Author: thepassionatereader

This is another American novelist’s historical fiction set in France during WWII, this one largely in Saint Malo, off the west coast of Brittany. It is not the only one featuring this port city, but I cannot recall the other one I read set there. The title alludes to the remarkable skills of a young French teen who went blind at age 6. Like many deaf or blind folk, she has greatly heightened abilities in her remaining intact sensory organs, akin to synesthesia, the crossed input signals to the brain by which some people hear colours, see sounds and taste words. “She hears her father smile.” The title may also be taken as a reference to wavelengths used in radio communication.

The writing is lyrical, almost poetic with vivid observations, beautiful metaphors and quaint twists. As a troop truck travels down a road, “The canopies of cherry trees drift overhead, pregnant with blossoms. Werner props open the back door and dangles his feet off the rear bumper, his heels just above the flowing road. A horse rolls on its back in the grass; five white clouds decorate the sky.”

There is not very subtle insight into of the universal practice of military recruiters everywhere offering opportunities for youths to escape from a life of drudgery with the accompanying indoctrination into unquestioning obedience to authority, inuring young minds to cruelty. This typically is presented at a stage in life when one’s moral instincts are not fully developed, their education restricted to mandatory groupthink. In Werner’s case, it is the choice of a life as a radio technician and operator in Hitler’s army vs a life as a coal miner. It is humbling to think that, in an alternate universe, had I been the product of a German farm accident in the 1920s, rather than a Canadian farm accident in 1945, I might well have joined the Hitler Youth, not the Canadian Army Cadet Corps, to escape the hard work of farming.

There are few main characters but the plot is very complex and with thirteen parts subdivided into 117 short titled chapters it can be difficult for the reader to follow the chronology of events. The extensive use of time shifting between chapters does not help. All of the narrative is written in the present tense. Being very technophobic, I cannot attest to the accuracy of the technical details of radio communications in that era.

There are negatives. Adding an element of sci-fi, there is the overworked literary device of a futile search for a mysterious valuable gem that carries a curse, in this case a huge diamond stolen from the Paris Museum National d’Histoire Naturelle. The myth of allergies to goldenrod is perpetuated and yet another novelist describes veins, rather than arteries, pulsating.

Overall, this is an enjoyable read, more for the masterful use of words and appreciation of a remarkable imagination than for the minutiae of the plot. The teaser for the author’s latest book, Cloud Cuckoo Land, included at the end of this ebook edition did not entice me to add that to my list of books to find and read.

Thanks, Barb P.

Early in this new tome,10 years in the writing, two British academics (anthropology and archaeology), promise to point out fundamental flaws in the theses of Francis Fukuyama’s The Origins of Political Order, Jared Diamond’s Guns Germs and Steel, Stephen Pinker’s The Better Angels of Our Nature and Noah Yuval Harari’s Sapiens. Since I have read all those books, enjoyed them, and found their accounts of early human development quite convincing, and since I also have an enduring inexplicable (even to myself) interest in the nature and societal organization of our our very ancient ancestors, I read on. But early on I found that there were barely enough dry morsels of brain food to keep me from starving my noggin, or napping.

Starting with the classic contrasting views of Hobbesian hawks waging a war of everyone against everyone and Rosseauian altruistic doves, the authors trash the very concept of this neat dichotomy. The progression of human societies from bands, to tribes, to chiefdoms to states is shown to be far too simplistic and was interrupted by seasonal migrations as was the common narrative of progression from hunter-gatherers to gardeners to farmers to industrial states.

They question the whole concept of human progression, discuss the philosophical conundrum of ‘human agency’ or free will only very superficially, and note that there may never have been an idyllic society of Edenic equality and leisure, and claim that the collection of surpluses whether of food, other resources, or money, leading to gross inequalities, is limited in nature to the human species, and not even universal in us. Even the concept of equality seems problematic to these iconoclasts.

There are 110 pages comparing and contrasting precolonial Californian societies and those of the Pacific Northwest. Is ‘compare and contrast’ still an imperative order in exams in literature at all levels as it was in my school days? This chapter is followed by 99 pages dividing the the so-called Neolithic Fertile Crescent of the eastern Mediterranean around 8000 B.C. into 12 distinct but often interacting societies of hunter-gatherers and agriculturalists, contradicting Noah Harari’s assertion of wheat cultivation enslaving Homo sapiens, and denying any concept of any smooth ‘Agricultural Revolution’. They question the whole concept of human progress.

After about 600 pages (out of 1734), and heeding advice from an author on CBC’s Q to, during the pandemic, for one’s mental health, only read books that one enjoys, I bailed out and returned this ebook edition to the OPL without reading the rest. Did I miss the best part?

This book may be of value as a reference volume or text for dedicated ethnologists, anthropologists and archeologists, (or perhaps advanced ancient history teachers), but I cannot recommend it for anyone else.

Thanks,

The Atlantic.

The fearless, hyperkinetic, ADHD-suffering, gay, Newfie kid from Middle Cove here outlines his adventures as a sketch comedian, political commentator, and satirist, but only up to the time when he is about to star in his own CBC show, The Rick Mercer Report. That 2004-2018 show celebrating everything that is right about Canada and ranting about everything that is wrong about it, particularly it’s political leadership, was one of the few TV shows I seldom missed. His rants from that show are a fun read in his 2018 book, Final Report.

With unpredictable twists in mid sentence, masterful snappy short sentences and phrases, and great punch lines, his writing is hyperkinetic, humorous and brilliant. On arriving in Kabul to entertain our troops after a hair-raising flight in a beat up Afghani airline plane he says “For the first time, I related to the Pope, with his penchant for kissing the ground he lands on.” On first meeting Preston Manning he commented that “Over the coming the years he would morph into a much slicker politician, lowering his voice, getting contact lenses and experimenting with clothes that actually fit.”

