Book Two of the Century Trilogy
I liked Book One much better. Maybe because the characters were fresh and young and on the cusp of lives rich with meaning. In Book Two, these same characters grow older. The second generation enters and continues the stories, but in more diluted, not as compelling, ways.
Winter of the World continues the century story with WWII (the buildup and aftermath) as experienced mostly in Europe and Russia. But, it seemed more hastily written, less subtle, with broad strokes and quick, not always credible vignettes to mark meetings between the many characters.
I know much has been written about the concentration camps, but they are barely mentioned. I'm sure this was intentional. The horror of Hitler's Germany is certainly exposed as the German people themselves suffer severe deprivations and abuse, but still, to write of WWII and not have a character in the camps seems a sin of omission. We can never have enough reminders; never enough stories about this ultimate expression of evil.
Still, history and its politics are reviewed as the nations participate and engage with each other and Russia emerges as the new oppressor, Communism replaces Fascism in parts of Europe, alarming the democracies. Women emerge as strong, articulate advocates for recognition and admission into previously male-dominated roles.
And, there is the atomic bomb and the race for nuclear supremacy or at least equality. I did like the sections about the testing sites and the scientists who made the bomb, piquing my curiosity and prompting a resolve to read more about The Manhattan Project and Fermi and Oppenheimer and Los Alamos, etc.
Book Three will be Edge of Eternity "about the next generation during the Cold War" per the author.
Certainly an ambitious task…writing about a century of white men and women.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Book: Stitches by Anne Lamott
A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair
A short book, less than 100 pages, and the pages have generous margins. It can be read in an afternoon.
It's a sermon really…with thoughts on life, present and past, and how we can keep learning to be better, keep getting up in the morning, keep looking for and accepting others into our lives, keep helping anyone we can… Being Annie Lamott of northern California, there are sentences like this:
"You were born as energy, as life, made of the same stuff as stars, blossoms, breezes," or she quotes Ram Dass when he said that "ultimately we're all just walking each other home."
I like her novels better, but also find common comfort in these essays. She is a woman of hard won faith.
She quotes C. S. Lewis on forgiveness: "If we really want to learn how to forgive, perhaps we had better start with something easier than the Gestapo."
She says, "We try to be more present and less petty. Some days go better than others. We look for solace in nature and art and maybe, if we are lucky, the quiet satisfaction of our homes." Think on that: the "quiet satisfactions of our homes." There's a lot in that little sentence.
Here is the answer from a wise friend whom she asked about whether there is "meaning in what happened…at the Sandy Hook school in Newton" and he simply replied, "Not yet."
She writes of a friend's homeless son, of four young teenagers who, with no malice, leave a campfire not quite extinguished and what happens as a consequence, of making coffee-filter crafts with kids at her church, about staying sober after the age of 32…and "the sober people taught me it was okay to ask for help, even a lot of help. This was stunning. And it turned out that there was always someone around who could help me with almost everything that came up, and that some people seem to have been assigned to me, and I had been assigned to other people."
Her brother teaches as does my brother and of their kind of teaching, Annie says: "To me, teaching is a holy calling, especially with students less likely to succeed. It's the gift not only of not giving up on people, but of even figuring out where to begin."
She is coming to Calvin's Faith and Writing Festival in April. I also heard her in Portland at Powell's one night and wasn't disappointed. These authors on book circuits…it's sort of digital…they are either on or off. Although the not-so-good speakers probably aren't sent out much.
A short book, less than 100 pages, and the pages have generous margins. It can be read in an afternoon.
It's a sermon really…with thoughts on life, present and past, and how we can keep learning to be better, keep getting up in the morning, keep looking for and accepting others into our lives, keep helping anyone we can… Being Annie Lamott of northern California, there are sentences like this:
"You were born as energy, as life, made of the same stuff as stars, blossoms, breezes," or she quotes Ram Dass when he said that "ultimately we're all just walking each other home."
I like her novels better, but also find common comfort in these essays. She is a woman of hard won faith.
She quotes C. S. Lewis on forgiveness: "If we really want to learn how to forgive, perhaps we had better start with something easier than the Gestapo."
She says, "We try to be more present and less petty. Some days go better than others. We look for solace in nature and art and maybe, if we are lucky, the quiet satisfaction of our homes." Think on that: the "quiet satisfactions of our homes." There's a lot in that little sentence.
