Watership Down by Richard Adams

Posted on September 19, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Remember I read Tales from Watership Down a while back? And noted that this was probably really one to have read in order, meaning *after* Watership Down? I was so right. I wonder if I’ll find the time to go back and reread it now; I’d certainly like to.

This is a charming story. It’s about rabbits – but wait, come back! It’s a story of adventure, battles and bravery and trying new things, stepping into the unknown, making new friends. It’s exciting. And while it is enough when read for the explicit story of these rabbits of Watership Down, it can also be considered allegorically, if you’re so inclined.

At the beginning, a rabbit named Fiver has a premonition of something bad coming to the Sandleford warren where he lives. His friend Hazel has learned to trust Fiver’s intuitions, and the two of them attempt to warn the Chief Rabbit; but he will not be warned. Hazel (a leader type) and Fiver (more shy and withdrawn) gather a small group and leave the warren headed for parts unknown. Their comrades include Bigwig, a trained fighter; Blackberry, a cleverer rabbit than most; Dandelion, an accomplished storyteller; and Pipkin, even smaller and less impressive than Fiver. This unlikely crew faces the dangers of traveling through the open, through the woods, and over a small river; they move into a peculiar but welcoming warren for a time, until they discover the strange danger that dwells there, and have to move on again. As a group, they become closer, learn one another’s strengths and weaknesses and learn to work as a team. Finally they settle at Watership Down, and begin to build an idyllic new life, but there’s a missing piece: without does (female rabbits) to bear their kittens, their warren is doomed to extinction. So our friends launch yet another expedition…

As an adventure story, Watership Down has it all: likeable characters with developed personalities; a plot with beginning, middle, and end, during which those characters grow and mature; suspense, danger, excitement, bravery, personal sacrifice, bad guys, good guys, strange and wondrous creatures and happenings. It’s great fun, and I stayed up too late one night because I wanted to know what happened next (always a good sign). This is an enjoyable story.

And then there is the allegory. Much has been written on the topic, and for the most part I’ll leave it for others to cover the concepts of religious symbolism, historical allegory, and the like. I prefer it as a “straight” story of adventure fantasy as experienced by this gang of rabbits. But I will say that I enjoyed the epic-hero aspects, and the fact that the larger rabbit society has its own set of myths, proverbs, and stories passed down through the generation. Story-telling and the remembering of mythical heroes (and the creation of new ones!) play a large role, and this was familiar to me, as I have long loved the ancient Greek myths. Watership Down has been compared especially to the Aeneid; I actually thought of the Lord of the Rings trilogy-plus-one (to include The Hobbit), in terms of the building cadence of action. (Side note: Adams includes a number of quotations and allusions to classical works, lending credence to the idea that he had some of this explicitly in mind.) Also, I found myself musing from time to time on the statements Adams (or his rabbits) might be making about human civilization. The four warrens we see in this story embody four different cultures and styles of organizing citizens; some work better than others. I’ll say no more, because if you read this book, I believe you might enjoy making your own connections as you will. But yes, there is plenty of opportunity to consider allegory at work in Watership Down.

This is definitely an enjoyable read. Early in the book the pace is measured, as we get to know our characters and invest in their fates; when the cards are on the table later on, the pace ratchets up (this is where I didn’t go to bed on time). I thought it was very enjoyable when read “straight”, and would work as a children’s book. But it also offers fodder for serious thought and discussion. I can see why this one has remained in print for so long! Now to track down Tales of Watership Down again…

Rating: 7 bunnies.

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Teaser Tuesdays: Keep It Real, edited by Lee Gutkind

Posted on September 18, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. Be careful not to include spoilers!

What a quick-reading gem of nonfiction writing advice I’ve found here. I like this one for its imagery:

Brevity editor Dinty W. Moore asks his writers for sharp description and careful distillation. “I like to imagine a brush fire, deep inside a national park,” he explains. “The reader is a firefighter, and the writer’s job is to parachute that reader directly to the edge of the blaze to encounter flame and smoke immediately. There is no time for the long hike in.”

I confess my interest in fires and firefighting, especially in the national parks, didn’t hurt the effect this passage had on me. Review coming shortly. I will be recommending this one.

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Meat Eater by Steven Rinella

Posted on September 17, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A loving exploration of hunting–and meat–in human history, and its role in our lives today, from the host of the Travel Channel’s The Wild Within.


