I loved this novel, which is set in rural Long Island from about 1935 to 1945. It is a family story and beautifully told. Two young children whose parents have died are taken in by their aunt, uncle and grandfather and they grow up in the house on Salt Hay Road. All of the characters are beautifully drawn and very credible. One also feels the sea and salty air and the sense of a young boy's freedom as he roams the fields and marshes and beaches that permeates this book. There is also a wonderful nostalgia for people of my generation. It is a time before computers and cell phones and yet not too far removed.
Since I usually read the reviews on the back of books, I thought I would like this story when I read what Annie Dillard said: 'I'd like to see this book return literature to its roots in beauty. Not sentimental, Clevidence has a keen eye for the loneliness of what is real, and for the energy of what is exultant, the white birds rising from the marsh."
Quoting at random:
"Mavis sniffled as she passed Clayton a slice of bread. He smeared it with cream lifted from the top of the milk jug with the flat of the butter knife. The cream was yellow with fat, thick as leather. Clayton sprinkled sugar over it and then crammed the slice into his mouth. The grains of sugar pressed against his tongue."
Clayton is a young boy; Mavis is his older matronly aunt who has returned to the Salt Hay Road house years earlier after a bad marriage. She bakes and cleans and generally keeps house for her father, her brother and for Nancy and Clayton, her orphaned niece and nephew. Her character made me think of my grandmothers in their homes that were always clean and always smelled of good food.
I also liked the way this story was told. The author jumped into these lives and carried us along and then left them, but without a sense of abandonment....rather with a sense that there will be more life for the characters, and that they have been brought through important events in all their lives and now will persevere.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Book: The Charming Quirks of Others by Alexander McCall Smith
This is another Isabel Dalhousie novel. Isabel is a woman who lives in Edinburgh in Scotland and Alexander McCall Smith has written a series of novels starring Isabel. They are all somewhat the same, although her life does move forward chronologically as the series progresses. Isabel has her much younger boyfriend / fiance, Jamie, who is a bassoonist; she has their young son Charlie, her edgy niece Cat (who owns a delicatessen and always pops up as a minor character) and similarly her housekeeper Grace, and Eddie, a socially awkward, rather mysterious young man who works for Cat. The stories are light and mostly sweet but seldom saccharine. McCall obviously loves Scotland and this is a way he showcases his country, and more specifically, Edinburgh.
The bones of The Charming Quirks.... are that Isabel is asked to quietly poke around in the private lives of the three candidates for principal of a boys' school. It seems one of them might have a past that could be problematic should be become the new principal. Of course, Isabel, after a bit of initial hesitation, agrees to take this on. And that is the story. We follow along through her life and her thoughts for a few weeks as she works on this. There is always much of her personal life in these novels, especially her relationships with Jamie, Charlie and Cat.
It is refreshing to read of an older woman and younger man and their child and how it works (mostly) for them. Again, the Isabel Dalhousie series is a comfortable ramble through the life of an intelligent, thoughtful, charming woman. She muses a lot, being a philosopher, but her musings are usually triggered by what happens to her day after day.
I like this series better than the #1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series which also has a female protagonist but is set in Botswana where the author also lived for several years.
The bones of The Charming Quirks.... are that Isabel is asked to quietly poke around in the private lives of the three candidates for principal of a boys' school. It seems one of them might have a past that could be problematic should be become the new principal. Of course, Isabel, after a bit of initial hesitation, agrees to take this on. And that is the story. We follow along through her life and her thoughts for a few weeks as she works on this. There is always much of her personal life in these novels, especially her relationships with Jamie, Charlie and Cat.
It is refreshing to read of an older woman and younger man and their child and how it works (mostly) for them. Again, the Isabel Dalhousie series is a comfortable ramble through the life of an intelligent, thoughtful, charming woman. She muses a lot, being a philosopher, but her musings are usually triggered by what happens to her day after day.
I like this series better than the #1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series which also has a female protagonist but is set in Botswana where the author also lived for several years.