Here is the answer from a wise friend whom she asked about whether there is "meaning in what happened…at the Sandy Hook school in Newton" and he simply replied, "Not yet."
She writes of a friend's homeless son, of four young teenagers who, with no malice, leave a campfire not quite extinguished and what happens as a consequence, of making coffee-filter crafts with kids at her church, about staying sober after the age of 32…and "the sober people taught me it was okay to ask for help, even a lot of help. This was stunning. And it turned out that there was always someone around who could help me with almost everything that came up, and that some people seem to have been assigned to me, and I had been assigned to other people."
Her brother teaches as does my brother and of their kind of teaching, Annie says: "To me, teaching is a holy calling, especially with students less likely to succeed. It's the gift not only of not giving up on people, but of even figuring out where to begin."
She is coming to Calvin's Faith and Writing Festival in April. I also heard her in Portland at Powell's one night and wasn't disappointed. These authors on book circuits…it's sort of digital…they are either on or off. Although the not-so-good speakers probably aren't sent out much.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Book: The Hanged Man's Song by John Sandford
Yup…another Sandford. This is features Kidd, most of the time a successful artist, not bound by the constraints of law enforcement officers.
Kidd and LuEllen (a lovely lady who, on occasion gets her kicks from relieving wealthy folks of some of their booty, aka stealing) are working in the south, undercover on a riverboat casino near Biloxi, to see if and how much the owner is skimming.
But then Bobby dies….Bobby who is a master hacker which is another of Kidd's deals…hacking.
And off they go, searching for Bobby's killer. They find a young female teenage hacker living alone; they travel in and out of little places along the Mississippi River, aided by Kidd's black friends Marvel and John; they make a trip to Washington, DC….
Marvel to John: "You're getting old and conservative. Your hair is gonna turn white and woolly and you'll go on one of those religious shows and start talking about Jesus."
"LuEllen had been seeing a Mexican guy, a modern dance teacher, at the university in Duluth. She was drawn to the dark-eyed tribe…but she said she considered the attachment to be purely temporary She might consider all attachments purely temporary, even me; she was a lot like a cat."
Sandford gives women their due, and more…..
So much of his books are dialogue and he always gets it just right, along with his descriptions of person and place.
After the casino and hacker murder case, Kidd works on a commission…."oil sketches for most of September, trying to get it all just right. I was dreaming about them every night; I wanted them to glow from the walls, to hold the colors of the river, and to stand up to house."
Kidd and LuEllen (a lovely lady who, on occasion gets her kicks from relieving wealthy folks of some of their booty, aka stealing) are working in the south, undercover on a riverboat casino near Biloxi, to see if and how much the owner is skimming.
But then Bobby dies….Bobby who is a master hacker which is another of Kidd's deals…hacking.
And off they go, searching for Bobby's killer. They find a young female teenage hacker living alone; they travel in and out of little places along the Mississippi River, aided by Kidd's black friends Marvel and John; they make a trip to Washington, DC….
Marvel to John: "You're getting old and conservative. Your hair is gonna turn white and woolly and you'll go on one of those religious shows and start talking about Jesus."
"LuEllen had been seeing a Mexican guy, a modern dance teacher, at the university in Duluth. She was drawn to the dark-eyed tribe…but she said she considered the attachment to be purely temporary She might consider all attachments purely temporary, even me; she was a lot like a cat."
Sandford gives women their due, and more…..
So much of his books are dialogue and he always gets it just right, along with his descriptions of person and place.
After the casino and hacker murder case, Kidd works on a commission…."oil sketches for most of September, trying to get it all just right. I was dreaming about them every night; I wanted them to glow from the walls, to hold the colors of the river, and to stand up to house."
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Book: Mud Season by Ellen Stimson
How One Woman's Dream of Moving to Vermont, Raising Children, Chickens and Sheep and Running the Old Country Store Pretty Much Led to One Calamity after Another
The cover of this book got my attention: slightly dirty, green LL Bean wellies on a bright red background. I have had this exact same pair of boots for 30 years. They are thick-soled and keep the wetness and muck out. They are spring boots.
Ellen and her family lived in St. Louis, Missouri, but were looking for a lifestyle change, were able to financially do it, considered their options and decided on Dorset, a small southern Vermont town.
Of course, they don't' immediately and permanently settle down into an idyllic new life, and this is their story…well-written, funny, honest, worth reading. The subtitle pretty much says it all.
