I would challenge anyone to read Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food without becoming angry at Big Food and the government for systematically robbing our food supply of its most vital nutrients year-by-year. (I almost fell off the couch when I read that today's eater would need to consume three apples to get the same nutrition in a single 1940-era apple.) I would also challenge anyone to read this and without deciding to make some serious changes to their diet: I couldn't help but feel that even the "whole foods" that we often buy aren't nearly as whole as I thought. I signed us up for a CSA before I got to the last page.
I read this as a follow-up to Genius Foods, which I read to gain insight on the most neuro-friendly diets. The good news for readers is that the two books agree; similarly, readers of Food of a Younger Land will be familiar with the advice to eat only food that would be recognizable to our ancestors. Pollan does spend significant time detailing the ways in which foods are changing - look no further than the apple example above - and in this way his work is similar to that of Bread, Wine, Chocolate only much more readable. In fact, I argue that of all the books in the food-is-bad-and-becoming-worse genre, In Defense of Food is the quickest and easiest read; although it covers similar terrain to Pollan's The Botany of Desire, In Defense of Food is much more accessible - and much less dry.
If you do one thing for your health this year, read this book. Also, if you're still eating margarine, it's probably best to give that up, stat.
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Friday, August 24, 2018
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers
Sara Ackerman's Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers is a great lesson in not judging a book by its cover. "With war on their doorstep, friendship will sustain them": not the jacket cover declaration that would normally have me snatching it off the shelf. Fortunately, I'd seen a better description from my pals at BookBub before I got to the library - plus, any book set in Hawaii earns a few points just for setting. In any case, I digress.
In the prologue, the reader learns that young Ella Iverson has witnessed the disappearance of her father, the town's principal, and it slowly being eaten by the secret. Her mother, Violet, is at a loss as to how to either help her daughter or encourage her to share her torment. Both are distracted by the arrival of marines at Camp Tarawa. One of them just happens to be the brother of Violet's very best friend and boarder, Jean, who bounds into their lives with an exuberance that's been missing since Herman disappeared a year ago. When they realize his fondness for home cooking, they decide to feed the soldiers and earn a little extra at the same time with a pie stand selling only the most delectable creations.
In addition to painting a vivid portrait of life in Hawaii during World War II, Ackerman also deftly handles the many emotions of the soldiers, training by day for battles yet to come on Island X, and enjoying the island culture for all they can in their down time. Similarly, Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers offers a convincing and informative portrayal of interactions between the haole, the Japanese, and the native Hawaiians at a time when the former were vastly outnumbered by the latter two groups.
The romance and mystery are admittedly predictable, but the storytelling here is fantastic. I wasn't surprised in the least to read that many elements of the story are based on the author's grandparents' experiences in Hawaii during World War II. Even the lion.
Four stars.
In the prologue, the reader learns that young Ella Iverson has witnessed the disappearance of her father, the town's principal, and it slowly being eaten by the secret. Her mother, Violet, is at a loss as to how to either help her daughter or encourage her to share her torment. Both are distracted by the arrival of marines at Camp Tarawa. One of them just happens to be the brother of Violet's very best friend and boarder, Jean, who bounds into their lives with an exuberance that's been missing since Herman disappeared a year ago. When they realize his fondness for home cooking, they decide to feed the soldiers and earn a little extra at the same time with a pie stand selling only the most delectable creations.
In addition to painting a vivid portrait of life in Hawaii during World War II, Ackerman also deftly handles the many emotions of the soldiers, training by day for battles yet to come on Island X, and enjoying the island culture for all they can in their down time. Similarly, Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers offers a convincing and informative portrayal of interactions between the haole, the Japanese, and the native Hawaiians at a time when the former were vastly outnumbered by the latter two groups.
The romance and mystery are admittedly predictable, but the storytelling here is fantastic. I wasn't surprised in the least to read that many elements of the story are based on the author's grandparents' experiences in Hawaii during World War II. Even the lion.
Four stars.