Book: Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk by David Sedaris
Sedaris takes familiar animals, anthropomorphizes them and puts them in situations we humans will recognize as we go through life. The stories are mostly very funny, although sometimes startling what with Sedaris' wicked wit. There are 16 stories about rats, stork, hippos, owls, chickens and so on. How better to illustrate what this book is than to offer a quote. This is from The Grieving Owl:
"On my way home that night, I picked up a rabbit. It was on the small side, and and no sooner had I started eating than my mother appeared. "I'll wait until you're finished, " she said in that particular way that means What kind of son can't offer his mother so much as an appendage? Sighing, I ripped off and ear and passed it over. "
Of course Sedaris is mostly pointing out our human foibles and character defects in a uniquely funny way. He contributes to The New Yorker and This American Life on NPR.
"On my way home that night, I picked up a rabbit. It was on the small side, and and no sooner had I started eating than my mother appeared. "I'll wait until you're finished, " she said in that particular way that means What kind of son can't offer his mother so much as an appendage? Sighing, I ripped off and ear and passed it over. "
Of course Sedaris is mostly pointing out our human foibles and character defects in a uniquely funny way. He contributes to The New Yorker and This American Life on NPR.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Sandhill Cranes
Deborah and I met in northern Indiana to see the sandhill cranes at Jasper-Pulaski Wildlife and Game Management Area. They congregate here and a few other places in the US on their migrations north and south each year.
We first met at JP near what would have been sunset had there been a sun. The cranes were flying by the thousands into a pasture in front of a viewing tower, landing, vocalizing and dancing. They arrived from all directions, sometimes singly, but usually in small groups. There was a cold wind blowing and it soon got dark.
We then stayed overnight in a motel 30 miles away and got up at 5 a.m. the next morning to return to see the birds at what would have been sunrise had there been a sun. Still, even without the added beauty of sunshine, it was amazing. The cranes were silvery gray with long necks. They kept flying in, silhouetted against the grey skies, gliding and flapping and dropping down to land for over an hour. We each took about 200 photos. I discarded most of mine but did get a few. Deborah took some small videos and recorded the warbling. Several people had huge lenses, and it was fun to eavesdrop as they all tried to find the correct light settings and exposures and shutter speeds, etc. Deborah and I both said we might come back on a sunny day, although it would mean a 5-hour round trip for both of us. Still, the sight of the cranes against the western sky at sunset would be worth it.
I was most entranced by the intersection of gravity and cranes. They simply seemed to have conquered the strictures of gravity and would gently gently drift downward, their spindly legs dangling, and would settle into the group already on the ground.
We then birded the surrounding area for about an hour, seeing several pairs of eastern bluebirds, tree sparrows, red-bellied and red-headed woodpeckers, white-breated nuthatches and blue jays, most in the state tree nursery which is also part of Jasper-Pulaski.
We first met at JP near what would have been sunset had there been a sun. The cranes were flying by the thousands into a pasture in front of a viewing tower, landing, vocalizing and dancing. They arrived from all directions, sometimes singly, but usually in small groups. There was a cold wind blowing and it soon got dark.
We then stayed overnight in a motel 30 miles away and got up at 5 a.m. the next morning to return to see the birds at what would have been sunrise had there been a sun. Still, even without the added beauty of sunshine, it was amazing. The cranes were silvery gray with long necks. They kept flying in, silhouetted against the grey skies, gliding and flapping and dropping down to land for over an hour. We each took about 200 photos. I discarded most of mine but did get a few. Deborah took some small videos and recorded the warbling. Several people had huge lenses, and it was fun to eavesdrop as they all tried to find the correct light settings and exposures and shutter speeds, etc. Deborah and I both said we might come back on a sunny day, although it would mean a 5-hour round trip for both of us. Still, the sight of the cranes against the western sky at sunset would be worth it.
I was most entranced by the intersection of gravity and cranes. They simply seemed to have conquered the strictures of gravity and would gently gently drift downward, their spindly legs dangling, and would settle into the group already on the ground.
We then birded the surrounding area for about an hour, seeing several pairs of eastern bluebirds, tree sparrows, red-bellied and red-headed woodpeckers, white-breated nuthatches and blue jays, most in the state tree nursery which is also part of Jasper-Pulaski.
Mute Swans
Last Saturday, I went to Holland State Park for the Lakeshore Bird Count. This is done in two one-hour segments, from 0730 to 0830 and then from 0830 to 0930. It is done periodically throughout the year, up and down the shoreline. I had never participated before so wasn't quite sure how it was done.
There was a strong, cold east wind. About 6 or 7 of us persevered, although I was absolutely no help at all. Two people had nice spotting scopes and would call out the mergansers, loons, gulls and ducks that I could barely see even as specks through my binoculars. Still, I learned how flight patterns help sort out flying waterfowl. I do see a scope in my future as birds continue to seduce me.
