#88 - "Peace Like a River" by Leif Enger

Peace Like a River (2001) by Leif Enger is a novel that was chosen for the "One Book, One Denver" program a couple of years ago. I've been trying to catch up on previous years' choices, and now I only have one more to go. So far I haven't been disappointed with these books, and Peace Like a River is an interesting and well-told story. However, an intense focus on Christian religion somewhat lessened my appreciation.

Reuben Land is an eleven-year-old boy living in the frigid, winter land of Minnesota with his close-knit family that includes: his precocious younger sister Swede, his sixteen-year-old brother Davy, and his father Jeremiah Land. Swede is a smart and gifted writer with a passion for westerns; she turns the adventures of their lives into stormy, epic poems full of heroes and villains. Davy is the kind of independent and self-reliant teenager who is used to taking care of things around the farm, and Reuben's father Jeremiah held the family together after Reuben's mother left them.

Two ne'er-do-wells in the town of Roofing are threatening the Land family, and when they break into the old farmhouse one night, Davy Land kills them both with his shotgun. When Davy runs away, Reuben, his father, and Swede take off in an effort to find him. Circumstances make Davy's shooting more complicated than a clear case of self-defense, so the police and the FBI are after Davy as well. Young Reuben sees the actions of his brother through the loyal eyes of a child and his telling of the story--even from an older perspective--is cloaked with innocence.

But Davy's main stated purpose in telling his story is to "witness" his father's miracles. The first miracle occurs on Reuben's birth when his father saves his life by ordering him to breathe, and Reuben's asthmatic and withered lungs somehow respond. Other miracles occur throughout their trip, including a gas tank that doesn't go empty and police unable to spot them.

The novel is very much a retelling of the story of Jesus. Religion is crammed into the characters' lives and plays a major part in the book. I felt at times the way I did when I saw those movies that I can't remember the name of right now (Love's Labor or some such) starring Katherine Heigle. Although I really liked some of the characters, and the relationship between Swede and her brother Reuben was sweet, realistic, and fun, the magical elements often felt like a forced fairy tale. The same problems I have with believing in a personal God made this book less meaningful and more frustrating. I couldn't help but wonder why God would bother about one, young boy in the United States when people are starving and dying all over the world. If God can really perform miracles, he could do much better than putting gas in a car or imprinting the face of Jesus on some toast. I can imagine that sincere Christians could find this book incredibly moving and inspiring. I, on the other hand, appreciate the writing, but the religious elements kept me at a distance.

#87 - "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott

I enjoyed reading, On Writing by Stephen King so much more than expected, that when I wanted another non-fiction book to read, I just typed in On Writing on Amazon.com to see what other books would come up. And that's how I found Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (1994) by Anne Lamott. I'd never read anything by Lamott, but it was a bestseller and had pretty good reviews, and that was enough for me.

In Bird by Bird, Lamott gives some advice to wannabe writers in a quick and entertaining read. To sum up: writing is good for you; if you like it, do it every day and you will get better as well as learn more about yourself and the world around you; let go of the ideal of perfectionism and the fears and self doubt; and even though being a published author is usually the goal, it won't magically solve your problems or change who you are. Peppered throughout the book are little glimpses into Lamott's life: she's a recovering alcoholic, has a young son, and teaches writing courses.

I am somewhat skeptical of books that teach writing. I remember reading somewhere that Cormac McCarthy hasn't ever taught any kind of writing class because he thinks writing workshops/classes etc. are all rip offs. I can see that selling a national bestseller on how to write is much like those "How to be a Millionaire and Make Tons of Money" books that hopeful and naive schleps buy in order to change their lives. Apparently there are enough of us to make these projects pretty profitable.

However, both On Writing and Bird by Bird helped me in a very different way than simply listing some tips to improve my writing. They both gave me permission and the encouragement to spend time writing, whether it ever amounts to anything or not. I am most reflective and think best when I can write out my thoughts. It helps me understand my feelings and deal with them. (My idea of closure after a relationship is when I write about it, and that's when I can finally let go.) But I have a super power, and it is procrastinating and wasting time. I have consistently had problems rationalizing spending any time on writing when I could see that what was coming out was complete shit. But now someone has told me, not only that it's okay, but that it's good for me. It was also refreshing to know that Lamott, and others, fight with doubt, low self-esteem, and extreme sensitivity when dealing with their writing as well as in their life. I so often feel that I look at the world differently than everyone else, so it was nice to find such familiar feelings and fears that Lamott described throughout the book. I almost feel like I've found my niche; I may not be a writer, but I've got the neuroses of one.