Perhaps the best satire is in the chapter “Talking to Americans” in which he exposed the profound ignorance about all things Canadian of ordinary Americans and even their political leaders and academics by feeding them ludicrous lies about Canada and recording their responses in street interviews. It is hard to believe such prevalent myopic disinterest in the rest of the world unless one has experienced it as I did at Yale in the mid 70’s. In July that year, it took me almost two weeks to find out who had won in the Canadian election that I had voted in the day I left Canada. And I got used to the New Haven weatherman calling winter storms developing in Minnesota and heading our way “cold Canadian air.”

Mercer is generous in his praise for his many coworkers and enablers, self-deprecatory, and humble. The insights into how decisions and collaborations in the world of television are enlightening.

A uniquely Canadian delightful read. I hope there will be a sequel covering his later exploits.

Thanks,

Vera.

First a confession. Before being gifted this book, I had never heard of the famous Chinese author of this memoir. He describes his occupation as artist but defines art loosely, as he plays roles as poet, writer, sculptor, visual artist, photographer, documentary film-maker, architect, musician, political activist and all-round S.D. His father was apparently an equally famous artist (in pre-Revolutionary China), a friend of Mao Zedong and a leading communist fighting the Japanese occupiers and the Nationalists at one point before becoming a disillusioned critical outsider, and was jailed long before Mao’s 1970s Cultural Revolution that killed 550,000.

The first 80 pages is all family history stuffed with unfamiliar names of people and places, as the author’s father moves repeatedly around China and elsewhere in the pre-revolution years, even becoming a friend of the famous Chilean Communist poet Pablo Neruda.

The author was and still is equally itinerant, travelling around the world to art exhibits featuring his work, and making friends everywhere he goes. While living in New York, American friends included Susan Sontag, Andy Warhol, and Allen Ginsberg. There is no doubt that he is talented in many fields, intelligent, sincere, and devoted to championing human rights everywhere. He was the Chinese collaborator with a Swiss architectural company in designing the Bird’s Nest stadium for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. I rarely read poetry, but some included in the book was quite enjoyable. His work and political views are so characterized by antagonism to everything mainstream as to make him seem to be an anarchist.

His subversive artistic themes naturally lead to conflict with the autocratic controlling Communist Party and his fearless criticism finally lead to his incarceration and silencing without a trial for 181 days in 2011, at the same time that my wife and I were touring China for three weeks. His documentation of the cruelty of the state apparatchiks is chilling.

He must not be poverty-stricken. He describes flying 100 tons of rebar across China to construct a memorial statue to children killed in a poorly constructed state school in the 2008 earthquake. More puzzling is his arranging and funding for 1001 ordinary Chinese to visit an art exhibition in Germany as some kind of symbolic work of art itself. Much of his art, like most of contemporary art, is just confusing to me, Images of a nude man covered in flies, a man chewing on the arm of an aborted human fetus, and of three women and himself standing nude do not inspire awe in me. It seems that if it shocks, it must be art.

The author’s relationship to women can best be described as serial monogamy, with or without the benefits of marriage. It is not clear even in the About The Author blurb, where he is now living-Germany or California? A map showing the major sites of action would have been helpful. His sketches of artwork throughout contributes little to this reader’s appreciation of the book.

A good quote and a prescient warning: “Ideological cleansing….exists not only in totalitarian regimes- it is present also, in a different form, in liberal Western democracies.. Under the influence of politically correct extremism, individual thought and expression are often curbed and replaced by empty political sloganeering…. people saying and doing things they don’t believe in simply to fall in line with the prevailing narrative.”

One error. The chronic subdural hematoma compressing his brain that he suffered from a police beating must have been much more than the stated eleven millilitres volume to threaten his life and require emergency surgery.

A good edifying read by a brave and honest champion for human rights, but I suspect it is of limited appeal to Western readers.

Thanks,

Ian and Sarina

First off, I need to express a pet peeve about the design and layout of the hardcover edition which I was gifted for Christmas. Although there are 351 numbered pages, the short stories all start on a recto page, leaving 42 verso pages blank. This may be an effort to make the book seem bigger than it is, but is a waste of paper, likely initiated by the publisher, perhaps with input from Mansbridge. But some trees were killed needlessly to produce this book.

The high school dropout working as a baggage handler for a small regional airline in Churchill, Manitoba, who became the face of Canadian journalism provides rambling accounts of his coverage of major stories for over 30 years, much of it as anchor of the nightly CBC The National from 1988 until 2017.

Dozens of anecdotes provide interesting peeks into the decision-making processes of media organizations, world leaders personalities and social and cultural changes over his long career. Generally balanced in his portrayal of politicians and public figures, he seems to make an exception for Stephen Harper. He leaves little doubt that their relationship was fraught, and he does not hesitate to condemn Donald Trump and his ilk. He praises most of his fellow journalists and discusses the around-the-clock preparedness necessary to do their job well. There a few sprinkles of self-deprecating humour. He glides over the controversies surrounding our nearby Kanata neighbour, Mike Duffy. (You didn’t think he lives in P.E.I., did you?). There is almost nothing about the author’s personal life, other than description of his childhood in Britain and Malaya. His religious beliefs, if he has any, are never mentioned except to state that he is not Catholic, though he is proud of having the pope personally bless his third marriage (to actress Cynthia Dale), the only wife he even mentions.

There is no doubt that Peter Mansbridge is intelligent and conscientious, caring deeply about his adoptive country. He is spirited in his defence of journalistic independence. “Funny what happens when a party comes to power and realizes that the public broadcaster is there to serve the public, not them. ….it really is a public broadcaster, not a state broadcaster.” His deep concerns for the plight of the indigenous people are refreshing.