Steven Rinella (American Buffalo) grew up hunting, trapping and fishing with his two older brothers. Hunting has played many roles in his life, from a source of income and food to a form of recreation and lifestyle. In a world that increasingly gets its meat from a supermarket, Rinella offers a passionate and reasoned ode to what he calls humankind’s oldest endeavor.

In a series of vignettes, Rinella recounts experiences from childhood through parenthood. He relates the first buck he didn’t get and the experience of trailing mountain lions in Arizona and Dall sheep in Alaska. He describes his first entrepreneurial scheme to trap small mammals and sell their fur, as well as a regretted dalliance with illegal hunting methods. He discusses hunters’ ethics, the rules upon which they do not universally agree, and the idea of “fair chase.” Occasionally, he offers tasting notes on various animals’ flesh, which may be useful to his fellow hunters along with his instructions on preparation–they may also help non-hunters understand the appeal of eating, say, squirrel (not to mention “camp meat”).

“Hunting stories are the oldest and most widespread form of story on earth,” Rinella observes; thus historical anecdotes about Daniel Boone and early hunter-gatherers accompany him in his evolution from hunting for fun and profit to hunting as a way to feed his own family efficiently and mindfully. Meat Eater is a book for the nature lover or the hunter as well as the uninitiated.

This review originally ran in the Sept. 10, 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!

Further thoughts: I just wanted to expand upon the above review, written for Shelf Awareness, and share my personal reaction. I came to this book not entirely ready to ally with the idea of hunting (or even meat eating) as a lifestyle. I eat meat – but I am sympathetic to the vegetarian’s and the vegan’s position, and I was curious about Rinella’s perspective. So what did I find? I found that his arguments and his outlook were both reasonable and well-presented. I was able to sympathize with just about all he had to say. Even my best vegan buddy states that, if he were to eat meat, better that it should be hunted in the wild than captured from one’s grocery store. Still, the facts of our present-day situation – a limited amount of land space and a huge and still-growing population – make a plant-based diet much more efficient. It takes less land to feed a human plants than it takes to feed the animals that will then feed the human. This is more an argument in favor of agriculture than against hunting wild creatures, I know. But still, Rinella’s method works best because he is the tiny minority that he is. We can’t all go hunting in the backcountry for our dinners; the world would not support us all in that way. And just because our ancestors did things a certain way for hundreds or thousands of years, doesn’t mean we should do it that way today. In fact, just the opposite: the world has changed so greatly that it requires different methods of us.

Also, I had to part ways with Rinella when it came to hunting mountain lions. I’m going to stick firmly with Edward Abbey on this issue.

But all that said, this was a good book: well-presented arguments, relatively convincing (even though I’m not ready to sign up for the Rinella Way, he earns my agreement with many of his points), and enjoyable to read, not to mention educational. I had no problem writing the complimentary review, above.

Rating: 7 squirrels.

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Mockingbird by Chuck Wendig

Posted on September 14, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Wendig does it again! You know, it says a great deal about how well his stock is doing at pagesofjulia when I pick up his new book immediately upon its release – this, in a world where my TBR shelves are three and the stacks on the desk are… many. He’s right up there with Tana French.

We left off with Blackbirds, you will recall. Miriam Black, that foulmouthed psychic badass bad girl, had decided to try to settle down with Louis and ignore her (dubious) “gift.” We meet here again here in Mockingbird, and the informed reader will not be surprised to learn that things don’t go so smoothly for her as she’d hoped. In the opening scene, she foresees a bloody death in the immediate future and intervenes… and her life with Louis, rocky at best, comes apart. The lesson Miriam learned in the last book was how to interfere with fate for the cause of Good. Which raises a question: can murder ever be righteous, virtuous, redeemed? The question this book raises is, does the same answer apply when the roles are switched around?

I don’t want to say anything more about plot here (and hopefully I’ve been vague enough), but I will say that this continues in the gritty, grainy badass vein established by Blackbirds. Miriam is her old self, and I love her for it. Louis is rather his old self too, and he was pretty charming. A new and likeable character is born in a certain schoolteacher undaunted by mortality; and we meet a … there’s a villain. And the villain is interesting, too. And there are little girls.

The strengths of Blackbirds are all present: pacing, characterization, and loads and loads of atmosphere. I am crazy for Miriam’s brand of crazy. She undergoes a change here, something that feels alarmingly like altruism; she almost seems to be capable of forming bonds. And like Blackbirds, it ends with a twist. I’m afraid I can’t say much more about the book without feeling like I’m giving something away… the plot really needs to be revealed in your reading. What I can say is about style. Wendig is almost Hemingwayesque (what? roll with it), but even punchier, and harsher. Come to think of it, maybe I could say the same about Miriam.