#86 - "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay" by Michael Chabon

I think that, like most people, my impressions of a book depend a lot on my expectations. For instance, by the time I finally read Twilight, my expectations were so low that it would have been difficult for me to be disappointed. The opposite is true for award-winning books. Some of my favorite books that I've read this year, including: The Road, The White Tiger, Middlesex, and The Book Thief had all won some kind of prestigious award. I cannot emphasize enough how moving and memorable these books were to me. I became so attached to the story and characters that I forgot I was only reading a novel. So it was with great expectations that I started reading the Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (2000) by Michael Chabon.

I'm having some difficulty writing this review because I can appreciate how good the book is, but when I had such high expectations, I can't ignore that I sometimes failed to connect to the characters and was often frustrated as I read. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay centers around the relationship between two cousins living in New York City at the outbreak of WWII. Joe Kavalier comes to New York City as a Jewish refugee from Prague, the only one of his family who is able to get out at the time. Sam--the idea man--and Joe--the artist--collaborate to create a new era of comic books. Joe is desperate to save money to help get his family out of Prague and he uses the comic medium to fight his own personal, frustrated, and hopeless war against Hitler and the Nazis. Joe and Sam obtain some success, have relationships, and live with the war and its consequences.

There's a lot going on in Amazing Adventures, including issues of war, genocide, anti-semitism, survivor guilt, writing, homosexuality, love, magic, prejudice, success, and friendship, among others. I am truly amazed that Chabon was able to weave such an intricate and involved story that still kept my interest for over six hundred pages. Yet something wasn't quite working for me. Chabon covers so much ground and sometimes so subtly that I often found it unsatisfying: I kept waiting for him to drill in his point instead of floating over the surface. And maybe this was because the story jumped between comic book characters and the novel's characters, but I sometimes had a hard time believing that Joe and Sam were real. I recognized the tragedy in Joe's and Sam's stories, and I wanted to feel for both of them, but Chabon never really allowed me to. It felt so surreal at times that I felt an emotional disconnect. The story jumped from Prague, to magical stories, to New York, to Antarctica, and I lost some of my connection to the characters. I should also probably disclose at this point that I've never been much of a comic book reader and I have a particular phobia of moths.

However, just thinking back on Amazing Adventures to write this review, a number of memorable and moving scenes still haunt me. There is no question that this book is involved, impressive, and worth reading; I just couldn't feel as connected to it as I have some of the other award-winning books I've read this year.

#85 - "The Perfect Mile" by Neal Bascomb

Back in May, I was invited by some of the middle-aged guys I've befriended at the gym to join them for their annual "Bannister Mile" race at a local high school's track. These men, part of a local running group, all ran in high school and college and are still--by any standards--very fast. I, on the other hand, was never very fast; and now that I've worked myself into better shape, I'm dealing with so many structural and overuse injuries that I rarely run. Yet I pushed back the intimidation and joined them for the race, which turned out to be a lot of fun; I wasn't last (but it was close), and I got a personal record on my mile time, so I was happy.

The guys called their race the "Bannister Mile" after Roger Bannister who was the first person to run a mile in less than four minutes. This record was achieved back in 1954 and was the stated but quixotic goal of all of us gathered at that high school track. After realizing that I knew absolutely nothing about Roger Bannister, one of the guys recommended that I read The Perfect Mile (2004) by Neal Bascomb. It was a good recommendation for me; I even cried a little when Bannister finally broke the record (I cry very easily, though, so that doesn't mean much). But this might be another one of those books that is best if you're already interested in the subject matter. I like history and I like running, so I couldn't put it down. I couldn't tell if people, who don't understand the masochism and euphoria involved in strenuous exercise and pushing your body past its limits, would appreciate it as much.