In spite of weak efforts to project modesty, there is a noticeable odour of egotistical hubris coming out of this book, and a lot of selective name-dropping to impress readers with his contacts with the rich and powerful. He twice mentions that his previous book, Extraordinary Canadians was an instant bestseller.In the latter part of his journalistic career, and in that previous book, I also noted this tendency to play the role of know-it-all commentator rather than interviewer or reporter, often prefacing questions to those he was supposedly interviewing with his own opinions on the subject at hand. But I can’t fault many of his opinions. The small black-and-white photographs scattered throughout the book contributed nothing to this readers enjoyment of it.

I found one factual error. He perpetuates the myth that Jack Layton died of prostate cancer. He died of a cancer of some type, but I vividly recall a skeletal Layton on TV in 2011 emphatically stating that he was cured of prostate cancer and that he had developed a new malignancy of unspecified origin. Where it originated is still a secret ten years later.

Nothing very profound here, but a good read with lots of Canadian and world history, and some interesting stories.

Thanks,

Alana

In an interesting coincidence, within a couple hours yesterday, I encountered two references to Occam’s Razor, the principle of parsimony first enunciated by the 14th century Franciscan friar, William of Occam. There are several wordings of it, but the most popular is that to explain any phenomenon, the hypothesis requiring the fewest assumptions should be chosen, as it is most likely to be correct. My brilliant friend, Al Dreidger used it in his ‘brain droppings’ to explain the phenomenon of dimorphism in birds and humans. I think Al may have introduced me to it, and I have used it in my problem-solving and writing as well. Then the author of this erudite treatise used it in discussing a strange astronomical phenomenon observed in October, 2017. Both authors have also quoted the Sherlock Holmes’s observation that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.

All of the above is a roundabout way of introducing the thinking of the eminent Harvard astronomy professor and author of this scholarly book.

For several days in October, 2017, astronomers tracked a strange object subsequently named the ‘oumuamua, that entered our solar system, carved a smooth arc within it, rotating and tumbling systematically and disobeying the laws governing movement of all known natural objects in space, then sped off back into interstellar space. Most astronomers were confused, but eventually generally agreed that it was not a comet, an asteroid, or a man made piece of space debris. Using Occam’s Razor to cut away the seemingly impossible explanations for it that all need a huge number of assumptions, Loeb gathered evidence for the only other possibility, i.e. that it was, however unlikely, the product of some form of extraterrestrial intelligence. He posits that it was a solar-powered lightsail used to power an alien rocket ship.

His hypothesis and the whole small SETI (Search For ExtraTerrestial Intelligence) community of astronomers has been met with either silence or scorn by most mainstream astronomers. He addresses the issues of fads and blinkered thinking within science generally, and laments that funding is often directed to those studying string theory, extra-spatial dimensions and supersymmetry for which he says there is no evidence, rather than for SETI. He alleges that there are approximately a zeta (1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000) habitable planets in the observable universe. “The scientific truth is not determined by the number of likes on Twitter, rather by evidence.”

Later in the book, Loeb discusses the panspermia hypothesis of the origin of life on earth coming from other planets, and posits Oumuamua’s wager, modelled after Blaise Pascal’s famous wager about God. “Live as if there is, or has been intelligent life in the universe other than our own, and we redefine some of the missions of humanity.”

Loeb has been accused of arrogance and cites a lot of his own discoveries. But he also is careful to include his collaborators and comes across, at least to me, as the inquisitive Israeli farm boy he once was, simply trying to figure out how the world-no, the whole universe- works using all the tools at his disposal.

I cannot claim to understand all of the mathematics and rarified language of astrophysics in spite of Loeb’s frequent use of plain language, thought experiments, and analogies. But I really enjoyed getting his perspective on an important scientific issue, and generally enjoy reading the works of iconoclastic thinkers. I do believe we must have company.

In this largely question-and-answer discourse with an obviously admiring Douglas Abrams, the 87-year-old world-famous conservationist’s intelligence, charisma, and optimism shine through. The format of the book is discussion of Dr. Goodall’s four reasons for hope, sandwiched between a somewhat pedantic thirty-three page discussion of the meaning of the word hope, and a forty-six page selective biography of her life, her work and her beliefs. These in turn are bookended by her brief and personal “An Invitation To Hope”, and “A Message Of Hope from Jane” addressed to the reader.

Her four reasons for hope that we can survive and prosper in spite of formidable problems that she does not shy away from, are: The Amazing Human Intellect, The Resilience of Nature, The Power Of Young People, and The Indomitable Human Spirit. Of these, the documentation of the dramatic effects of the power of mobilized, motivated, and energetic young people working through her thirty year old, international Roots and Shoots program gave this reader the most convincing reasons to hope for a better or at least a survivable future for Homo sapiens. In the Amazing Human Intellect, she makes a careful distinction between intelligence and wisdom. In The Resilience of Nature, she gives readers numerous examples of how plants and animals have overcome near-extinction, often with some help from humans. In The Indomitable Human Spirit, a smattering of history is reviewed to demonstrate howwe have overcome seemingly impossible obstacles in the past.

It would be remarkably arrogant, inappropriate and silly of me to criticize someone of Jane Goodall’s stature, intelligence and integrity. Nevertheless I can take issue with, or at least discuss, some controversial points. Her reliance on aboriginal medicine men and shamans to cure physical ailments seems unscientific, almost anti-scientific as does her nebulous reliance on connecting with a “Great Spiritual Power” outside of herself for strength and courage. In A Lifelong Journey, she abandons science completely in acknowledging a belief in some kind of vague life after death, and perhaps even reincarnation. Her philosophy seems to include a strong belief in human free will, a tenet that many science-minded modern philosophers reject. But, admirably, she refuses to expect others to adopt her nebulous spiritual outlook on life. There are some hints of hyperbole in discussion of climate change and loss of biodiversity. I got no clues as to why Gail Hudson’s name is present on the cover.