On the first page:
"I had been married to John for a while, and we had two little kids. One was so wild, he might as well have been raised by actually wolves. The other one woke up mid-conversation every morning. She would open her eyes and say, 'And then,' beginning anew every day."
In the middle of the book:
"For a long time, we thought the Lovely Quaint Country Store would be our happy ending. I mean, it was right here in this perfect little village, with our lively home, and these gorgeous mountains. Being at the center of town life would be grand. We could stitch ourselves into the fabric of this historic place, and maybe make a little profit whittle we were at it. The store had so much potential. The right family could really make it sing and dance…. As least that was the idea right up until the night I sent Davy Crockett into the dwarf cellar to fight a monster that turned downtown Dorset into an ice rink."
At the end:
"We weren't in town for the closing. The five of us went to the Northeast Kingdom. Lake Willoughby, in northeastern Vermont, is a natural wonder. It is a glacial lake with two mountains rising up behind it, creating an Arctic Alpine vibe. Surrounded on all sides by mountains and forest, it is utterly pure, clear and absolutely gorgeous. There are about a million pine trees lining the stores, so the piney smell is the first thing you notice when you step out of your car. It is profoundly quiet and wild."
And mixed in between are the stories of buying and renovating their home, the seasons, skunks, sheep, chickens, dogs and goats, neighbors, holidays, kids, ice and mud and sunshine, and lots of food with recipes at the end of the book.
The cover of this book got my attention: slightly dirty, green LL Bean wellies on a bright red background. I have had this exact same pair of boots for 30 years. They are thick-soled and keep the wetness and muck out. They are spring boots.
Ellen and her family lived in St. Louis, Missouri, but were looking for a lifestyle change, were able to financially do it, considered their options and decided on Dorset, a small southern Vermont town.
Of course, they don't' immediately and permanently settle down into an idyllic new life, and this is their story…well-written, funny, honest, worth reading. The subtitle pretty much says it all.
On the first page:
"I had been married to John for a while, and we had two little kids. One was so wild, he might as well have been raised by actually wolves. The other one woke up mid-conversation every morning. She would open her eyes and say, 'And then,' beginning anew every day."
In the middle of the book:
"For a long time, we thought the Lovely Quaint Country Store would be our happy ending. I mean, it was right here in this perfect little village, with our lively home, and these gorgeous mountains. Being at the center of town life would be grand. We could stitch ourselves into the fabric of this historic place, and maybe make a little profit whittle we were at it. The store had so much potential. The right family could really make it sing and dance…. As least that was the idea right up until the night I sent Davy Crockett into the dwarf cellar to fight a monster that turned downtown Dorset into an ice rink."
At the end:
"We weren't in town for the closing. The five of us went to the Northeast Kingdom. Lake Willoughby, in northeastern Vermont, is a natural wonder. It is a glacial lake with two mountains rising up behind it, creating an Arctic Alpine vibe. Surrounded on all sides by mountains and forest, it is utterly pure, clear and absolutely gorgeous. There are about a million pine trees lining the stores, so the piney smell is the first thing you notice when you step out of your car. It is profoundly quiet and wild."
And mixed in between are the stories of buying and renovating their home, the seasons, skunks, sheep, chickens, dogs and goats, neighbors, holidays, kids, ice and mud and sunshine, and lots of food with recipes at the end of the book.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Book: Warrior Princess by Mindy Budgor
My Quest to Become the First Female Maasai Warrior.
I don't know quite what to make of this book. Like how seriously can one take a Jewish American Princess (by her own account) who decides she wants to become a Maasai warrior by going through an initiation involving sleeping on a bed of leaves for a month, drinking animal blood, learning to throw a spear well enough to kill animals, trekking through the African jungle and grasslands, learning how to kill a goat by holding its mouth shut until it dies….and more.
She convinces a group of Maasai men to give her and her friend Becca a chance. The girls / women take their nail polish and cell phones and head off.
"With the goat dead, Lanet sliced the skin and nicked the jugular. The blood gushed and formed a little pool in the nook created between the goat's insides and his skin. Magilu brought his mouth to this makeshift cup and took a gulp. Topika and Rokoine went next. When it was my turn, there wasn't much blood left in the nook, but Lanet wanted me to do exactly as the others, so I knelt down, put my face centimeters from the carcass, and dove in. My nose was pressed against the goat's warm flesh as I slurped up the remaining blood in the nook. It was only a small bit this time, so the warm, thick feeling of the liquid sliding down my throat was not nearly as intense, and I managed not to vomit."
