Teaser Tuesdays: Down the River by Edward Abbey

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 am continuing to love Edward Abbey (with that one outlier, Black Sun). I’ve just started Down the River but had to quote from page 3, already, because I find these lines funny.

None of the essays in this book requires elucidation, other than to say, as in everything I write, they are meant to serve as antidotes to despair. Despair leads to boredom, electronic games, computer hacking, poetry, and other bad habits.

Poetry lovers (and poets), keep your sense of humor as you’re lumped into the same category as boredom and electronic games! Ha. This is a very Abbey moment, seems to me.

digest version Sunday Salon on a Monday

Sunday Salon: March 5, 2012

Hey, kids! Sorry to be a little hectic and brief here (and a day late with my Salon) on this Monday morning. I had a pleasantly full weekend: got our taxes files, did a few bike rides including a visit to the trails at the Sam Houston National Forest at Huntsville State Park, cleaned the house a bit and cooked up some yummy collard greens… I also watched the Bogart & Bacall film To Have and Have Notbased on the Hemingway novel of the same name. This was a Christmas present from my Pops (thanks, Pops!) and I’m glad I finally got around to it; there will be a movie review to come later this week, I promise. But in a nutshell, good stuff! And I wish I were a little fresher on the novel in my mind; I’m definitely rusty.

What else? Well, I’m still reading A Difficult Woman, Alice Kessler-Harris’s upcoming biography of Lillian Hellman, and that is still fascinating. I put down Ed Abbey’s Down the River to meet my deadline on the Hellman bio, and I’m itching to get back it; but then again, I’m running low on Abbey books on hand, so it makes sense to drag out the enjoyment a little bit. And I’m also just about done with Anne Fortier’s Julieton audio. I’m conflicted. I’m more annoyed than anything else, really, but occasionally fascinated, and for better or worse, I’m too invested in the story to back out now. So that’s not a ringing endorsement, but there we are. Reviews all around to come. Oh, and I had a nice visit to a beautiful library on Saturday that I’ll have to tell you about, too.

Finally, check out my new friend over at Critical Wit where I may be doing some guest hosting at some point – very exciting! Thanks Chris for the invitation!

The other busyness this weekend relates to the planning of more busyness: we’re currently working on two trips, to Ireland and to the Gila National Forest in New Mexico. Busy busy!

Sorry for the brief digest post this morning. How’s your week starting out?

First Lady of Fleet Street by Eilat Negev and Yehuda Koren

The biography of a pioneering female newspaper editor in early 20th-century London.


Rachel Sassoon was the heiress daughter of a wealthy Jewish businessman who was rooted in Baghdad but proud of the family’s new status after he moved them to London in 1860, while Rachel was still a baby. Only nine years old when her father died, Rachel’s options were increased by his fortune and broadened by his absence until, long past the standard marriageable age, and with considerable life experience behind her, she made what her family viewed as an unforgivable decision: she married Frederick Beer, who was also of Jewish ancestry but had converted to Christianity. (For this, Rachel was ostracized from the family until Frederick’s death, when a brother had her certified as “of unsound mind.”)

She found love with Frederick, but more importantly for posterity, she found a newspaper: Beer’s Observer drew her interest, but it took her own newspaper, the Sunday Times, to unleash Rachel’s creative and industrial spirit. She took on issues of women’s rights and suffrage, workers’ rights, the arts, criminal justice, and international political and social issues; the Sunday Times was for a decade Rachel Beer’s personal soapbox.

Eilat Negev and Yehuda Koren’s matter-of-fact portrayal of Rachel’s life sheds light on the experiences of women and people with Jewish backgrounds in her time, while the stories of the Beer and Sassoon families depict larger issues regarding the era’s immigration and business patterns. The First Lady of Fleet Street is an engaging snapshot of several aspects of early 20th-century life as seen through the lens of one remarkable woman.


This review originally ran in the March 2, 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: 5 understudied women.

Bleed for Me by Michael Robotham

A darkly entertaining thriller with a surprisingly lovable hero.


Joe O’Loughlin is a semi-retired psychologist struggling to hold his marriage and family together while coping with Parkinson’s disease. After moving from London to a quiet small town to find some peace, Joe is trying to teach part-time at the local university, make up with his wife and be a good father to his teenage daughter, Charlie. But then Charlie’s best friend Sienna shows up one night covered in blood. She can’t remember what happened, but her father, a decorated ex-cop, has been murdered and it’s his blood on her hands. Joe is reluctantly talked into helping out with the investigation.

The mystery begins with the murder of Sienna’s father, but it quickly gets more complicated, until Joe is investigating decades-old crimes, a neo-Nazi gang and a schoolteacher’s past–all while trying to understand Sienna’s wounded psyche. Of course, he’s also still trying to patch things up with his wife and Charlie.

Bleed for Me, Michael Robotham’s fourth novel featuring Joe O’Loughlin, is fast-paced, disturbing, gritty and complex, with a highly charismatic narrator and hero. As the well-meaning and earnest Joe turns rogue investigator, puts his own life at risk and battles Parkinson’s all at the same time, he easily earns the reader’s compassion. His unlikely friends (including a bitter but loving ex-cop) make for surprising moments of humor, and the suspense keeps the reader ducking surprise blows.