We stayed at the end of the pier for the first hour and then huddled behind the little brick NOAA weather station on the shore. My fingers and toes were pretty numb when 0930 finally arrived.
The highlight for me was two mute swans which came from the west and were flying low and straight east down the channel toward Lake Macatawa. As they approached and passed over, we could easily hear the lovely wild noise of their wings beating the air.
There was a strong, cold east wind. About 6 or 7 of us persevered, although I was absolutely no help at all. Two people had nice spotting scopes and would call out the mergansers, loons, gulls and ducks that I could barely see even as specks through my binoculars. Still, I learned how flight patterns help sort out flying waterfowl. I do see a scope in my future as birds continue to seduce me.
We stayed at the end of the pier for the first hour and then huddled behind the little brick NOAA weather station on the shore. My fingers and toes were pretty numb when 0930 finally arrived.
The highlight for me was two mute swans which came from the west and were flying low and straight east down the channel toward Lake Macatawa. As they approached and passed over, we could easily hear the lovely wild noise of their wings beating the air.
Still Life with Menu
I have been stalled in my project of cooking my way through this cookbook. I decided to revise my rules. I will continue but am not going to make the breads or desserts. I found the bread-making too tedious for the results, plus I can buy delicious bread all over. The desserts were just OK. Maybe a vegetarian, health-conscious cookbook shouldn't even try more than a few desserts. So soon, with those revisions, on to Chinese Vegetable Soup.
Privileges by Jonathan Dee
Do you ever read books that are well written but end with a whimper? Privileges was like that IMO. It is similar to Jonathan Franzen's Freedom, but not as good, in part because the four characters (Cynthia and Adam and their children Jonas and April) all are abandoned as the book ends, as though the author got sick of writing about them or else didn't know where to go with their lives after a certain point.
The story opens with the wedding of Cynthia and Adam. It is in Pittsburgh because Cynthia's mother lives there with her second husband, a nice guy who spends "$38,000" for the wedding of his stepdaughter whom he barely knows and who barely acknowledges him. It ends when Adam and Cynthia's children are in their late teens, so it covers about 20 years. I liked the characterization and the vignettes of their lives. They live in Manhattan, moving to more spacious and impressive buildings as they get wealthier. There was the fascination of reading about Adam's rise in the financial world; he was a genius at making money and a sweet guy. There are cliches in this novel but also nuance, especially in the relationship of Adam and Cynthia, or maybe not exactly nuance, but what happens to modern couples and often becomes tedious in so many contemporary novels doesn't happen in this one. I wonder what the author really wanted to say with this story and why he didn't stay the course. Or maybe that was somehow his point...
This family becomes very very rich, and we see again what money can do for the common good, but not in any compelling way, nor in way motivated by true compassion and empathy. It was rather that this is what highly financially privileged folk often do with their excess millions. Foundations, charities, money-raising social events, boards and board meetings, while not really wishing or trying to understand poverty and the worlds of deprivation. So ultimately, for me, this was a strange book, a bit disappointing, although interesting and entertaining.
Most mysterious was the character of Cynthia who seems to be such a bitch most of the time but not with her husband and their kids. At first I thought she would disavow the money that Adam keeps accumulating, but she doesn't. She and Adam indulge April and Jonas but are loving parents. The kids go in different directions as they get older, and I was wondering what would happen to them in the world. We get a glimpse, but only a glimpse, and then the story ends.
I always scan the back cover reviews and this book had Richard Ford, Elizabeth Strout, Tom Perrotta, Jay McInerney and Jonathan Franzen saying things like: "..incredibly readable...pleasure to read....elegant stylist....important and compelling work....cunning, seductive novel...."
The story opens with the wedding of Cynthia and Adam. It is in Pittsburgh because Cynthia's mother lives there with her second husband, a nice guy who spends "$38,000" for the wedding of his stepdaughter whom he barely knows and who barely acknowledges him. It ends when Adam and Cynthia's children are in their late teens, so it covers about 20 years. I liked the characterization and the vignettes of their lives. They live in Manhattan, moving to more spacious and impressive buildings as they get wealthier. There was the fascination of reading about Adam's rise in the financial world; he was a genius at making money and a sweet guy. There are cliches in this novel but also nuance, especially in the relationship of Adam and Cynthia, or maybe not exactly nuance, but what happens to modern couples and often becomes tedious in so many contemporary novels doesn't happen in this one. I wonder what the author really wanted to say with this story and why he didn't stay the course. Or maybe that was somehow his point...