Forgive my brief review; but please be impressed by the fact that I will, again, pick up the next book as soon as it’s released. Apparently that will be Cormorant. Get with it, Wendig.

Rating: 7 psychic visions.

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The Invisible Line: Three American Families and the Secret Journey from Black to White by Daniel Sharfstein

Posted on September 13, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I recently read Isabel Wilkerson’s very impressive The Warmth of Other Suns, about the migration of black Americans out of the south throughout the 20th century. And then I immediately read Henry Wiencek’s Master of the Mountain, about Thomas Jefferson and the more than 600 slaves he owned throughout his life, and his treatment of them. (That review will post closer to the book’s publication date in mid-October.) This was a neat coincidence, and had me on a roll, thinking about slavery in the United States and the aftermath for freed slaves and their descendants; so I moved smoothly on to The Invisible Line, in which Daniel Sharfstein follows the transitions made by three families from being seen as black to being seen as white. It raises some interesting questions about the lines we draw and our tendency to think of race as having sharp corners and firm divides.

The mixed-race men and women Sharfstein tracks and studies in this book include “colored aristocrats” in Oberlin, Ohio and Washington, D.C. who hold public office, practice law, and exercise great influence on local politics. They also include back-woods residents of Appalachia whose lifestyles resemble those of hundreds of years ago, and Confederate soldiers and commissioned officers. Sharfstein follows these families to the present day, when their descendents represent a great range of professions, levels of education, and lifestyles. Some are more aware of their heritage than others, and they have different reactions to being accused of having “black blood.” Their experiences raise a number of interesting questions. It seems that it’s always been easy to view race as having cut-and-dried boundaries; but this book makes it equally clear that nothing could be further from accurate.

I liked that, like The Warmth of Other Suns, this book followed three individual stories – in this case, three families rather than three individuals, because it spans more than a lifetime. Again, this approach made the subject personal. It allowed Sharfstein to show the diversity of ways in which the process under discussion – the crossing of the color line – took place, and the diversity of ways the protagonists saw their own lives. The three families here represent different starting and finishing points in geography and in social and economic standing; and they represent different understandings of their own pasts. The book opens with a very powerful short scene involving a present-day white man who confesses to being a racist, and then discovers in his genealogy research that, what do you know, his own great-grandfather was a black man, a former slave.

My impression of The Invisible Line is that it includes solid research, and I thought it fairly and thoughtfully tackled this subject – one that has not been well-examined, or at least that I was not much aware of. I liked the personal element of the individual families. It made me think about some things I hadn’t considered before: how intertwined we all are, for one thing, and – not for the first time – how sad are certain elements of our national history. This was an excellent follow-up to my recent reading, and I recommend it if you’re interested in the subject matter.

Rating: 6 branches on the family tree.

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Einstein: His Life and Universe by Walter Isaacson (audio)

Posted on September 12, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A.Word.A.Day recently sent me, among other valuable tidbits, a quotation that perfectly describes Einstein (thought I, being in the middle of his biography):

A harmless hilarity and a buoyant cheerfulness are not infrequent concomitants of genius; and we are never more deceived than when we mistake gravity for greatness, solemnity for science, and pomposity for erudition.– Charles Caleb Colton; Lacon: or Many Things in Few Words; Longmans; 1837. Quoted by A.Word.A.Day, August 31, 2012.

And here’s the poster child for that very thought: hilarity and cheerfulness (among other qualities) combined in one of the geniuses of the modern era.

Walter Isaacson is a well-respected biographer. (His other works include biographies of Kissinger, Ben Franklin, and most recently Steve Jobs.) This well-regarded biography of Einstein appears to be very well-researched and thorough, and I thought the audio narration by Edward Herrmann was well-done and well-suited.