The discussion is often unfocused and rambling but is so loaded with keen insights and little-known facts about the remarkable world of nature as to keep the reader fully engaged.

A good read and an interesting biographic sketch of a remarkable primate.

Thanks,

The New Yorker

This book is on several online lists of recommended 2021 reads, including The New Yorker, and is the Goodreads fiction choice of the year. In it, the young controversial Marxist Irish novelist’s latest, she seems to enjoy writing about the lives of writers and their relationship to their works. A confusing group of young single Irish characters from various backgrounds, all apparently addicted to cell phone communication, write long email letters to each other musing about their lives and experiences.

In Chapter Six, in a letter to a friend, one novelist muses about the fraught relationship of writers to their writing and to unwanted fame, and about readers delving in to the private lives of authors. The seeking of fame is equated to a form of mental illness as she yearns for anonymity, while obliged to lead a public life to promote her books. This may be the only chapter with any redeeming value.

Other characters include a self-loathing, bisexual, communist novelist who devotes a lot of space in her letters to a childhood friend to an ethereal and ephemeral discourse about the meaning of sex, the polarization of political beliefs, and the absurdity of all forms of religion. The treatment of both politics and religion is superficial and stale.

I seldom start reading a novel without reading to the end, but I made an exception for this one. After reading vivid multi-page descriptions of the pornographic deployment of various combinations of appendages and orifices for the umpteenth time, after twenty of thirty chapters, I gave up and returned this trashy novel to the library. A friend once told me that he never read novels written by women, because they are all obsessed with sex. I am beginning to believe him. And I am becoming less and less trusting of recommendations by literary critics and reviewers.

This book by a L.A. novelist has been announced as the 2021 winner of a Goodreads online poll in the category of historical fiction, although both the history connection, and how the polling was conducted is obscure to me. This may be the result of nothing more than a triumph of self-promotion by the author and/or aggressive marketing by the publisher.

The Riva family is the focus with Mick Riva possibly being loosely modelled after Mick Jagger. The four Riva children all seem to be obsessed with superficial appearances, wealth, sex, and fame. All of their friends and acquaintances- young aspiring actors, producers, surfers and other athletes, musicians, screen-writers and assorted pop culture celebrities- seem to make all major life decisions with their gonads rather than their brains.

The depiction of the superficiality, sex-obsession and self-absorption of Hollywood denizens seems straight out of People Magazine or some trashy paparazzi tabloid, but even those outlets can’t match the exaggerated sensationalism and pathos here. The focus in Part II is on the huge annual Nina Revi party, fuelled by prodigious amounts of alcohol, pot, LSD, and cocaine, leading to sexual excesses, while many longstanding conflicts come to a head at the all-night debauchery. The plot does get more complicated than the endless indiscriminate copulation that makes up much of the first part. The ending is unpredictable, ingeniously imaginative and appropriate.

There are descriptions of graphic sexual exploits, and abundant coarse language. The best narrative in the book, in my estimation, is the pathos of four young children adjusting to the life-threatening problems created by their single mother’s descent into terminal alcoholism.

I listened to the CloudLibrary audiobook edition. This has two advantages for absorbing such a book. First, the extensive dialogue, narrated superbly by Julie Whalen, is much more expressive with volume and intonation variations that cannot be captured in print. Secondly, it does not preclude multitasking such as snacking or watching the TV news while at least half listening to the story. And my wife insists that my multitasking in this instance included a couple of short naps while ‘listening’ to this book. At least not a complete waste of 11 hours and six minutes. To the author’s credit, there is just enough suspense that I listened to the end, though tempted to abandon it earlier, just to find out what happens when the police arrive at the party. But if this novel is ever made into a movie, as is rumoured, they would need to hire a large cast of porn stars to make it realistic.

Some voyeuristic readers may enjoy this book but I did not.

This detailed and exhaustively researched history lesson from a Washington, D.C. historian specializing in WWII focuses on the roles of various European royals and expats who fled to England at the start of that war. These include feisty Queen Wilhelmina of Holland, King Haakon of Norway, President Edvard Benes of Czechoslovakia, and Poland’s President in exile Wladyslaw Raczkiewicz and his Prime Minister Wladyslaw Sikorski. King Leopold III of Belgium was not among them as he never managed to reach England. Prickly General Charles De Gaulle was the self-appointed leader of the French expats, but was distrusted by the Brits and detested by FDR.

There are hundreds of names of individual heroes and villains that I had never heard of, and Olson weaves into the story the experiences of familiar nonmilitary characters, including Audrey Hepburn, Madeline Albright, and the British journalist, Malcom Muggeridge, who was also a MI6 mole.

No military or political leader escapes from the documentation of duplicity, deviousness, betrayals, and blatant errors of military planning. King Leopold was scapegoated for the disaster at Dunkirk, as was Polish General Stanislaw for the slaughter at Arnhem late in the war. The haughty Brits distrusted and downplayed the major role of Polish airforce pilots and resistance fighters everywhere on the continent and in the end the Brits and Americans sacrificed Poland and the Czechs to appease Stalin. No one has ever adequately acknowledged the major role of heroic women escorting downed pilots out of occupied France to safety via Spain, nor the thousands of women who sheltered, fed, and hid servicemen and spies behind enemy lines. The rivalry and distrust between MI6 operatives and the Special Operations Executive foiling Nazi plans lead to disastrous planning and thousands of civilian deaths.

Of the many revelations that contradict the history we were taught in the 50s and 60s, none is more remarkable than the fact that Polish expats did most of the groundwork to decode the German communications system Enigma, popularly credited to Brits at Bletchley Park, as detailed by Kate Quinn in The Rose Code. The world’s major stock of heavy water, critical for the development of atomic bombs, was snatched from under Nazi noses from a remote Norwegian factory and smuggled to the U.S. The surprising assertion that 95% of the casualties of the BigThree allies (America, Britain and Russia) were Russians, is confined to a footnote. There is continuing debate among historians about the importance of SOE sabotage of Nazi operations in France after the D-Day invasion, even 75 years later.