This family becomes very very rich, and we see again what money can do for the common good, but not in any compelling way, nor in way motivated by true compassion and empathy. It was rather that this is what highly financially privileged folk often do with their excess millions. Foundations, charities, money-raising social events, boards and board meetings, while not really wishing or trying to understand poverty and the worlds of deprivation. So ultimately, for me, this was a strange book, a bit disappointing, although interesting and entertaining.
Most mysterious was the character of Cynthia who seems to be such a bitch most of the time but not with her husband and their kids. At first I thought she would disavow the money that Adam keeps accumulating, but she doesn't. She and Adam indulge April and Jonas but are loving parents. The kids go in different directions as they get older, and I was wondering what would happen to them in the world. We get a glimpse, but only a glimpse, and then the story ends.
I always scan the back cover reviews and this book had Richard Ford, Elizabeth Strout, Tom Perrotta, Jay McInerney and Jonathan Franzen saying things like: "..incredibly readable...pleasure to read....elegant stylist....important and compelling work....cunning, seductive novel...."
Monday, November 15, 2010
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
Janie Crawford tells her friend Phoeby...."Ah'm older than Tea Cake, yes. But he done showed me where it's de thought dat makes de difference in ages. If people thinks de same they can make it all right. So in the beginnin' new thoughts had tuh be thought and new words said. After Ah got used tuh dat, we gits' long jus' fine. He done taught me de maiden language all over. Wait till you see de new blue satin Tea Cake done picked out for me tuh stand up wid him in. High heel slippers, necklace, earrings, everything he wants tuh see me in. Some of dese mornin's and it won't be long, you gointuh wake up callin' me and Ah'll be gone."
Janie already has had two husbands, both of whom belittled her and insisted she stay in the background and just work hard and who generally treated her as a lesser human. When her second husband dies, she is a widow of some substance with many suitors, but she falls head over heels in love with Tea Cake, a charming, sweet-talking, younger man. It is the 1930s in Florida. They move from northern Florida to the 'Glades as migrants, working on the "muck" until a devastating hurricane arrives and their lives change. They listen to the wind and the waters of Lake Okechobee move toward them and "their eyes were watching God."
These are the bare bones of this amazing novel. It is a love story and a portrait of black life in the south, yet, as all great novels, it is much more than that. The universal themes of human dignity and desire, community, love, boredom, dreams, loss, and living a life through days and seasons and years are all here.
Hurston wrote for years, studied anthropology, received honorary degrees and awards, but eventually died at age 69 in a county welfare home in Florida in 1960. Alice Walker searched for and found Hurston's unmarked grave in 1973 and said of Their Eyes Were Watching God, "There is no book more important to me than this one."
Janie already has had two husbands, both of whom belittled her and insisted she stay in the background and just work hard and who generally treated her as a lesser human. When her second husband dies, she is a widow of some substance with many suitors, but she falls head over heels in love with Tea Cake, a charming, sweet-talking, younger man. It is the 1930s in Florida. They move from northern Florida to the 'Glades as migrants, working on the "muck" until a devastating hurricane arrives and their lives change. They listen to the wind and the waters of Lake Okechobee move toward them and "their eyes were watching God."
These are the bare bones of this amazing novel. It is a love story and a portrait of black life in the south, yet, as all great novels, it is much more than that. The universal themes of human dignity and desire, community, love, boredom, dreams, loss, and living a life through days and seasons and years are all here.
Hurston wrote for years, studied anthropology, received honorary degrees and awards, but eventually died at age 69 in a county welfare home in Florida in 1960. Alice Walker searched for and found Hurston's unmarked grave in 1973 and said of Their Eyes Were Watching God, "There is no book more important to me than this one."
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Spotted Towhee
Lat Friday (11/05/2010), I was transcribing and half-watching bird activity at the feeders when I saw a towhee. Which was a bit unusual and a new yard bird for me on Lakeshore, so I got the binocs on it and saw what looked like white paint drips on the wings and upper back and realized it was not an Eastern Towhee and was very possibly a Spotted Towhee which, as I subsequently discovered, should not be east of the Mississippi. I took about 40 photos and finally went outside (sunny and windy) and stalked the towhee round and round the brush pile but did not get better photos as it would hop out of sight as I followed. I then tried to sneak up on it (through dry crackling leaves) from the front of the house and the side of the garage, etc. This was not going to work. I was headed north for the weekend, so I gave up trying to get better photos and drove up to Townsend.