Bascomb begins the story of the four-minute mile with the 1952 Olympics set in Helsinki, Finland. Roger Bannister is from England; he had attended Oxford and was going to medical school to become a doctor. Wes Santee was a young American from the University of Kansas who had survived a poor and abusive childhood to excel at running, and John Landy was the privileged son of a genteel Australian family. All three suffered disappointment at the 1952 Olympics, and all three set their sites on being the first man to break the four-minute mile barrier soon thereafter. Although some statisticians and coaches had declared that a sub-four-minute mile was possible, there were plenty others who disagreed: some doctors even declared that running that fast could put your body under so much stress that it would kill you.

Yet these three young men, often without even coaches, worked themselves to the bone for an elusive goal that might never be fulfilled. They dealt with politics, bad weather, bad coaches, and bad press, but they kept pushing for it. They were far from professional athletes, all three were still in school and fighting to train effectively in a very limited time. Bascomb does an admirable job in describing the many races each runner ran while going for the record. You'd think that running four laps around the track, over and over again, would get a little old, but even though I knew how it would end, I was on the edge of my seat for each and every race. Even though these three runners rarely even saw eachother, their goal kept them closely intertwined. With each incremental improvement by one runner, it spurred the others to work even harder.

Bascomb also made me appreciate the person behind each of the runners. I was desperately pulling for each of them during their races. It was obvious that a combination of luck and strategy played a large part in Bannister being the first; by the end of the book I didn't feel that any one of them deserved it more than any other. I was also often royally pissed off at the press: they would trumpet "Miserable Failure" when one of the runners had posted a measely 4:02 mile. It reminded me of the hype and pressure we still put on our olympic athletes, and how we turn on them when they don't perform to our expectations. They're working hard. They can't guarantee gold medals. Leave them the hell alone. The American Amateur Athletic Association (I forget exactly what they called themselves) also royally pissed me off. Playing power politics, they forced Wes Santee out of the 1,500 meter race in the Olympics in 1952, even though he was the fastest at that distance in the United States at the time. They also made it very difficult for him to run in any internationally competitive races and forbid him to be paced in his effort at the four-minute mile, single-handedly assuring that Santee would not have enough competition to push him to break the barrier.

I tried the other day to use the experiences, work ethic, and determination of these three men as motivation for my own workout. But I still felt tired and slow. So maybe it's better reading than inspiration, but I'm glad I read it.

#84 - "Black Powder War" by Naomi Novik

When I started the third book in Naomi Novik's Temeraire series, Black Powder War (2006), I wasn't too excited. I really appreciated the fun and creativity of the first book. I still liked the second book, but stuck on a ship and without his fellow dragons, it felt a little slower. Starting the third book, I was thinking there just wasn't enough happening to keep such a long-running series going. But I like the characters and pretty quickly I found myself once again interested in the story. By the end of the book, I was looking forward to, and wondering what would occur, in the fourth. Despite my general aversion to fantasy and war novels, I have a feeling I'm going to stick this series out.

Black Powder War begins with the dragon Temeraire, his captain Laurence, and the rest of the crew waiting for fair wind to sail away from China and go back to England. They receive orders to go to Istanbul to pick up three valuable dragon eggs that had been sold to the Brits. After some damage to the dragon transport, Laurence, Temeraire, and his crew decide to travel overland rather than wait for the ship to be repaired in order to get to Istanbul as quickly as possible. Questions about the eggs and diplomatic issues when they reach Istanbul create trouble for Laurence when he tries to follow orders, and he has to make some bold decisions without the possibility of any guidance. In the meantime, Temeraire, having learned about how life can be for dragons in China, is focused on improving the lot of the dragons back home in England. At the same time Napoleon is marching inexorably forward in his bid to gain more power and land.

I still prefer His Majesty's Dragon, the first book of the series, but Black Powder War is now my second favorite; not a ringing endorsement, but all I can give it. Sometimes the war talk and diplomatic stuff gets a little slow for me. And I couldn't help but wonder that in all of Istanbul, they just happen to place the eggs in a harem, which also just happens to be right over the wall from where Laurence and Temeraire are staying. Coincidence? Or are Laurence and his crew just very lucky? I also tried to ignore the innumerable colons, semi-colons, and extraneous commas littered throughout the text because they didn't affect the story, but they're starting to become my personal pet peeve. On the plus side, I really liked that a new, baby dragon was introduced in this book. I hope that it means they're heading back to England and the rest of the dragons I found so interesting in the first novel.