What I liked best about this book was its characterization of Einstein, the charmingly rumpled, distracted, unique genius with the twinkling eyes and the mad wild hair who rode a bicycle. There were times I didn’t like Einstein, too: in the course of separating from and later divorcing his wife, he didn’t treat his two sons very well. It felt like he expected them to behave like little adults – or perhaps more accurately, he behaved like a child. He wasn’t entirely sweet to his wife, either, which is of course common in divorces but no less charming for that. But Isaacson’s portrayal of of Einstein’s mental style was lovely to read: how he thought in pictures, in objects in action, in “thought experiments” and not in words; the way his aversion to authority and accepted truths freed him to think such outlandish thoughts that he revolutionized science; these are the singularities that made Einstein Einstein, and that was an important lesson to take away. Also, it was fun to read the story of his life with the advantage of hindsight – that this is Einstein we’re talking about here – and see all the rejections and belittlings he underwent, and sort of chortle at the irony. (Correction of a well-known myth: Einstein did not, in fact, fail math. He did rather well. However, there was that teacher that said he would “never amount to much.” That part is true.)

I observe that my decision not to pursue a subject like theoretical physics was a very, very good decision. I can follow all sorts of things, grasp all sorts of concepts, but not this. My eyes glazed over within moments of the science-talk beginning (dangerous for driving). I positively cannot “get” Einstein, and I’m comfortable with that. But it made this book a little more difficult than I would have liked, because the book is rather science-heavy. I think there are different ways to do this job, of writing a biography of a scientific figure, or other science-based nonfiction. I think of Soundings or even The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, both lovely narrative works about science and people that treated the people more heavily, and in more depth, than they did the science. The science was there, present (necessarily), and well explained, made accessible by explanation, but the people shown brighter. That worked for me. Here, in Einstein, it was Einstein himself that I was most interested in, and I liked it when his personality, his public image, his family dealings, etc. were at the forefront. Isaacson lost me entirely and quickly every time he wandered into physics and relativity. One way is not better or worse, but different; and it’s clear which style I prefer for my scientific nonfiction.

That said, the man played a starring role, and I believe Isaacson’s intention was to put in the science needed to place Einstein in context. I learned a lot about Einstein, I was entertained by his foibles and eccentricities (the not wearing of the socks! oh my), I was charmed. I was provoked to contemplate some of the troubling moments in world history that Einstein witnessed and participated in (Germany in the 1930’s, fascism, McCarthyism, the atom bomb, on and on). In a nutshell, Isaacson captures well the humanity of Einstein: his charm, his flaws, and his genius, all in one. This biography is moving, entertaining, and very informative. If you’re so inclined, you might even learn some physics from it. 🙂 I can see why Isaacson’s stock as a biographer is high, and I forgive him for baffling me here and there.

Rating: 7 quanta.

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Teaser Tuesdays: The Invisible Line by Daniel Sharfstein

Posted on September 11, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. Be careful not to include spoilers!

I’m reading an impressive work of nonfiction today; but for my teaser I’ve chosen an especially *fun* quotation for you. It’s not entirely indicative of this book’s content, but it’s such a neat picture of another sort of writing that I couldn’t resist.

His plays were a garish parade of socialites, bounders, frauds, thieves, and gold diggers. Unhappy husbands tried to hang themselves. Long-lost lovers were reunited. The embraces were always “passionate,” the kisses unfailingly “violent.” A pistol placed on the mantel on page six was fired by page thirteen.

Isn’t that precious? Just a few sentences but I think it perfectly communicates exactly the sort of plays this man wrote!

And what are you reading today?

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Life in Literature

Posted on September 10, 2012 by pagesofjulia

All right, I’ll bite. I was so charmed by Meg‘s post (here) that I couldn’t resist. Without further ado: my life in titles of books I’ve read this year.

I am: A Difficult Woman (Bike Snob would have been a good second choice)

I feel: Almost Somewhere

I currently live in: Houston: It’s Worth It

If I could go anywhere, I would go: Down the River to Mountains of Light

My favorite form of transportation is: Racing Through the Dark (darkness optional)

My best friends are: Bad Luck and Trouble

My friends and I are: Dream Team

The weather is: Fire on the Mountain

My favorite time of day is: Jeeves in the Morning, Before the Rain

To me, life is: The Great Psychedelic Armadillo Picnic

I fear: Death of a Valentine

The best advice I could give: Touch

Thought for the day: Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves, Hayduke Lives!

How I would like to die: Walking It Off, To the Last Breath

My soul’s present condition: Personality, Prehistory and Place

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Almost Somewhere by Suzanne Roberts

Posted on September 7, 2012 by pagesofjulia

A contemplation of women relating to one another in nature, nestled within the tale of a backpacking trip.