This review originally ran in the February 28, 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: 4 pagesofjulia.

book beginnings on Friday: A Difficult Woman: The Challenging Life and Times of Lillian Hellman by Alice Kessler-Harris

Thanks to Katy at A Few More Pages for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

Alice Kessler-Harris is a well-respected author and historian, and here she tackles the formidable subject of Lillian Hellman. I am not terribly familiar with Hellman, so this book is my introduction, and so far it looks like it will be a fine one. I love biographies of ambiguous, contradictory, not-entirely-loveable characters; they’re so much more interesting than altogether sympathetic or entirely monstrous ones!

For this Happy Friday today I will be sharing several snippets, because I feel like it. First of all, Kessler-Harris opens her introduction with a quotation I loved:

If a man could say nothing against a character but what he can prove, history could not be written; for a great deal is known of men of which proof cannot be brought.
–John Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson

I love this idea, and the implication that history involves the unproveable, unavoidably. Beware! This quotation is followed by Kessler-Harris’s first sentences:

In 1976, aged seventy-one, playwright and memoirist Lillian Hellman posed in a mink coat for a resonant advertisement. Cigarette in hand, gazing insouciantly at the camera, Hellman claimed the legendary status she craved.

Indeed. Beginning her introduction with a description of that remarkable photograph (below) really evokes her subject right at the beginning. The photo in question:

The first chapter, however, returns to a standard biography’s beginning:

Beautiful Julia Newhouse, daughter of a wealthy southern family, married Max Hellman–who had nothing to recommend him but charm–in 1904. A year later, Julia gave birth to a child they called Lillian Florence Hellman.

These unadorned sentences tell us a little something about Julia & Max, which I appreciate. Hellman’s story is fascinating, and so far I really enjoy the way Kessler-Harris is portraying it, with the context of her time & place fully involved.

This quotation comes from an uncorrected advance proof and is subject to change.

guest review: Running the Rift by Naomi Benaron, from Pops

I spotted this title when it was released (in January) and bought it for my Pops – he’ll explain why that was an obvious move, below – and he has graciously written us a review. I’m always glad to have his insightful and well-written book reviews! With no further ado, Pops.

I am a runner; and for more than 3 decades I have been casually collecting fiction having something to do with running. This is a very small niche; so you either can’t be too selective as a literary critic, or you end up with a very small collection. I am such a glutton for the subject that I have read through all levels of writing expertise top to bottom, usually finding “average” entertainment value – and usually centered on running, with a story woven in. All of which makes it pretty special to enjoy the occasional literary gem on this narrow bookshelf.

Even at first mention, the title Running the Rift had my attention. I needed no explanation to surmise the connection between running and the famed Rift valley in Africa. A quick notice of Barbara Kingsolver’s perky book cover endorsement (“culturally rich and completely engrossing”) and the Bellwether Prize for Fiction winner’s medal sharpened my interest. But none of this prepared me for what lies between the covers.

This is not a “book about running”; rather, it is the rare work of fine literature that features a boy who just happens to love running. (For that, I suspect we can thank an author who just happens to be a triathlete.) This is a love story: a love story within family, and about connections to physical and cultural place, more than the trite “love of country.” And it is a coming of age love story between adolescents. But it is so much more, because the story occurs in Rwanda in the 1990’s when that country was the scene of an unspeakable and terrible genocide committed by neighbor upon neighbor.

Rather than explore the colonial, political, economic and social roots of this fratricidal event in history, the story focuses on our main characters and their families, Tutsi and Hutu both, as their lives are torn by forces beyond their grasp. Accounts of the brutal killings are awful to read, as is the gradual approach to the event since we know what’s coming. But it is the richness of the characters, their love of life and family – and, yes, country – that carries us along.

Personally, I was also carried along by an appreciation that the story is based in history – a history we should know better, since these events were truly “unspeakable,” under-reported and poorly understood by much of the world. And of course I was captured by our main character, a boy who truly loves to run and manages to run through one of humankind’s worst moments into manhood and a promising future.

Thank you, Pops, for this lovely review; you’ve certainly convinced me of the value of this book. I’m so glad you liked it, too; I knew very little about it when it caught my eye but it sounds like my instinct was on target. 🙂

Because Pops asked for them, I’ve linked to some other reviews of the book for your reference.

The verdict appears to be a resounding “read this book now.” Thanks for sharing, Pops.

two-wheeled thoughts: Willie Weir on portaging

two-wheeled thoughts

A bicycle is freedom when you’re riding it; it’s a millstone when you’re not.

–Willie Weir, “Back Roads and Back Waters,” India section, Spokesongs

Portaging one’s bicycle is always a drag. Then again, some of us choose to race cyclocross. 🙂

Teaser Tuesdays: Juliet by Anne Fortier


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 doing it again: getting slightly out of my usual reading habits to try something that sounded appealing. Juliet references Romeo and Juliet and is a romance in its own right, and that’s about what I knew of it when I started. I have selected an extra-special teaser for you today.