One of many memorable quotes: “The worst thing a subordinate [in the military] can do is to question orders and to be proved right.” Some such truth-tellers were subjected to court-martial or executed. It is no accident that the word ‘snafu’ was first applied to the military.

There are some surprising omissions. The Italian fascists are barely mentioned and the role of religious leaders such as Pope Pious XII (see Hitler’s Pope, by John Cornwell) is totally missing, perhaps because these facets had little to do with the last hope island. A few maps of major sites of action would have helped this geographically-challenged reader.

This book will be of most interest and use to dedicated historians, military planners and teachers, and perhaps those in the espionage world. And there are still many Canadians of European origin alive who will remember some of their experiences there as children, particularly those who survived the starvation in Dutch cities brought on by the refusal of the Allies to help them, choosing instead a mad rush to enter Germany prematurely. My mother must have had mixed emotions on May 9, 1945 as Victory in Europe was announced (VE Day is May 8th). The war that had killed her younger brother in Belgium a few months earlier was over, but she suddenly had to deal with a screaming, helpless newcomer- me.

Thanks,

Siobhan

I am not sure what led to my interest in this book other than a general hope to learn more about climate change and the factors that are driving it. And I generally enjoy reading the works of contrarian, iconoclastic writers who challenge what John Kenneth Galbraith called ‘conventional wisdom’ and Steven Koonin certainly does that. He is a theoretical physicist, currently a professor at New York University. In the past he has worked for British Petroleum in their renewable energy division and was a government science advisor in Barrack Obama’s first term, but not in his second term. He never mentions why he left that job, but my guess is that he was fired.

Early on, Koonin makes clear that, at least for him, science is all about the pursuit of factual knowledge, and should be completely divorced from advocacy and persuasion. But surely scientists do have some ethical obligation to advocate for the truths they discover and the implications of those truths as they relate to the lives of others. And he breaks his own rule in Chapter 13 in making suggestions to deal with global warming; specifically, he advocates for funding research into geoengineering and solar radiation management, a strategy that even alarmists about global warming shy away from, because of the unknowable consequences.

In the first few pages, an old aphorism about the distinction between weather and climate is invoked to make the distinction clear. “Climate is what you expect. Weather is what you get.” A trite but important distinction.

There are a lot of indisputable and surprising facts about the limitations of the science of climatology that I found interesting; these contradict the popular narrative, and he emphasizes the changes that are natural and unrelated to human activities. The uncertainty that is integral to the various models used to predict trends and guide policy decisions is documented and bemoaned but seems to lead directly to advocacy for inaction, or at least delay of any meaningful action.

The writing is loaded with acronyms and technically detailed science that many readers will have trouble following and the accompanying graphs seem to sometimes make distinctions of questionable significance. The cherry picking of arbitrary time periods to make comparisons is lamented but is also used to reinforce his arguments.

The author’s undisputed intelligence and self-confidence spills over into annoying arrogance as he seems to think that he, and he alone, has all of the answers to the climate problems that 8 billion others face, none of whom have solved the problem as well as he has. He takes great pleasure in showing that predictions of such luminaries as Mark Carney and WHO experts have been proven wrong with the passage of time, but never acknowledges any doubt about his own predictions. He never fails to mention the positions of considerable influence that he has occupied and name-drops his famous contacts liberally, including a dinner at Buckingham Palace with the late Prince Phillip. Even the About the Author blurb reads like the introduction of a VIP at an awards ceremony, listing his many important appointments.

The valid bottom-line message of this book is advice to be skeptical about how the data on global climate change is presented in the popular media. It is also a good reference work, particularly the 74 graphs that provide valuable data, although some statisticians could probably find fault with some of them.

I cannot recommend this dense, dry book for the general public..

Bizarre may be the best one word description of this novel by a Chapel Hill, North Carolina emergency room physician. After a multiple murder at a kids play date, the one surviving six year old boy is admitted to a psychiatric ward. The lives of the boy, an emergency room physician and a 99 year old reclusive woman, all living in the same Rhode Island community, become entwined in complex ways.

The work-related stories told by the female E.R. physician are very realistic (probably based at least in part on the author’s real life experiences) and brought back vivid memories of my days as a physician often dealing with sudden unpredictable emergencies. I suspect that for non-physicians, her description of her work life would be enlightening and enjoyable. She tells a trainee: “Medicine will take everything you have to give, and some days you will have to give it everything. …. no matter how much you love it, medicine will never love you back.”

The writing flows naturally like a slow river, but one with swirling eddies in the time flow. Themes of loneliness, endurance, hope, and even futility prevail. The characters all seem to abandon their deep Catholic belief in any better life hereafter as they accumulate many cruel losses in this one.

But-and it is a big but- I found it impossible to follow any reasonable time line to the story, which seems to extend from about the 1930s to at least 2018, but in jumbled disorder. Appropriately, the chapters in which the elderly hermit relates bits and pieces of her life history are much longer than those relating to other characters. Like the Muriel Parkinson character in a Terry Fallis novel, she is witty and sprightly.

This book, gifted to me, is going to the Willam’s Court lending library, as it is not one to take up any of the limited space on our shelves.

Thanks,

Andra via Cratejoy.

The well-known American author of thirteen books, mostly about the history of science, divides this one into six chapters entitled Glass, Cold, Sound, Clean, Time, and Light. His wide-ranging knowledge and unique insights always provide interesting perspectives and background on diverse subjects and inventions that we take for granted without questioning their origins. I have read his 2006 The Ghost Map, and his 2021 A Short History Of Living Longer and enjoyed them both.

