Bookworm

I know, I know, I need to update my life! Here's the truth: when I have good books to read I am less inclined to write. And you all know how much I love to read, I can read for hours at a stretch, taking pause only long enough to find a new position that doesn't tire my arms from holding my book, or to adjust a pillow or two, perhaps even to get a small plate with carefully cut and arranged cheese and crackers (my favorite snack). What have I been reading? I started with A Voyage Long and Strange. I have read Tony Horwitz's other books except for the one about traveling through Baghdad--Jane, you will remember he is the one who wrote Blue Latitudes where he retraces Captain Cook's explorations through Polynesia, including Hawaii and on up to the Pacific Northwest, in an attempt to glean some truths about who he was and guage his impact on the peoples and places he encountered. The section about the encounters and his inevitable death on Big Island is worth reading, alone (Tiffie, this may interest you especially). He also wrote Confederates in the Attic which may interest you, Kitt, as he delves into those pesky Southerners who can't seem to let go of the Civil War (talk about a war I wouldn't want to relive). So anyway, in this newish book, and the copy I am holding was signed by him when Sister and Dad went to a local bookstore and saw him speak (or read), it is him retracing the early early early explorers to the Americas, way way before those frightful Pilgrims came over and attempted a much more civilized way of dining with the Natives. Turns out Columbus was a bit of a gasbag on land but an extraordinary navigator at sea and America has actually been shaped much more by the bloodthirsty and reckless gold-digging Spaniards.

There was one passage that stayed with me because of its poignancy about the loss of a people in the early 1800's, the Beothuks of what is now Newfoundland. The name Beothuk was translated as The People or Human Beings, reflective of Native Americans' lack of identity with race or borders. The inevitable day came when there was a single Beothuk remaining, in captivity of course, and when she died, a Scotsman who had been attempting to preserve the ways of her people wrote:

We have traces enough left only to cause our sorrow that so peculiar and so superior a people should have disappeared from the earth like a shadow. They are irrevocably lost from the world.

I like what Horwitz does, basically setting out with maps and routes based on original maps and routes, then researches the hell out of said maps and routes and comes up with a combination of clever observations interspersed with witty encounters with locals and his own frugal ways of road-tripping. I could do that, and it has crossed my mind to embark upon a similar story-telling of Hawaiian's and the lands they hope to reclaim. Don't tell anybody, it may actually come to fruition one day.

Okay, and then there was Shantaram, actually the first book I read upon my return here a few weeks ago. This was recommended to me by Sci-Fi Simon, an Aussie pal who bartends at 221 South Oak in Telluride, also an incredible snowboarder. This guy writes semi-autobiographically in a novelish sort of way that I initially loved but grew weary of mid-way through. It is odd to read a story and grow to like the lead character LESS over time, isn't it? Or is that just life? Or just me? Perhaps. It is set in Bombay, for the most part, and I liked his descriptions of the Indian ways of life but then it just degenerated into this mafioso-thug-Afghani-commando thing that I think someone in possession of a penis might have appreciated a bit more than me. Good enough writer, though, and I definitely was curious where it all was headed towards the end. He has some really insightful views of life and the world which I think are a reflection of the author, Gregory David Roberts, having spent a good part of his life in his dark side, as well as the dark side of others. Here is one of my favorites:

The truth is that there are no goodmen or bad men. It is the deeds that have goodness or badness in them. There are good deeds and bad deeds. Men are just men--it is what they do, or refuse to do, that links them to good or evil. The truth is that an instant of real love, in the heart of anyone--the noblest man alive or the most wicked--has the whole purpose and process and meaning of life within the lotus-folds of its passion. The truth is that we are all, every one of us, every atom, every galaxy, and every particle of matter in the universe, moving toward God.

And of course you can substitute any concept or word you want for God, I prefer Source.

After the election (yay!) I spontaneously bought Obama's first book, Dreams of My Father when I was at Costco (my second ever time in that store which actually may be another post in itself). I figured it was time to read both his books, and this was the first one he wrote. I have to say, it was not quite what I had expected, in a good way. In fact, I don't think I had any expectations or ideas about what he was really trying to say but the upshot of it all is that Obama is really cool. It's just his journey of finding his identity, something we all experience as we grow older and start to explore the world, but is made more challenging for those who are disconnected from one or both of their birth parents. Obama states in the preface that even though this book led him to Kenya in an attempt to find out who his father was, he has some regret that he didn't spend more of the story recognizing the parent who was there, his mother. And as ignorant as this may sound, I didn't really get what a community organizer was. Maybe because I haven't lived in communities that needed organizing? He basically got people to do stuff. Ask for what you want and find a way to get it. I can relate to that.


Remember how sucky the movie Cold Mountain was? Well, the book was incredible (it took him THIRTEEN years and NINE manuscripts to bring it to completion) and Charles Frazier has written a second book, Thirteen Moons that got not great reviews but I loved it. Why? Well, partly I think because he grew up in the mountains of North Carolina and spent a ton of time outdoors and spends large parts of the book describing the sounds and smells of nature, stuff that is unique to the South. I appreciate that. It's a good love story too, plus it delves into the Trail of Tears and my paternal grandmother's grandmother is full-blooded Cherokee, so I have a mild interest in Cherokee stuff in general. He is an incredible writer and storyteller. And it is subtly humorous too.

Okay, what next? I read most of two Mrs. Piggle Wiggle books to Ella, as well as Little House on the Prairie which REALLY brought back some memories. I tried to read a Jody Picoult book about some kid that shoots his classmates but her writing is so elementary that even that compelling topic couldn't keep me with it.

Now I am on to Rive of Doubt, which chronicles Roosevelt's exploration of a section of the Amazon that had never been navigated before! I love explorations and journeys (which you all kow) so this one is proving to be a can't-put-it-downer-even-to-go-to-sleep.

Oh and speaking of page-turners, I read in two days Augusten Burrough's Dry which is a follow-up of sorts to his Running With Scissors. Great great writer and quick read, almost like a more plausible Million Little Pieces.
AND, remember Island of the Blue Dolphin, that pre-teen book about the woman who was left on an island when the rest of her people were taken away and she stayed and fought off wild dogs and lived in a shelter of whale ribs, foraging on crustaceans and seals and small birds and whatnot? I re-read it at Ella's, having always loved that story and guess what? It is based on real events, on a real island, about a real woman who was discovered there, 15 years alone, who was then promptly whisked off to the mainland where she began dying. Go figure. It was one of the Channel Islands, named after St. Nicholas because...and here is the kind of stuff that you know I just LOVE...she was found when a ship landed there on St. Nicholas's birthday. What day is that? you might ask. December 6--yes, my birthday. Coinkidink? Read about it here. You know I want to visit!

Well, that's all I've got. Thanks for reading and I promise to try and balance the reading IN and writing OUT a bit more.