When I came back on Sunday, I was walking to the house from the car and saw the towhee still there, scratching away in the dry oak leaves.
I checked all my references and decided I needed to submit this very uncommon bird, so I found the Michigan Records Committee web site, used the form from that site, attached 3 photos and sent it off. I also submitted it in a comment to eBird, as there was no option for Spotted Towhee on the Michigan check lists.
This is a handsome bird with black head, long tail, rufous sides, white belly and, on the Spotted, quite a bit of white dappling on the back and wings. It is approximately robin-sized. The bird in my yard was a male.
It stayed around and I heard nothing from my submissions, so I went to the monthly meeting of the Holland Audubon group on Tuesday evening and announced my "sighting" again, which immediately got the attention of Mike Overway..."We need to talk..."
I sent Mike some photos on Tuesday night after the meeting and by Wednesday, a dozen local birders stopped by for a look and verified the bird even though the photos also had pretty much documented the sighting.
The Spotted Towhee (which has been split from the Eastern Towhee) is VERY uncommon in Michigan with less than 10 documented sightings so far. It was verified this was not a hybrid. Yes!!!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Blues Lessons by Robert Hellenga
Another lovely and complete story set first in SW Michigan and then in Chicago in the mid 20th century. Marty is an only child. His father's life is his fruit orchards. He is a meat and potatoes, Field and Stream, bowling sort of man. His mother (Marshall Fields, quenelles, Proust, Chopin) yearns for more but mostly accepts the life in a small town. They are both decent people and love their son. His mother's dream is for Marty to go the University of Chicago; his father would like him to stay on the land and work the orchards, but, as happens, their dreams are not Marty's. He falls in love with Cory, a classmate, who is a Negro.
Mr. Hellenga takes these characters and places them in that important period of our history, a time on the cusp of the Civil Rights movement, a time when a relatively affluent white boy could not marry the daughter of his father's African American foreman, or so people thought.
One summer evening, Marty first hears the music of the men who work in his father's orchards when they gather "on the far side of the packing shed" near their migrant dormitories. He is seduced by the rhythms and words of the blues. Marty comes of age in this book; he grows up; he makes his own choices but always, always continues to love, and learns to play, the blues.
Here's a section I picked at random: (Eventually, Marty would sometimes play on small stages in Illinois or Wisconsin.)
"I got into a little trouble with Blind Blake's "You're Gonna Quit Me, Baby." I hooked my thumb pick on the G string and almost heaved the guitar out into the audience; then I screwed up the first break and played it again and screwed it up again. I tried not to get agitated, tried to put my trust in my body, tried to get my thinking brain out of the way. When you're playing with a group, the group will carry you, but when you're soloing you've just got to pick yourself up and carry on. I could feel support coming from the audience; could feel their good will as I played the break a third time, this time without thinking. When I came to the passage I'd had trouble with, I stepped into it, like my father stepping up to the starting line in the tenth frame of his perfect game. [Hellenga's real father, in fact, had once bowled a perfect game, and the author has a character also do this in the book.] This time the pressure concentrated my energies instead of fragmenting them. The music was there, in my body, and the notes came out like drops of sweat. Everyone relaxed. The mistake was working in my favor. I was vulnerable, but not incompetent! Everything was going to be all right."
Whether Hellenga is describing a spelling bee, his mother's attempt to duplicate Babette's Feast, the yearning he feels for Cory or the economics of the orchards, he "gets it" and then tells us all about it.
Hellenga is a professor at Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois.
Mr. Hellenga takes these characters and places them in that important period of our history, a time on the cusp of the Civil Rights movement, a time when a relatively affluent white boy could not marry the daughter of his father's African American foreman, or so people thought.
One summer evening, Marty first hears the music of the men who work in his father's orchards when they gather "on the far side of the packing shed" near their migrant dormitories. He is seduced by the rhythms and words of the blues. Marty comes of age in this book; he grows up; he makes his own choices but always, always continues to love, and learns to play, the blues.