All the chapters here document important and unexpected historical trends from simple inventions. In that respect the book could be entitled Unintended Consequences of Important Innovations, or perhaps The Butterfly Effect of Important Innovations, after the chaos theory aphorism, referenced several times, of a minute localized change (like a butterfly flapping its wings in California) in a complex interconnected system, having huge effects elsewhere (like causing a hurricane in the Atlantic). The invention of glass lead to the development of spectacles, telescopes, microscopes, and mirrors. The harnessing of cold for storage of foodstuff in ice lead to air conditioners and huge changes in demographic distributions around the world. The invention of sound recording via the phonoautograph and Edison’s phonograph lead to Bell’s telephone, microphones, military use of sonar, medical use of ultrasound, and digitization of music and communication. The Clean chapter lacks a single simple innovation but the need for clean water lead to the development of sanitary sewer systems, and chlorination of drinking water. Contamination of water lead to the germ theory of infectious diseases, first espoused by John Snow, and a huge change in personal hygiene attitudes, and stoked the popularity of public swimming pools. But I think Johnson stretches the connection a bit to argue that this drove radical changes in women’s clothing fashions.

The Time chapter documents the utter confusion of every city and community having their own clocks set to the correct time based on astronomy, before the relatively recent adoption of time zones and the acceptance of extremely accurate clocks based on the very consistent rhythmic oscillations of electrons orbiting around caesium nuclei. In the Light chapter the claim is made that before the development of artificial light, humans generally had two distinct sleep periods in darkness with a significant awake period in between. I doubt that our complex circadian rhythms have changed that drastically in less than 200 years and this claim was not mentioned in Matthew Walker’s 2017 comprehensive Why We Sleep. The discovery of neon and the development of laser are well described, but optimistic use of highly focused light to produce unlimited energy by nuclear fusion has not (yet) borne fruit.

Throughout, Johnson emphasizes that all the innovations discussed were not the result of solitary geniuses having an ah-ah or light bulb moment but the result of slow evolution of ideas in brainy people with a wide knowledge base, i.e. people like himself.

The choice of the six innovations seems arbitrary, and I am sure some readers will think of others that should or could have been included. My nomination for that is the plow. Perhaps Johnson will write a “Six More Inventions That Changed The World” and include it. He is far to young to retire.

A good educational read loaded with little-known historical facts.

Thanks,

Andra via Cratejoy.

Margaret Verble grew up close to the real Glendale Park and Zoo, outside of Nashville,Tennessee, which was built on the site of a desecrated and looted Native cemetery. She now lives in Lexington, Ky.

Two Feathers, from Oklahoma, is a young single Cherokee woman who works as a horse diver in the amusement park in 1926. This was during the Scopes monkey trial being conducted locally, and at the height of the quack evangelist Amie Semple McPherson’s popularity. Both feature obliquely in the story, the former more than the latter.

I was not previously aware of horse diving, i.e. driving trained horses off a high platform into a pool, as a spectator sport, but apparently it was quite popular and dangerous in the south of that era. When things go wrong, the horse is killed and the injured Two Feathers falls into an underground cave; the consequences strain the fragile race relationships. Taboo romances develop between Indians, blacks and the dominating, rich, white folk. A soldier experiences vivid hallucinatory flashbacks and visits from his compatriot killed beside him in the trenches. In modern DSM-4 parlance, this would be labelled as PTSD, but here it is just treated as a normal response to the memory of war horrors.

As the story progresses, reality is totally abandoned for magical fantasies as a ghost visits multiple characters and apparently kills and scalps a rogue white man. Two Feathers discusses developments with a hippo, a bear, a turtle and a buffalo, and seeks their advice. I admire Native Americans’ close connection to, and reverence for, nature and other species of flora and fauna-closer than that of most white folk- at least as depicted in this and much other fiction writing. Here communication and understanding between animals and humans pervades the whole story. And I can kinda, sorta enjoy some ghost and spirit world stories. But Little Elk’s spirit from beyond the grave describing a baseball victory to the enclosed buffalo herd in the park is mysticism and spiritualism that stretches my imagination beyond the breaking point. And the far-reaching consequences of the mysterious premature death of the park’s hippo and a bear cub are hard to reconcile with reality.

This novel has been selected as a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. There is perhaps no better illustration of the discrepancy between what the literati of prize selection committees enjoy in novels and what I enjoy. Although there is some interesting local colour and perhaps a hidden message about the importance of connecting with nature, I simply cannot recommend it.

Thanks,

Book Browse.

The irascible Angus McLintock of the author’s earlier novels The Best Laid Plans and The High Road, is back, now as the newly minted Minister of State For International Relations in a current-era Liberal Canadian government. And so are Dan Addison his aide, who is the narrator of this tale, Muriel Parkinson, suffering from her eponymous disease in a Cumberland seniors home, and her granddaughter, Lindsay, Dan’s wife. There are several other characters from the earlier novels, and some new ones including a pair of Chechen nationalist immigrants plotting to assassinate Russia’s president during his visit to Ottawa, undercover members of Britain’s MI6, Canada’s CSIS, and Russia’s FSB, ambassadors, civil servants, and politicians, including the Prime Ministers of Canada and Great Britain, and President Pudovkin of Russia; even the Queen makes an appearance.

This is a wild and unruly story, with lots of improbable twists. It is more in the genre of the international spy thriller than the light humour of Fallis’s earlier novels, although the indomitable wittiness of the Honourable Member from Cumberland and Prescott shines through with great repartee and one liners. As Dan and Angus, handcuffed and stuffed together in the trunk of the Chechen killers’ speeding car consider their fate, Angus calmly states “Be glad I dinnae have those leftover cabbage rolls for breakfast.”

There are so many plot twists, not about whodunnit, but about how they were thwarted and caught, that it stretches the reader’s imagination to foresee how there could not be a lot of unexplained details at the end. But there are no loose ends and the seemingly fortuitous chance happenings all fall in place logically.