#83 - "On Writing" by Stephen King

I've always thought of Stephen King as some kind of far-away, loosely-connected friend of the family. I was told at that naively young age how my mother had gone to college with Stephen King. Apparently he played the trumpet and asked her out. And then to add speculation to exaggeration, the main character's name in Cujo was Donna--my mother's name. And then he lived in Boulder, Colorado (my hometown) for awhile(?--I have no idea if this is actually true) and had his forces of good gather in Boulder in The Stand. And then he based The Shining on a nearby hotel up in Estes Park. It seemed to me that I was just one degree of separation from the famous writer. Of course, now that I'm (supposedly) a little more mature I take my mom's stories with a grain of salt. I was also told that my mother's family comes from royalty--but she's suspiciously vague about the details. I do know that my mom had terrible eyesight and refused to wear glasses. Thus, college for her was a giant fog. True, Stephen King was there, but whether she even knew which blurry face was his is up for grabs.

Because of the "family connection" with Stephen King, I was pretty interested in his books when I was younger. I started with The Eyes of the Dragon when I was in grade school and then graduated to It, The Shining, and Misery at some point. But I've never been much of a horror fan and my interest was already waning before I started high school. Then On Writing (2000) by Stephen King showed up on a list of recommended books at the end of Doreen Orion's travelogue Queen of the Road. I'm interested in writing and was curious about what King might say about his college experience, so I picked it up.

The book is basically split up into four sections: a biography of events in King's life that influenced his writing; a short grammatical section; advice on writing; and the car accident that almost killed him in 1999. Although from the start On Writing was interesting and quick reading, I wasn't sold on it at first. Although you got an idea of King's roots and inspirations for writing, there isn't much detail or continuity. The brevity makes sense for the purpose of the book, but I love biographies that really let me get to know someone. Also, having read only a few of King's many novels and stories, I wasn't entranced when he discussed, for example, his inspiration for Carrie. Although I could imagine how fascinating that information would be for a real Stephen King fan, it sometimes sounded self-serving and fictionalized to me. I also found his little section on grammar and usage not all that helpful. His only resource is Strunk and White and the section can be summed up with: don't use adverbs; don't use passive voice. Still interesting reading, but not the best resource.

I probably liked the third section of the book the best. Stephen King pontificating on writing. He discusses how he approaches his work--2000 words every day; how he creates his stories; and how he goes about the revision process. Even if you have a different approach to writing, I liked seeing how all those giant novels came to be. But most of all, King was encouraging and inspiring. His main advice if you want to write is that you have to read and write a lot. It is obvious that Stephen King has a natural talent and that he likes what he does. He made me want to grab my computer and start writing--something, anything. "The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better."

#82 - "Child of God" by Cormac McCarthy

I was actually looking for the The Crossing, the second book of McCarthy's Border Trilogy when I was stalking the 'Mc' section in the library. I'm not sure what it is about the beginning of summer but almost all of Cormac McCarthy's books were checked out. Besides The Road, which I had already read, only one slim volume still rested on the shelf. Because I have consistently found Cormac McCarthy's writing disturbing and fantastic, I'm planning on reading all of his books; so I picked up Child of God (1973) instead.

I always have a hard time when it comes to reviewing McCarthy's books. Violent, disturbing, sometimes hard to read, but I can't let them go. His stories come with such stalwart characters and so little emotion that it often isn't until after I'm done reading and I suddenly feel like crying that I realize how strongly they've affected me.

Child of God takes place in the hill country of East Tennessee; although because I didn't recognize the name Sevier County in the book, I wouldn't have known the setting if it wasn't for the book jacket. The character of Lester Ballard slowly comes into focus through small chapters and short glimpses of his life. Some of these glimpses are from the point of view of a local deputy in the manner of county gossip while other chapters are told from an omniscient and unknown narrator. Although described as, "[a] child of God much like yourself perhaps," Lester is lost and depraved and we follow his further descent throughout the rest of the book. Without giving much of the plot away, there is some murder and necrophelia, and I just read that McCarthy based this novel on real events that took place in Tennessee while he lived there.

