Wodehouse

Posted on April 16, 2012 by pagesofjulia

More Jeeves! (See my past readings here, here, here, and here.) At this point I’m recognizing all the Bertie-and-Jeeves patterns. There will be daunting aunts; there will be engagements, future, past and present, and conflicts between them; there will be secrets and hiding places and nighttime sneakings around; there will be old school friends and grouchy nobility who Bertie offended when he was young. Perhaps most importantly (to Husband, especially), there are very funny names. Jeeves will, of course, come to the rescue.

In this installment, Jeeves desires to go fishing in a river in the countryside, but Bertie resists visiting the idyllic town of Steeple Bumpleigh (funny name number one) because of the family residing there (daunting aunt) and the resident nobility (grouchy). Also, he dreads contact with Florence Craye, to whom he was formerly betrothed (check), although he has a few old school chums (check) out there as well. Jeeves joins forces with said grouchy nobility and manages to install Bertie in Steeple Bumpleigh, where he ends up bumblingly trying to help said old school chums pull off a desired engagement. Old acquaintances include Nobby Hopwood, Boko Fittleworth, and by far my personal favorite, Stilton Cheesewright. Stilton recalls another occasional Wodehouse pattern: the bicycling policeman.

It’s a funny one, and as a bonus, there is a “fancy dress” (costume) ball. Bertie humbles the nobility some, but it takes Jeeves to finish the job. I continue to be a fan of Wodehouse; he makes me giggle. Bertie does indulge in some misogyny here and there but it did not bother me as much as it did that one time. These books are admittedly more silly than anything else, but that doesn’t make them any less valuable; I think Wodehouse is a genius of comedy, both in phrasing (and names!) and in situations. These are classic comedies-of-error. Recommended.

Rating: 6 giggles.

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Darkness All Around by Doug Magee

Posted on April 15, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Darkness All Around is a psychological thriller involving a fractured trio of childhood friends from smalltown Braden, Pennsylvania. Risa was always expected to marry Alan but ended up getting pregnant with Sean, the third in their clique, and marrying him instead. Sean, struggling with his father’s suicide, ends up a raging drunk and leaves Risa and their daughter Kevin; Alan the ambitious politician helps her have him declared dead after many years’ absence and marries her himself, and takes over parenting Kevin as well. When the book opens, Kevin is the newly-minted football star of deeply football-obsessed Braden; Alan is on the campaign trail headed to Washington; and Risa is not sure she feels in control of her life. And then Sean shows back up.

Sean suffered a brain injury and very nearly died, to come back freshly sober and trying to remember his life before drink. He’s back in Braden without any intention of bothering Risa and Kevin, feeling good about his old friend Alan’s ability to take care of them. Rather, he’s concerned about the decade-old murder of Risa’s friend Carol: despite a local simpleton having confessed to the crime, new flashbacks convince Sean that he was involved. He contacts a local reporter who covered Carol’s death to try and help him figure out what happened; but of course it’s unavoidable, in a town like Braden, for Risa to avoid learning about his return. And Alan is not the least bit tolerant of this disruption of his campaign.

Sean is sick, but recovering – both in terms of his alcoholism, and his amnesia. His memory returns over the course of the book and he struggles to make sense of it. Risa is still dealing with the trauma of her first marriage, and Alan simply comes across as a self-centered jerk. Teenaged Kevin is understandably insecure about his supposedly dead father reappearing on the scene, especially considering his new football-related issues. The local reporter, Henry, was brand-new to town when Carol was killed but is now fully a part of the action. And as you might have guessed, nothing is as simple as it seems.

The action and the suspense are well-done; I had trouble putting this book down and while it didn’t keep me up at night, it thought about it. Except for Alan, who I wanted to kick, the characters were sympathetic and fairly real; Kevin was nicely done as a sometimes-loving and sometimes-wall-punching teen. I really felt for Sean. Limited character development and occasionally awkward dialog will allow me to move on from this book more quickly than some, but it was thoroughly satisfying and worth my time.

This book was sent to me by the author in exchange for my honest review.

Rating: 4 matches.

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The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey

Posted on April 12, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I fear this review won’t do this book justice. Maybe I’m just intimidated. But I read it on vacation and sadly took NO notes – nor do I usually, but it took me a little longer after reading to write the review, and those were hectic days. And it’s a significant book: one of Abbey’s two most famous books, that alongside the nonfiction Desert Solitaire really made his career and solidified his celebrity, as well as birthing the Earth First! organization and movement. If ever a book had a cult following, this is it.

The story follows four individuals. Seldom Seen Smith is a Jack Mormon with three wives in three small towns in Utah; they gave him his nickname for being rarely around any of their three households; he guides river raft trips down the Grand Canyon and generally camps out and around in the natural world more than he stays home. Bonnie Abbzug is a Bronx Jewish girl working out in Albuquerque for Dr. A.K. Sarvis, who when he is widowed takes refuge in Bonnie’s desirable arms. She is much younger and beautiful and very capable; she manages his medical practice as well as satiates his considerable sexual urges. As the book opens, Bonnie and Doc amuse themselves by cutting down billboards with a chainsaw. George Hayduke is a young, muscular, angry Green Beret Vietnam veteran who returned from war with nothing on his mind but the beautiful desert country he loved; upon finding it defiled by industry and roads, he wanders around in a murderous mood until happening upon the other three.