Saturday, August 18, 2018
Falling Angels
Tracy Chevalier's Falling Angels opens with the death of Queen Victoria, which sends families across Britain into cemeteries to mourn her passing. It is in one such cemetery that the Colemans and Waterhouses find themselves, and where the daughters, Maude and Lavinia, become fast friends. The mothers, in particular, are uneasy about this friendship, as the Colemans are the Waterhouses "betters." Despite the firm class strictures in Edwardian England, the girls remain steadfast friends through the years, often including the gravedigger's son, Simon, in their hijinks.
While the story is written from multiple viewpoints (the mothers, the daughters, the husbands, the servants, and even Simon all have their say), Kitty Coleman is the true protagonist around whom the core storylines spin. In an era in which women were supposed to be content simply to be content, Kitty Coleman has never been content, not since she was made to stay at home while her brother went off to school. Having become a wife and mother out of obligations to her class and gender, she neither excels at nor enjoys either role, moving blandly through each day. Dissatisfied and, frankly, depressed, she gambles heavily on friendship with the manager of the local cemetery as well as on the women's suffrage movement. The consequences of these decisions unspool, unexpectedly and rather disastrously, throughout the last half of the novel.
I found the constant change in narration to be distracting at first; this was a hard book to get into and to feel any affinity for the characters. Ultimately, I was won over, though, and not only by the characters. The plot is well thought out, and I was especially taken with Chevalier's research and writing about the suffrage movement in the early years. Sylvia Pankhurst makes the expected appearance, but it's the day-to-day scenes of sewing banners and distributing pamphlets that bring the movement alive. If the plot is not quite as original as At the Edge of the Orchard, it is close, and in the end, I found I could not turn the pages and read the ending fast enough.
Four and a half stars.
While the story is written from multiple viewpoints (the mothers, the daughters, the husbands, the servants, and even Simon all have their say), Kitty Coleman is the true protagonist around whom the core storylines spin. In an era in which women were supposed to be content simply to be content, Kitty Coleman has never been content, not since she was made to stay at home while her brother went off to school. Having become a wife and mother out of obligations to her class and gender, she neither excels at nor enjoys either role, moving blandly through each day. Dissatisfied and, frankly, depressed, she gambles heavily on friendship with the manager of the local cemetery as well as on the women's suffrage movement. The consequences of these decisions unspool, unexpectedly and rather disastrously, throughout the last half of the novel.
I found the constant change in narration to be distracting at first; this was a hard book to get into and to feel any affinity for the characters. Ultimately, I was won over, though, and not only by the characters. The plot is well thought out, and I was especially taken with Chevalier's research and writing about the suffrage movement in the early years. Sylvia Pankhurst makes the expected appearance, but it's the day-to-day scenes of sewing banners and distributing pamphlets that bring the movement alive. If the plot is not quite as original as At the Edge of the Orchard, it is close, and in the end, I found I could not turn the pages and read the ending fast enough.
Four and a half stars.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Dancing with the Devil in the City of God: Rio de Janeiro and the Olympic Dream
Brazil is the first developing country I visited, in the 90s when I was in high school. I remember being blown away by the levels of dysfunction I witnessed - including that when our friends sold their home it was purchased by a customs agent...with suitcases of cash. Returning a few years ago for a conference, I had a box of stress balls and pens impounded by customs, who then implored my office for six months to return to the country and retrieve them. And so on.
Dancing with the Devil in the City of God is written by a Brazilian, Juliana Barbassa, thus lending credence to the notion that the dysfunction is not simply an American perception. Barbassa, who has lived and worked around the world, jumped at the opportunity to return to the city of her birth as the AP's correspondent there, only to discover the layers of dysfunction that were previously hidden to her. Chapter-by-chapter she dissects many of these, from the corruption within the police department to environmental degradation (read: raw sewage flowing through every river and onto the beaches), to the contradictory attitudes toward prostitution and, frequently, gay rights. Political shenanigans naturally figure prominently as well.
The backdrop for Barbassa's work is the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics, the deadlines for which are firm and inflexible, not subject to individual whims. While there is potential for such deadlines to positively drive change, Barbassa generally finds that instead decisions are taken too quickly, with an eye only for what the world will think and who can make the most money (hint: it's usually a property developer), as opposed to being grounded in urban planning or public policy imperatives.