Here's a section I picked at random: (Eventually, Marty would sometimes play on small stages in Illinois or Wisconsin.)
"I got into a little trouble with Blind Blake's "You're Gonna Quit Me, Baby." I hooked my thumb pick on the G string and almost heaved the guitar out into the audience; then I screwed up the first break and played it again and screwed it up again. I tried not to get agitated, tried to put my trust in my body, tried to get my thinking brain out of the way. When you're playing with a group, the group will carry you, but when you're soloing you've just got to pick yourself up and carry on. I could feel support coming from the audience; could feel their good will as I played the break a third time, this time without thinking. When I came to the passage I'd had trouble with, I stepped into it, like my father stepping up to the starting line in the tenth frame of his perfect game. [Hellenga's real father, in fact, had once bowled a perfect game, and the author has a character also do this in the book.] This time the pressure concentrated my energies instead of fragmenting them. The music was there, in my body, and the notes came out like drops of sweat. Everyone relaxed. The mistake was working in my favor. I was vulnerable, but not incompetent! Everything was going to be all right."
Whether Hellenga is describing a spelling bee, his mother's attempt to duplicate Babette's Feast, the yearning he feels for Cory or the economics of the orchards, he "gets it" and then tells us all about it.
Hellenga is a professor at Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois.
I'd Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman
Eliza is a grown woman now and has a husband and two children. But, when she was young, she was kidnapped and held captive for several weeks. Now her kidnapper is about to be executed after 20 years of appeals and delays. He is on death row and he contacts Eliza, using a woman who is trying to save him from execution as intermediary. He dictates letters to her, finally is allowed to telephone her and insists he wants to see her before he dies. This is their story and it is compelling.
As counterpoint, Eliza's present life is described. She is an upper middle class mother and wife. Her husband is a good man, does not stray and remains stalwart throughout, which in itself is a refreshing change from so much contemporary fiction. Good novelists present the nuances and subtleties of horrific situations and very damaged people in ways that give one pause. Their characters are complex like people we all know; much of their lives is ordinary, sometimes messy, but with divine moments that are recognizable. While this is mainly the story of Eliza, it is also the story of her kids, her parents, her sister, her husband, her community, and the humanity we all share is made clear, even in a rapist and murderer.
As counterpoint, Eliza's present life is described. She is an upper middle class mother and wife. Her husband is a good man, does not stray and remains stalwart throughout, which in itself is a refreshing change from so much contemporary fiction. Good novelists present the nuances and subtleties of horrific situations and very damaged people in ways that give one pause. Their characters are complex like people we all know; much of their lives is ordinary, sometimes messy, but with divine moments that are recognizable. While this is mainly the story of Eliza, it is also the story of her kids, her parents, her sister, her husband, her community, and the humanity we all share is made clear, even in a rapist and murderer.
The Brave by Nicholas Evans
This is the gentleman who wrote The Horse Whisperer. I heard him interviewed recently on NPR. He is an Englishman and has to have dialysis after nearly dying of eating poisonous mushrooms while on a family hike. Not that this relevant to his new novel, The Brave.
This book superficially skimmed too many themes: Hollywood in the early 1960s; boarding schools in England; civilian deaths in Iraq; the Blackfeet of Montana all woven into significant family dramas and traumas. Still, I will always love reading a novel set in Montana, especially along the eastern Rocky Mountain Front which rises up from the prairies in an awesome wondrous way. Virginia was a little girl when she first saw these mountains. We were driving west on highway 2 and she suddenly and seriously asked in the way of children: "Where's the door?"
Nicholas Evans writes well enough and this story had its moments; just not a lot of depth. Still, if you liked his other books (The Smoke Jumper, The Loop, The Divide and The Horse Whisperer), you will probably like it well enough.
This book superficially skimmed too many themes: Hollywood in the early 1960s; boarding schools in England; civilian deaths in Iraq; the Blackfeet of Montana all woven into significant family dramas and traumas. Still, I will always love reading a novel set in Montana, especially along the eastern Rocky Mountain Front which rises up from the prairies in an awesome wondrous way. Virginia was a little girl when she first saw these mountains. We were driving west on highway 2 and she suddenly and seriously asked in the way of children: "Where's the door?"
Nicholas Evans writes well enough and this story had its moments; just not a lot of depth. Still, if you liked his other books (The Smoke Jumper, The Loop, The Divide and The Horse Whisperer), you will probably like it well enough.
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