In 1993, Suzanne Roberts was a college graduate lacking a firm plan for the future when she agreed to hike the John Muir Trail with two other women. Almost Somewhere is a travelogue of that month-long hike, but it’s also a woman’s foray into the male-dominated worlds of hiking and nature writing and a contemplation of the cattiness and competition that limits women’s attempts to connect with one another. Roberts is not gentle to herself or her companions as she describes their flaws and failures to support one another; she is frank about the bounds of their friendship. But she has a triumphant story to tell, because despite swollen joints, bugs, infighting and the doubts of fellow trail users, these three women hiked the John Muir Trail in its entirety and lived to tell about it.

Roberts writes plainly about gender issues, as the women (“we had gone through puberty a long time ago and, really, we were no longer girls”) consult a guidebook written by a man filled with language of “conquering” or “assaulting” mountains. She seeks not only meaningful relationships with other women, but also a feminine understanding of nature, having read nature writing only by men (Muir, Thoreau, Edward Abbey) up until this point. Her understanding of her experience is clear-headed and self-aware in retrospect, and she is considerate of her companions even in her criticism. Almost Somewhere is a contribution to the growing body of women’s nature writing, and a worthwhile, entertaining and occasionally funny story of the California wilderness.

This review originally ran as a *starred review* in the Sept. 4, 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 small but important steps.

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Broken Harbor by Tana French

Posted on September 6, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I consider this to be another great hit from Tana French, author of The Likeness, In the Woods, and Faithful Place. Her mysteries are atmospheric, have a strong sense of place (that place being Dublin and the surrounding suburbs), and look back toward the past. Ireland’s economic depressions and the inheritance of related difficulties with employment and housing also play a role in each book. These four books are a series, loosely, in the sense that certain characters overlap; but each stands alone so well it’s almost a disservice to link them together. By no means would I recommend worrying about reading them all, or reading them in order.

In Broken Harbor, Mike “Scorcher” Kennedy is the reigning bad-ass murder detective on the Dublin squad, but the mistakes of a recent case, never described in detail, have him under a shadow; so he’s relieved and excited to get the latest gruesome, media-intensive case. He’s got a partner, Richie, a brand-new rookie from the wrong side of the tracks, which suits Scorcher because he’d just as soon work alone, and an easily-led rookie is the closest thing to working alone. A family of four named Spain – mom, dad, and two little ones – have been attacked in their home; three are dead, and the mom is in intensive care. Their home is in Brianstown, a fancy new development that got left unfinished in its earliest stages by the failing of of the housing boom; it’s not a pretty place after a few years’ decomposition since construction ceased. And, importantly, Brianstown used to be the seaside village of Broken Harbor, where Scorcher vacationed as a child with his family.

The important elements are several. The mystery of who nearly wiped out the Spain family is, on the face of things, the central plot, and it does keep Scorcher, Richie, and the reader busy for the entire book; the solution isn’t revealed until the final pages. A mystery within the mystery is what’s made all these holes in the walls of their home, and what force was haunting the Spain parents, otherwise poster children for a perfect life, right down to the magazine-worthy interior decor. The economic recession that killed Brianstown before it got out of the gate is an important detail that we attend to throughout, and is part of what makes Dublin & its suburbs the only place this story could be set. And then there are Scorcher’s demons: as we’ve seen in French’s other novels, his childhood connection to Broken Harbor will follow him through this seemingly unrelated case. This is a thriller not just because of the awful fate of the Spains, but also because of Scorcher’s family drama, still playing itself out. His training of the rookie, Richie, is poignant: the detective who never wanted a partner finds himself yearning for the camaraderie he’s observed in other partnerships, wondering if Richie could be “the one.” And finally, Scorcher is forced to do some philosophical questioning. The deal he’s made with the universe, his understanding of the source of the world’s evil, will be challenged.

The tone of this novel is one of my favorite parts. It’s dark, lush, and almost dreamy. Scorcher feels real to me even as he approaches caricature (hey, call me credulous, I’m enjoying this). He’s fatalistic, relying in part upon physical feelings that tell him when he’s getting close; we get hints that he knows what’s coming. His tortured persona, his tendency to distance himself even when he’d like to get close, is a recognizable genre type, but well-done all the same. I always appreciate French’s evocation of Ireland, its culture and the impact its economy continues to have. And the psychological drama of the Kennedy family had me on the edge of my seat. Certain elements are a little formulaic, sure, but beautifully wrought; and the lovely writing puts it in such a package that I don’t mind a bit. This is a great example of why I love Tana French.

Rating: 7 unpleasant memories.

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