It is not strictly necessary to have read the two previous Fallis novels featuring Angus McLintock to enjoy and understand this one, but they do form a natural progression. The setting, largely in the downtown and eastern suburbs of Ottawa, adds accurate local colour and atmosphere, and the intrigue and backstabbing that is politics 101 is conveyed convincingly.

A throughly enjoyable read from one of my favourite novelists.

Thanks,

Janet.

Narrated largely by fictional 42 year old Jessie Dubois, unfaithful artist wife of a South Carolina psychiatrist, this novel is set mainly on a fictional island off the Atlantic coast of South Carolina in the 1980s. Sue Monk Kidd is a prolific South Carolina novelist, her most well-known work being The Secret Life of Bees, which if I recall correctly from reading it many years ago, had little to do with bees except as symbols of cooperation and communalism. I have not read any of the other 21 novels she has written. Symbolism is also a prominent feature of this story particularly that of mermaids, and the psychic meaning of dismembering and remembering.

It is difficult to discuss this work without giving away too much of the plot, which is not very complex but has some unpredictable peculiar twists. Jessie finds the intact tobacco pipe that was said to have caused her father’s death in a boat explosion at her mother’s house. This mystery remains unsolved until late in the story. There are not many characters, but they include Jessie’s mentally troubled mother, a tormented doubting lawyer cum monk at the monastery on the island, and a African American native woman who keeps the African slave traditions and folklore alive. From my medical perspective, Pick’s disease (frontotemporal dementia) with its devastating effects on one’s personality is accurately described.

Reading about the distinctive culture and folklore of the life on a small South Carolina coastal island is delightful, as it is loaded with symbolism and hidden meaning. Buried within the story is the deep emotional self-awareness of the various narrators, and a quest to find spiritual meaning and fulfillment in everyday encounters and events. There is abundant eroticism but it is treated delicately, entirely within the context of romantic love, not as a hormonally-driven midlife escape from a dull but conventional marriage.

The connection of the narrator to her inner self with constant self analysis, introspection and doubt seems to me to be a bit excessive, but it may just be that that trait seems (at least to me) to be more be prevalent in women than in men.

A quite enjoyable read, which I suspect women appreciate more than men do.

Thanks,

Leslie.

This autobiography by the exiled American whistleblower exposing the nefarious schemes of the intelligence agencies of the U.S. government to collect and store information about almost everyone on earth is a real eye opener. He comes across as a conscientious, intelligent, and principled IT guru who is not afraid to reveal his own flaws and limitations. I admire his courage, candour, and honesty. With that sentiment now floating in cyberspace, I wonder if the U.S. National Intelligence Service and the CIA may open a ‘permanent record’ on me, if they have not already do so. His revelations make it clear that they are capable of obtaining information on almost everything I have done, every country I have visited (China and Qatar might pique their interest), every purchase I have made using a credit card, any of my postings on social media, and any phone conversation I have been in on in the digital age. Perhaps I flatter myself to think they would be interested in my existence and my nonconformist amateurish thoughts, but there is no doubt that they could collect all of that information if they wanted to.

Snowden began his career in computer technology at a young age, disdaining traditional education and progressing through the ranks of intelligence services to become privy to the nation’s top security files. At least initially a patriot, he tried out for the army Special Services, only to fail when he broke both legs in training. With various companies with contracts to the CIA and the NAC, he was instrumental in developing some of the capabilities that those organizations later abused to unconstitutionally spy on innocent Americans and invade the privacy of anyone they chose to check out with or without any reason or warrant. But as his disillusion mounted, and his mental health deteriorated, he used his extensive computer expertise to copy top secret files and fled to Hong Kong without notifying his girlfriend or family. The tense eventual meeting with journalists there lead to headlines around the world about the illegal, alarming extensive spying on innocent people everywhere.

After an agonizing decision to self-identify as the source for the journalists, he sought political asylum, hoping to reach Quito, Equator via Moscow, Havana, and Caracas, but was detained in Moscow (his American passport was canceled while he was in the air) where he has remained as a political exile since 2013.

His long time girlfriend, a photographic artist, must be a saint. She stuck with him throughout his career, never knowing what he did for a living, tolerating his frequent mysterious absences on unexplained missions. Excerpts from her diary, included in the book, highlight the torment she underwent with the extensive tracking of her every move for months and many hours of psychologically damaging interrogation by the F.B.I. after he was identified as the whistleblower. Somehow she got to Moscow and married Snowden four years ago. A true love story.

There have been positive developments attributable almost entirely to Snowden’s revelations. In 2015, the United States passed the USA Freedom Act to rein in some of the worst abuses allowed by the earlier Patriot Act and in 2016 the European Union passed the General Data Protection Regulation that has had a ripple effect around the world.

Snowden is presently President of the Board of Directors of the Freedom of the Press Foundation but ironically is still provided no personal freedom and is regarded as a criminal traitor by the U.S. government and security apparatus.

In places the story reads like a modern spy mystery novel. It proceeds logically, and is generally easy to follow although some of the details of computer science was lost on me.

A couple of good quotes:

“Technology doesn’t have a Hippocratic oath.”

“Nothing is harder than living with a secret that can’t be shared.”

If you value your freedom and privacy, and don’t want to leave their protection to others, this should be on your list of must-reads.

Thanks,

Book Bub

This old peculiar horror story was chosen for the Halloween meeting of our book club, but I missed the meeting because of a curling commitment. It is supposedly a classic of the genre. If so, I will refrain from the genre entirely in the future. It has never been my favourite genre. The American author’s writing, according to an included 22 page analysis stuffed with background information and a 17 page Introduction by Laura Miller was mainly powered by prodigious amounts of alcohol and amphetamines. The background information reads like a classic Freudian analysis of both the eccentric author and the characters in the novel.