Within the coniferous greens of his eyes, I now got a warning glimpse of his soul. It was a disturbing sight.

Kids, I don’t know about you, but this is the sort of thing that concerns me about romance novels. Coniferous greens of his eyes? Really? Anybody love this or (ahem) anybody else find this ridiculous?

looking back on early 2012… looking forward to a new trend

As I wrote at the beginning of the calendar year, I am moving away from challenges and lists and readalongs this year, hoping to follow more truly my reading urges, ideally with an emphasis on my TBR list(s) and shelf (shelves). Well, here we are two months (more or less) into 2012, and I see my reading urges taking shape. I wanted to share what I’m observing, and what I’m looking forward to.

First, what’s happened in the last eight weeks? I’ve read 25 books (wow! that many? really?), but I haven’t had really excellent luck. I really loved eight of them, which is a scant third: not very good stats. I loved:

If you have noticed a pattern above, so have I: I am leaning heavily towards a certain two bearded men whose first names start with ‘E’. (On a personal note, I have been toying pictorially with the three bearded men in my life…)

Ernest Hemingway, Edward Abbey, and my Bearded Husband


My newfound (or newly recovered) interest in Abbey has come out of my love of Philip Connors’s Fire Season, which I called my favorite book of 2011. I’m still not done being moved by it; Husband is actually reading it himself (a truly momentous occurrence), I am planning a reread at the earliest available moment, and we’re planning a summer trip to the Gila National Forest itself, possibly even to meet the author who has graciously been corresponding with me and overlooking my rabid fandom. The unfortunate coincidence of Fire Season‘s publication with the worst drought in Texas’s history, and a series of wildfires including one that touched my family, has had me thinking about some of the themes involved. I’ve read a few other pieces of nature writing this year (Liebenow’s Mountains of Light and March’s River in Ruin – both lovely, and both reviews to come in Shelf Awareness). But mostly I’ve been revisiting Abbey himself, who represents the epitome of nature writing, at least for me in my not-very-well-read experience. I can’t begin to go into what his writing does for me at this moment; that’s another blog post. But he makes me laugh, and cry, and think and feel, and plan trips. I am trying to take to heart his exhortation to “get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains, bag the peaks. Run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and comtemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves…”

And Connors, and Abbey, are shaping my reading, too, of course. I’m working on building my collection of Abbey’s books, and a few books about him; I have Aldo Leopold’s A Sand Country Almanac coming to my local library; and I have my eye on Muir, although with a few reservations. (I did love his Stickeen as a child. If you see it, grab it.) I have a few books on New Mexico and the Gila coming, too, to help plan our trip this summer.

Again, my thoughts on Abbey are large and evolving, and I’m not feeling worthy of trying to communicate them today. But I’m working on it.

And then there’s the other bearded man. I do have still a handful of Hemingway works on his little shelf that I haven’t read; and I have several biographies of him and other related fiction and nonfiction. My love for Hemingway has not faded yet.

So I guess what I’m trying to say, very long-windedly, is that I am finding great joy in my reading these days by focusing on a few areas that are holding my interest: mainly, two authors I greatly respect, and the writings about and surrounding them. I hope to delve more deeply into Abbey (and similar) and Hemingway, as 2012 rolls on by. Of course my reviews for Shelf Awareness continue; but they take 3-4 reviews a month from me, and that makes up a minority of my reading, so I have time to do my own thing. There will always be some variety, too – this weekend I checked out the new Girl Reading by Katie Ward just because it looked good – but I am doing pretty well at putting down the books that don’t work for me, because I know there’s lots more Abbey et al out there for me.

Leave It to Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse

Let’s hear it for Psmith! Wodehouse wins again! I love this guy. He makes me laugh. His stories are lighthearted and feel-good and things always come out right in the end. This is my first non-Jeeves Wodehouse, and I loved it.

I don’t think I’m able to sum this plot up briefly, but I will say: there is a spacey Earl (whom we met the other day) with a thick-headed and scheming son, a tyrannical (but efficient!) secretary, a decidedly difficult sister, and a hard-beset brother-in-law. There is a small crowd of people trying to steal a diamond necklace, mostly independent and unaware of one another. And Psmith (the ‘p’ is silent) comes on the scene to solve the world’s problems and woo the girl – under a false name, naturally. He is a perfect Wodehouse creation: a little bit bumbling but oh so charming and well-dressed. There are several strong female characters (some portrayed more flatteringly than others) and the requisite daunting aunt. There is a troubled but eventually happy love affair. And oh, the laughs.

I was relieved to detect none of the misogyny in Leave It to Psmith that I found in my last Wodehouse read. This was as delightful as it gets. While there is hilarity and even some light slapstick, Psmith is less ridiculous than Bertie Wooster, and a little more capable. I still like the Jeeves and Wooster pairing, mind you, but Psmith is a new love. Beyond that, I should direct you to Simon’s recent discussion of the wonders of Wodehouse as he said it so well. More ice cream, please!


Rating: 6 giggles.