Like all of McCarthy's books I've read so far, I found Child of God unforgettable. McCarthy has a unique and creative way of turning a phrase and describing a setting, adding something extra to the storyline. A number of times I stopped and re-read a sentence or paragraph, marveling at the construction and words. So far, I have preferred McCarthy's books that have some ray of light cutting through all the darkness. The Road is still my favorite of his, but All My Pretty Horses also had some admirable characters and hope in it, even though they were also both kind of heartbreaking. I couldn't find much hope or optimism in Child of God, just a bleak view of mankind. I still very much appreciated the book, but that's why I need a break between reading McCarthy books. I couldn't take reading them all at once.

#81 - "Cry of the Kalahari" by Mark and Delia Owens

I loved this book, but I'm a little reluctant to simply recommend it to anyone and everyone because I'm not sure how much interest the general populace has in twenty-five-year-old books about wild animals in Africa. I've always had a fascination with Africa; I was planning on going through the Peace Corps after college, but when medical bureaucracy stalled the trip I went to law school instead. I still don't know if that was a good idea.

I discovered Mark and Delia Owens when I stumbled across Secrets of the Savanna (2006) in the library earlier this year, and now I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up reading everything they've written. Cry of the Kalahari (1984) by Mark and Delia Owens is the first book about the Owens's adventures and research in Africa.

Mark and Delia Owens met in a Protozoology class while doing graduate studies at the University of Georgia. By the end of the semester, they knew they wanted to go to Africa, but with more wilds of Africa disappearing every day, they didn't want to wait and go through their graduate programs. Instead, they took some time off, saved up $4900, auctioned off the rest of their belongings, got married somewhere in there, and bought one-way tickets to Johannesburg. They end up in the middle of the Kalahari desert of Botswana in southern Africa with a third-hand Land Rover. Incredibly lacking in supplies and with very little money, the pair begins studying the wildlife and habitat they see around them, including jackals, hyenas, lions, and finally the migration of wildebeest. Besides the lack of funding, Mark and Delia contend with violent storms, steamy 120 degree days, the danger of running out of food or water, and lions and hyenas wandering through camp.

The lives of the animals is told as something of a mystery. When Mark and Delia first arrive, there has been almost no study of the animals in the Kalahari, and the pair don't know what they will learn or even the subject of their study. A mysterious figure they see one night turns out to be a reclusive brown hyena, but by the end of the study, they have discovered that the brown hyenas are social creatures who raise their young communally. A confusing array of barely glimpsed animals running around in the night turns into a clear heirarchy with individuals full of personality. The same thing occurred with the study of lions. The Blue Pride lions stayed close enough to camp to follow and study only for a few months during the rainy season. Then they would disappear. It wasn't until Mark and Delia received some funding and an airplane that they were able to get a better picture of their lives.

The information about the wildlife was fascinating and dramatic: lions were killing hyenas, killing eachother; all the animals fought to survive in an incredible drought; and hunters and miners posed an omnipresent threat. However, a lot of what made me like this book so much was my admiration for Mark and Delia Owens. Their compassionate love of their study subjects, conservationist attitude, and wish to leave a small footprint and not disturb the animals all coincide with my feelings. With Africa's rather horrific history of colonization and exploitation, I'm a little wary of rich, white Americans who travel to Africa to save the animals but ignore the people. And even though they focus much more on creating a solution that includes the local people in Secrets of the Savanna, they don't ignore the inherent problems when men and animals compete for resources.

Most of all, though, I admired Mark and Delia Owens for their bravery, optimism, and tenacity. It takes some guts to give up everything you have and fly off to survive alone in the middle of the desert. More than once they had so little money, they didn't know how they could get back to the United States. But a grant always came through in the end, allowing their research to continue. When they realized a plane was necessary to study the lions during the dry season, they went after it and succeeded. It didn't matter that: they had no money for the plane or the fuel; Mark didn't have a pilot's license and had never flown a plane before; and the desert was such a dangerous place to fly that planes weren't allowed over the area. I've always wanted to go to Africa and through this book I got a glimpse of it--but without the danger, malnutrition, heat, rodents, and lions standing outside of my tent.