"Becca and I dutifully followed Lanet and Topoika with the rest of the crew trailing behind us into the forest where, within one stride, complete darkness dropped like a curtain. My heart went into triple time….I had to idea if I was going to trip over a log or a lion. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. All I could think about was fleeing back to camp, or at least back to the field where there was hint of light. But it was as if I was getting mixed messages, with part of my mind and body pushing me forward and the other part holding me back. Thankfully, the parts pushing me froward made up at least 51 percent of me."
There were several pages of colored photographs, documenting some of Mindy's and Becca's involvement with the Maasai, but it seems….oh, I don't know…perhaps presumptuous and somehow insensitive to invade an indigenous peoples' culture in such a way…for a month...and then write about becoming the First Female Maasai Warrior. I guess, if I could have suspended my judgment, it is an intriguing story, on the order of a grand adventure….like Into the Wild, for instance, where one is tested, usually as an alternative to more conventional life choices.
At the end, Mindy writes that they are "giving a percentage of every book sold to The Stillman Family Foundation, which builds clinics and schools of the Maasai. While money does not play a major role in a traditional Maasai's life, it is important in assisting in the face of drought and in the introduction of Western education and medicine."
I checked the Internet and only found rather sketchy information about The Stillman Family Foundation, but perhaps I didn't look far enough.
I don't know quite what to make of this book. Like how seriously can one take a Jewish American Princess (by her own account) who decides she wants to become a Maasai warrior by going through an initiation involving sleeping on a bed of leaves for a month, drinking animal blood, learning to throw a spear well enough to kill animals, trekking through the African jungle and grasslands, learning how to kill a goat by holding its mouth shut until it dies….and more.
She convinces a group of Maasai men to give her and her friend Becca a chance. The girls / women take their nail polish and cell phones and head off.
"With the goat dead, Lanet sliced the skin and nicked the jugular. The blood gushed and formed a little pool in the nook created between the goat's insides and his skin. Magilu brought his mouth to this makeshift cup and took a gulp. Topika and Rokoine went next. When it was my turn, there wasn't much blood left in the nook, but Lanet wanted me to do exactly as the others, so I knelt down, put my face centimeters from the carcass, and dove in. My nose was pressed against the goat's warm flesh as I slurped up the remaining blood in the nook. It was only a small bit this time, so the warm, thick feeling of the liquid sliding down my throat was not nearly as intense, and I managed not to vomit."
"Becca and I dutifully followed Lanet and Topoika with the rest of the crew trailing behind us into the forest where, within one stride, complete darkness dropped like a curtain. My heart went into triple time….I had to idea if I was going to trip over a log or a lion. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. All I could think about was fleeing back to camp, or at least back to the field where there was hint of light. But it was as if I was getting mixed messages, with part of my mind and body pushing me forward and the other part holding me back. Thankfully, the parts pushing me froward made up at least 51 percent of me."
There were several pages of colored photographs, documenting some of Mindy's and Becca's involvement with the Maasai, but it seems….oh, I don't know…perhaps presumptuous and somehow insensitive to invade an indigenous peoples' culture in such a way…for a month...and then write about becoming the First Female Maasai Warrior. I guess, if I could have suspended my judgment, it is an intriguing story, on the order of a grand adventure….like Into the Wild, for instance, where one is tested, usually as an alternative to more conventional life choices.
At the end, Mindy writes that they are "giving a percentage of every book sold to The Stillman Family Foundation, which builds clinics and schools of the Maasai. While money does not play a major role in a traditional Maasai's life, it is important in assisting in the face of drought and in the introduction of Western education and medicine."
I checked the Internet and only found rather sketchy information about The Stillman Family Foundation, but perhaps I didn't look far enough.
Book: Storm Front by John Sandford
His latest. He lives in New Mexico????
Fun to read, although it seemed more simplistic than most of Sandford's novels, and the premise seemed a stretch: A dying professor / minister working on a dig in Israel discovers a stele. He steals it and quickly and surreptitiously gets it back to the US, whereupon several good and bad guys want it: the Mossad, the Israel Antiquities Authority, a rich Texan, a TV personality, shadowy guys from the Mideast, Hezbollah, a Lebanese student….and, of course, Virgil. Sandford makes it all work somehow with his usual minor deviations from the main story such as the dalliance between Virgil and a local woman whom he is investigating for selling fraudulently "aged" lumber but who then also gets involved with the stele.