The four form a conflict-ridden union of semi-organized, anarchic environmental activists – stress on the “action” part. They destroy heavy machinery and blow up bridges and the like. The group’s greatest ambition is to take out Glen Canyon Dam and free the mighty Colorado River (and liberate Seldom Seen’s hometown, now underwater, of Hite, Utah). They have adventures and do battle with a small-town Search and Rescue team lead by the Church of Latter Day Saints’ Bishop Love, which is really just a posse of renegades angry at Seldom Seen and whose profits are tied up in the industry that the Monkey Wrench Gang is bent on destroying. There is gunplay; there is infighting; there is sex and camping and nature-praise. It’s rather glorious; The Monkey Wrench Gang is funny and doesn’t take itself too seriously, although its values (pro-nature, anti-development) are definitely heartfelt and poignantly expressed. It’s easy to see how this novel, published in 1975, led like-minded young people to try to live it out.

Common critiques are easily spotted. Most glaringly for me, Bonnie is a sex symbol. Doc is her lover despite being “old and bald and fat and impotent” (the first three are true, the forth patently not; there is reference to his “grand erection,” on which more in a minute) but Seldom Seen openly worships her (which is accepted by all) while Hayduke tries to resist his equally obvious desire. This dynamic is not PC, although I fear it is entirely realistic even today. Knowing just a little about Abbey (one biography, check), it is painfully obvious that Doc (and Hayduke, and Seldom Seen) live out various forms of Abbey’s own lust for vastly younger women (their thighs, their buttocks…) – see again Doc’s “grand erection” even when threatening impotence. This is clearly indulgent of the author’s lechery. But somehow I note that and carry on unoffended. To be fair, Doc is rather laughable. Further, the group is not PC in its attitudes towards American Indians (somewhere in here is the often quoted line “drunk as a Navajo”) or Mormons, continue the list from here. And these are not your average environmentalists; they eat a lot of meat and drive big cars and throw beer cans out the windows along the highway (another famous Abbeyism).

But it’s a hell of a story; I was totally involved, and what can I say, I buy into Abbey’s greatness and went right along with his self-indulgent fantasy. I wanted to see the Glen Canyon Dam come down, too. I wish there was more. Oh wait! Hayduke Lives! That’s gotta be next on the list.

Rating: 8 sticks of dynamite.

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River in Ruin by Ray A. March

Posted on April 11, 2012 by pagesofjulia

One American river’s well-researched journey from trickling stream to environmental disaster.


The Carmel River is barely a stream at its source, less than 40 miles long, and likely known only to the residents of its immediate surroundings. But it has a rich and telling history–from early Spanish explorers to its eventual place on the nonprofit environmental organization American Rivers’ top 10 list of Most Endangered Rivers in 1999. But the Carmel is especially important to journalist Ray March because he grew up nearby; with River in Ruin, he makes an excellent case for its story being an archetype of endangered rivers everywhere.

The paradise that is California’s Monterey Peninsula has attracted settlers since 1602, when Sebastian Vizcaino first discovered the Carmel River. Later, railroad magnates adopted the area as a site for profitable tourism, quickly followed by real estate speculators and the development of several small towns. The original Spanish mission and agriculture, followed by the later hotels, golf courses and townships all relied upon the Carmel for water, requiring the construction of dams and reservoirs and the flooding of idyllic valleys. Ecological implications abound: forest fires were exacerbated by a no-burn policy; the local steelhead population is nearly extinct. March details these and more consequences of local development while showing how the growth of the environmental movement nationwide has paralleled local awareness of the plight of the Carmel River and Monterey Peninsula. March’s treatment of the history, the politics and the personalities involved is heartfelt and personal; several times he consults diaries and includes individual stories (including his own), making the Carmel’s story resonate with his readers.

This review originally ran in the April 6, 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: 7 salmon.

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“A Christmas Memory” by Truman Capote

Posted on April 9, 2012 by pagesofjulia

This short story comes from my paperback copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories. (Yes, I promise the cover image at right is of a book that includes stories, too.) It was just too easy to read this short, sweet, sad tale before bed one night, just before leaving on our trip.

Our first-person narrator is a child of seven, and this is the story of his relationship with his best friend, an unnamed distant cousin, aged sixty-something. She calls him Buddy, after an earlier best friend who died when they were children. Buddy and his friend live together, along with other family members who do not view them as favorably as they do one another. Along with the little dog, Queenie, Buddy and friend are one another’s world. They make fruitcakes together every fall for friends far and wide. There is an inevitable sad ending to this story which you can read into the disparate ages of these two friends if you so choose.

It’s brief and simple in terms of plot, but that is so often true of some of the best pieces of writing. And this piece is lovely. I only knew Capote through In Cold Blood, prior to this; and while that is very different kind of work, I get the same simple evocation of place, of sights and smells and feelings. I think I can best share the beauty of this story by giving you a few short passages.

Meet the friend:

A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable – not unlike Lincoln’s, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid.

After saving up to buy ingredients to make their fruitcakes:

Silently, wallowing in the pleasures of conspiracy, we take the bead purse from its secret place and spill its contents on the scrap quilt. Dollar bills, tightly rolled and green as May buds. Somber fifty-cent pieces, heavy enough to weight a dead man’s eyes. Lovely dimes, the liveliest coin, the one that really jingles. Nickels and quarters, worn smooth as creek pebbles. But mostly a hateful heap of bitter-odored pennies.

On declining an offer to sell the Christmas tree they have just harvested:

“Goodness, woman, you can get another one.” In answer, my friend gently reflects: “I doubt it. There’s never two of anything.”

And the sad ending comes too soon.

I hope these passages shared with you better than I feel able to do, the quiet, loving, reflective mood. It is somber from the beginning, but also loving and solemnly celebratory of the beloved friend. Does that make sense? This story is a masterpiece in understated, simple evocation of emotion and mood.

Rating: 6 coins.

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