There are no hints of the geographic setting nor even the decade in which the events take place, except that there are cars, but seemingly no telephones. A professor studying occult events assembles a group of three enthusiasts to visit and investigate strange events in the old house with a reputation for scary ghosts and a history of strange deaths and conflicts in the family that own it. This includes a member of that family, a poor single self-doubting woman who is left basically homeless after her invalid mother dies, and one other woman who has some mysterious interest in the occult.

During their short stay in the Hill House, there are abundant unexplained phenomenon that lead to bizarre explanations and interpretations, hints of a budding romance that never progresses or becomes overt, and conflicts.

There are few characters, all of them eccentric and interesting, if the reader excludes the grass, wildflowers, trees and the house itself as characters, but anthropomorphism encompasses everything. This makes for a few interesting literary twists in the writing.

“She found a spot where the grass was soft and dry and lay down…. Around her the trees and wild flowers, with that oddly courteous air of natural things, suddenly interrupted in their pressing occupations of growing and dying, turned toward her with attention, as though, dull and imperceptive as she was, it was still necessary for them to be gentle to a creation so unfortunate as not to be rooted in the ground, forced to go from one place to another, heartbreakingly mobile.”

There may be some deep hidden message here, but, if so, it completely escaped me, with my lack of imagination and concrete ways of thinking. Perhaps lovers of horror stories would like this one, but I cannot recommend it.

Thanks,

Carolyn.

The British-American author of Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand returns to the Sussex,England of her youth for this novel set largely in 1914. Much of the early part of the story vividly depicts the rigidly stratified class distinctions, restrictive boring routines, and petty jealousies of the British upper classes of the era. Endless elliptical conversations filled with innuendo never come with straightforward statements, as characters vie for privilege, and no one can seem to say what they mean in blunt language. This consistent feature made it difficult for this reader to be sure about what exactly lead to the condemnation and disgrace of at least two characters. I can’t say more about this without giving away too much of the complex plot, but I could not be sure who impregnated the unwed gypsy teen. (There is absolutely no description of sex, with all gender relationships of the young cast in the language of romance, not biology.) The long list of characters with relationships and loyalties that are often obscure and changing, who are also often working at cross purposes, left me confused in places.

The characterizations are memorable and the condescending treatment of women by men who seem to view them as universally weak and unable to look after themselves is probably an accurate reflection of attitudes of the era, as is the distain for the local Romani itinerants. Several of the characters are jealous would-be writers yearning for recognition and acclaim, spouting Latin and French phrases. (One advantage of the ebook- it is an easy two clicks for translations.)

Part Four belies the title, occurring in the trenches of France in February, 1915, and in the town of Rye, England in March, 1915. The touching vivid description of the dead and dying victims of trench warfare in this section, especially as the dying talk to their comrades, is enough to make grown men weep and become pacifists, and is the best treatment of the subject that I have encountered. By far the best sectioning in my opinion.

The writing is smoothly straightforward with colourful descriptions of characters and many memorable quotes.

“To apply a logical explanation to an irrational act is madness itself.”

“With a heave he popped upright swaying a little as the bulk of his torso sought equilibrium above two short legs and a pair of dainty feet. He considered Beatrice from hooded eyes under a broad forehead that continued up and over the back of a balding head. She thought at once of a large owl.”

A good read, to be discussed at our next book club meeting. I await enlightenment on some details that I found confusing.

A Washington, D.C. journalist, writer, and globetrotter, reviews in great detail the needs of Homo sapiens to connect with the natural world for our individual and collective mental and physical health. She takes trips with urban planners, social scientists, and neuroscientists with fancy tracking equipment conducting an abundance of studies documenting the beneficial effects of time spent outdoors, alone or with friends and reviews their findings, rather uncritically at times. Many of the researchers seem to have forgone conclusions and design studies that will confirm their biases, although most of the conclusions seem logical and commonsensical.

In Chapter Two, ethereal distinctions and oversimplification of functions of parts of our intricately interconnected brains by neuroscientists in Moab, Utah, become confusing, as though the human brain works as a group of isolated islands. Salivary levels of cortisol is extensively used as a surrogate marker for stress, the latter not well defined, and undoubtedly some of the studies unjustifiably equate association with causation and attach too much significance to minor differences that may not even be statistically significant.

Having stated my concerns about some of the science above, the subject is a neglected one and the writing is interesting. I even accept the conclusion that most of us modern urbanites get far too little exposure to raw nature, especially our young children with their developing brains. The solutions suggested are also sensible guides to more relaxed, happier lives.

Chapter Four (of 12) is a particularly thoughtful analysis of the devastation wrought by modern noise pollution. The discussion of the very outdoorsy city of Singapore made me long for a trip to it, although it is not, as stated, the world’s only city state. (What about Vatican City?) Learning that Jackson Pollock paintings and natural forests contain mathematical repeating patterns called fractals is fascinating, new to me, and difficult to understand. There is a reason that older prisons and mental institutions were surrounded by gardens and farmland that inmates worked on to their benefit. We have unfortunately largely substituted less effective pharmaceutical treatment for the ‘nature fix’.

As someone who became an urbanite after a childhood in which most of my waking hours were spent in school or outdoors (or in outdoor schooling), I probably inadvertently benefited from that exposure which is now sadly lacking for most children. It may be only my daily walks, often in forests, that now keeps me semi-sane. I recently discovered that my iPhone keeps track of my steps, distances, and speed, but as an old Luddite, I am no fan of constant technical tracking of all body functions, which seem to somehow detract from the pure joy of the activity. I don’t like the idea of some Apple tech geek guiding and recording my exercises. I only check the number of steps (13,377 today, a bit more than my average) after donning pyjamas, and sometimes leave my phone at home.

City planners and health advisors should take the message from this book seriously. For the rest of the public it is still a thoughtful pleasant read.