It's a Virgil Flowers novel. I continue to think Sandford writes satisfying and entertaining and even (usually) credible novels. He is, by far, my favorite author of police / crime stories…way ahead of Burke or Hiaasen or Cornwell. I do my best to get my friends to read him (but with the testosterone factor warning…)
Most of the action takes place in Minnesota, which is another of the reasons I like reading Sandford. The upper midwest is familiar and recognizable. It's fun to read about my "neighbors."
Fun to read, although it seemed more simplistic than most of Sandford's novels, and the premise seemed a stretch: A dying professor / minister working on a dig in Israel discovers a stele. He steals it and quickly and surreptitiously gets it back to the US, whereupon several good and bad guys want it: the Mossad, the Israel Antiquities Authority, a rich Texan, a TV personality, shadowy guys from the Mideast, Hezbollah, a Lebanese student….and, of course, Virgil. Sandford makes it all work somehow with his usual minor deviations from the main story such as the dalliance between Virgil and a local woman whom he is investigating for selling fraudulently "aged" lumber but who then also gets involved with the stele.
It's a Virgil Flowers novel. I continue to think Sandford writes satisfying and entertaining and even (usually) credible novels. He is, by far, my favorite author of police / crime stories…way ahead of Burke or Hiaasen or Cornwell. I do my best to get my friends to read him (but with the testosterone factor warning…)
Most of the action takes place in Minnesota, which is another of the reasons I like reading Sandford. The upper midwest is familiar and recognizable. It's fun to read about my "neighbors."
Book: The Cuckoo's Calling by Robert Galbraith
But really written by J. K. Rowling, which I did not know when I picked it up at the library, and just happened to find out via a small note on the inside back cover.
It's murder mystery with an penurious private investigator, who has just broken up with his rich, edgy, gorgeous girlfriend and who is still recovering from a war wound which resulted in a partial amputation of one of his legs. He sleeps in his office and takes showers at a local college. He has almost no business until this case comes along. He hires an efficient young woman from Temp Solutions on a weekly basis, and she helps in small ways, thrilled to be on the periphery of solving a crime.
The victim was a celebrity…a famous model, who falls to her death from her apartment window.
Accident or murder?
I liked the characterization and the plot up to a point. Then, at the end, it devolved. As I see it, to write a good compelling murder mystery, one has to be smarter than nearly everyone else in the story in order to figure out the twists and make them believable. Sometimes an author pulls it off and sometimes not, as I felt was the case here. For me, the denouement was not as good as the rest of the book, which I kind of liked. Rowling certainly writes as well as hundreds of other contemporary published authors, and no one would question her imagination, but there were too many serendipitous finds and brilliant deductions in the convoluted web of characters. It wasn't exactly lean and elegant.
I much preferred A Casual Vacancy
It's murder mystery with an penurious private investigator, who has just broken up with his rich, edgy, gorgeous girlfriend and who is still recovering from a war wound which resulted in a partial amputation of one of his legs. He sleeps in his office and takes showers at a local college. He has almost no business until this case comes along. He hires an efficient young woman from Temp Solutions on a weekly basis, and she helps in small ways, thrilled to be on the periphery of solving a crime.
The victim was a celebrity…a famous model, who falls to her death from her apartment window.
Accident or murder?
I liked the characterization and the plot up to a point. Then, at the end, it devolved. As I see it, to write a good compelling murder mystery, one has to be smarter than nearly everyone else in the story in order to figure out the twists and make them believable. Sometimes an author pulls it off and sometimes not, as I felt was the case here. For me, the denouement was not as good as the rest of the book, which I kind of liked. Rowling certainly writes as well as hundreds of other contemporary published authors, and no one would question her imagination, but there were too many serendipitous finds and brilliant deductions in the convoluted web of characters. It wasn't exactly lean and elegant.
I much preferred A Casual Vacancy
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Book: Let Him Go by Larry Watson
Another beautiful small novel by Larry Watson. Writing like this is reason to read fiction.
The year is 1951; the setting is western North Dakota and eastern Montana. George and Margaret Blackledge live in Dalton, MD. They had twins: a daughter Janie and a son James. James dies in a freak accident while riding his horse. He leaves Lorna, his young wife now a widow, and Jimmy, his young child. They both live with George and Margaret for awhile after the accident, but Lorna then remarries and moves away from Dalton.
The problem is that the man she marries is part of a rogue clan, ruled by a fierce matriarch, living on the edges of the law in the badlands near Gladstone, Montana. Margaret has a powerful consuming need to rescue her grandson, with or without the help of George, who finally agrees (reluctantly) to accompany her. They have not much in the way of a plan or resources, but Margaret's commitment to her little grandson is also fierce. So they start out.
"Margaret twists the dial back and forth until she finds a program out of Glasgow--a swap shop that comes in as clear as a meadowlark's call. They shake their heads over the caller who has a pair of salt and pepper shakers for sale--fully loaded, he says--and they smile at the caller who wants to buy a scythe because his grass got away from him over the summer."
When they arrive in Gladstone, they arrange to meet Lorna in town to try to persuade her to come away with them.
"I told her she could come back and live with us Her and Jimmy. Like before. I don't think she'll do it, but last night when I saw her standing at Donnie's side, she didn't look none too happy. And how could she be--with that big baby for husband? Living in that house with those wooly-headed louts lurking. And that harpy residing over the castle. I had to say something."
They are invited to visit Blanche and her gang and have dinner, and while Margaret gets to see and hold Jimmy, the tension escalates and nothing is resolved. They drive back to town, frustrated, George always the voice of reason, the devil's advocate to Margaret's plan.
"But if George's assumption was that someone from the motel office would appear in the doorway, he was wrong, and before he can push the door closed--an effort that would have been futile anyway, considering what his pushing strength would have been matched against--four Weboys have shouldered and shoved their way into Cabin Number Eight of the Prairie View Motor Court."
Again, this little story is complete and definitely worthy of reading. Watson writes much like Kent Haruf. Both authors take just enough that they can handle and illuminate a small space of characters and place with an exquisite and subtle light.
The year is 1951; the setting is western North Dakota and eastern Montana. George and Margaret Blackledge live in Dalton, MD. They had twins: a daughter Janie and a son James. James dies in a freak accident while riding his horse. He leaves Lorna, his young wife now a widow, and Jimmy, his young child. They both live with George and Margaret for awhile after the accident, but Lorna then remarries and moves away from Dalton.
The problem is that the man she marries is part of a rogue clan, ruled by a fierce matriarch, living on the edges of the law in the badlands near Gladstone, Montana. Margaret has a powerful consuming need to rescue her grandson, with or without the help of George, who finally agrees (reluctantly) to accompany her. They have not much in the way of a plan or resources, but Margaret's commitment to her little grandson is also fierce. So they start out.
"Margaret twists the dial back and forth until she finds a program out of Glasgow--a swap shop that comes in as clear as a meadowlark's call. They shake their heads over the caller who has a pair of salt and pepper shakers for sale--fully loaded, he says--and they smile at the caller who wants to buy a scythe because his grass got away from him over the summer."
When they arrive in Gladstone, they arrange to meet Lorna in town to try to persuade her to come away with them.
"I told her she could come back and live with us Her and Jimmy. Like before. I don't think she'll do it, but last night when I saw her standing at Donnie's side, she didn't look none too happy. And how could she be--with that big baby for husband? Living in that house with those wooly-headed louts lurking. And that harpy residing over the castle. I had to say something."
They are invited to visit Blanche and her gang and have dinner, and while Margaret gets to see and hold Jimmy, the tension escalates and nothing is resolved. They drive back to town, frustrated, George always the voice of reason, the devil's advocate to Margaret's plan.
"But if George's assumption was that someone from the motel office would appear in the doorway, he was wrong, and before he can push the door closed--an effort that would have been futile anyway, considering what his pushing strength would have been matched against--four Weboys have shouldered and shoved their way into Cabin Number Eight of the Prairie View Motor Court."
Again, this little story is complete and definitely worthy of reading. Watson writes much like Kent Haruf. Both authors take just enough that they can handle and illuminate a small space of characters and place with an exquisite and subtle light.
Book: Under the Dome by Stephen King
1071 pages of Stephen King….enough for me for awhile. I actually got Dr. Sleep a few days ago (one of Adam's perseverations lately) and could only read about 3 pages…
Not that Under the Dome isn't a good story. It is.
With no warning, one fine day in Maine, the small town of Chester's Mill is trapped beneath an invisible dome. The story is what happens subsequently. Absolutely nothing is able to penetrate the dome, except a wee bit of mist and air, although not nearly enough to sustain life, especially after the big fire. Not even a Cruise missile….
There is one powerful bad guy (a local businessman) and many of his followers, including a sick and psychopathic son. They follow him because he makes them powerful and because they can now act on their socially unacceptable instincts and desires with little retribution. Their old grudges can be remedied. They aren't dirt balls anymore.
There are, of course, the good guys, especially a decorated veteran who was at Fallujah, who wants to forget his past and works as an cook in the local diner, his camouflage now anonymity.
But, with the mysterious dome, all goes awry and the universal themes of good versus evil are up front and on stage. And, being that this is SK, there is a also a bit of the irrational to this fascinating tale and that usually precludes my interest. Or maybe it's not so irrational???? It does make for a nice ending though.
The book reminded me of another novel, One Second After by William Forstchen, about what happens after an electromagnetic pulse event, which is definitely a concern to many. Check out the following if you want to know more about EMP:
On Saturday, June 19 at 7 p.m., and Tuesday, June 22 at 6 p.m., the National Geographic Channelwill replay a special episode about electromagnetic pulse, titled “Electronic Armageddon.”
"Later on--much too late to do any good--Julia Shumway would piece together most of how the Food City riot started, although…If asked to write about the emotional heart of the event, she would have been lost. How to explain that people she'd known all her life--people she respected, people she loved--had turned into a mob? She told herself I could've gotten a better handle on it if I'd been there from the very beginning and seen how it started, but that was pure rationalization, a refusal to face the orderless, reasonless beast that can arise when frightened people are provoked. She had seen such beasts on the TV news, usual in foreign countries. She never expected to see one in her own town…..The town had been cut off for only 70 hours, and it was stuffed with provisions of almost every kind; only propane gas was in mysteriously short supply."
The domes descends:
"Then two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was the woodchuck. It was whole, then it was in tow pieces. Both were twitching and bleeding…It was as if an invisible guillotine blade had dropped. And that was when directly above the severed woodchuck, the little airplane exploded."
Not that Under the Dome isn't a good story. It is.
With no warning, one fine day in Maine, the small town of Chester's Mill is trapped beneath an invisible dome. The story is what happens subsequently. Absolutely nothing is able to penetrate the dome, except a wee bit of mist and air, although not nearly enough to sustain life, especially after the big fire. Not even a Cruise missile….
There is one powerful bad guy (a local businessman) and many of his followers, including a sick and psychopathic son. They follow him because he makes them powerful and because they can now act on their socially unacceptable instincts and desires with little retribution. Their old grudges can be remedied. They aren't dirt balls anymore.
There are, of course, the good guys, especially a decorated veteran who was at Fallujah, who wants to forget his past and works as an cook in the local diner, his camouflage now anonymity.
But, with the mysterious dome, all goes awry and the universal themes of good versus evil are up front and on stage. And, being that this is SK, there is a also a bit of the irrational to this fascinating tale and that usually precludes my interest. Or maybe it's not so irrational???? It does make for a nice ending though.
The book reminded me of another novel, One Second After by William Forstchen, about what happens after an electromagnetic pulse event, which is definitely a concern to many. Check out the following if you want to know more about EMP:
On Saturday, June 19 at 7 p.m., and Tuesday, June 22 at 6 p.m., the National Geographic Channelwill replay a special episode about electromagnetic pulse, titled “Electronic Armageddon.”
"Later on--much too late to do any good--Julia Shumway would piece together most of how the Food City riot started, although…If asked to write about the emotional heart of the event, she would have been lost. How to explain that people she'd known all her life--people she respected, people she loved--had turned into a mob? She told herself I could've gotten a better handle on it if I'd been there from the very beginning and seen how it started, but that was pure rationalization, a refusal to face the orderless, reasonless beast that can arise when frightened people are provoked. She had seen such beasts on the TV news, usual in foreign countries. She never expected to see one in her own town…..The town had been cut off for only 70 hours, and it was stuffed with provisions of almost every kind; only propane gas was in mysteriously short supply."
The domes descends:
"Then two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was the woodchuck. It was whole, then it was in tow pieces. Both were twitching and bleeding…It was as if an invisible guillotine blade had dropped. And that was when directly above the severed woodchuck, the little airplane exploded."
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