Dancing with the Devil in the City of God concludes with the 2014 World Cup; the Olympics which figure so prominently in the discussions around waste water treatment and the removal of the favelas are still two years away when the book ends. So, too, the trials of Lula, the former president who is simultaneously an inmate serving a 12-year sentence for corruption and his party's nominee for president in this year's election. If Barbassa isn't already working on another book about Brazil, it's not for a lack of material.
This is a great read for anyone looking for perspective on the developing world in general, and Brazil in particular. The contradictions continue to flummox and frustrate Barbassa (who is at her finest in describing the process necessary to rent an apartment), so rest assured the reader will be no closer to solving the enigma, either, but this book provides excellent insight into the Brazilian culture today. It has the further advantage of reading, at times, like a travelogue, invoking the gorgeous scenery, as well as some of the highs and lows of Brazil's international diplomatic and business relationships.
Four stars.
Dancing with the Devil in the City of God is written by a Brazilian, Juliana Barbassa, thus lending credence to the notion that the dysfunction is not simply an American perception. Barbassa, who has lived and worked around the world, jumped at the opportunity to return to the city of her birth as the AP's correspondent there, only to discover the layers of dysfunction that were previously hidden to her. Chapter-by-chapter she dissects many of these, from the corruption within the police department to environmental degradation (read: raw sewage flowing through every river and onto the beaches), to the contradictory attitudes toward prostitution and, frequently, gay rights. Political shenanigans naturally figure prominently as well.
The backdrop for Barbassa's work is the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics, the deadlines for which are firm and inflexible, not subject to individual whims. While there is potential for such deadlines to positively drive change, Barbassa generally finds that instead decisions are taken too quickly, with an eye only for what the world will think and who can make the most money (hint: it's usually a property developer), as opposed to being grounded in urban planning or public policy imperatives.
Dancing with the Devil in the City of God concludes with the 2014 World Cup; the Olympics which figure so prominently in the discussions around waste water treatment and the removal of the favelas are still two years away when the book ends. So, too, the trials of Lula, the former president who is simultaneously an inmate serving a 12-year sentence for corruption and his party's nominee for president in this year's election. If Barbassa isn't already working on another book about Brazil, it's not for a lack of material.
This is a great read for anyone looking for perspective on the developing world in general, and Brazil in particular. The contradictions continue to flummox and frustrate Barbassa (who is at her finest in describing the process necessary to rent an apartment), so rest assured the reader will be no closer to solving the enigma, either, but this book provides excellent insight into the Brazilian culture today. It has the further advantage of reading, at times, like a travelogue, invoking the gorgeous scenery, as well as some of the highs and lows of Brazil's international diplomatic and business relationships.
Four stars.
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Nurse, Come You Here! More True Stories of a Country Nurse on a Scottish Isle
Nurse, Come You Here! is the sequel to Mary J. MacLeod's delightful memoir, Call the Nurse. The sequel picks up right where Call the Nurse leaves off, and many of the characters will be familiar, at least to the reader who hasn't allowed too much time to pass between reading them.
One of the primary differences is that, while the first book truly centered around MacLeod's work as a district nurse, Nurse, Come Your Here! takes a broader perspective, with many of the chapters describing island life and happenings that don't have a direct connection to nursing. (Of these, the story of Louis the Sheep was probably my favorite.) While the language is unchanged, the sequel also doesn't quite capture the essence of the islands in the way MacLeod's first memoir does, perhaps because that book is so focused on the ways and events that make the Hebrides the Hebrides.
I was admittedly surprised when, with a few chapters to go, the MacLeods packed up and moved to California. In the U.S., the nurse did not nurse, and so these chapters are devoted to her musings on life in the U.S., particularly on the West Coast, as well as similarities and differences between the Americans and the Brits. It was a startling transition for this reader and would have made for a better epilogue, I felt.
Although I preferred Call the Nurse, this second memoir is also highly readable.
One of the primary differences is that, while the first book truly centered around MacLeod's work as a district nurse, Nurse, Come Your Here! takes a broader perspective, with many of the chapters describing island life and happenings that don't have a direct connection to nursing. (Of these, the story of Louis the Sheep was probably my favorite.) While the language is unchanged, the sequel also doesn't quite capture the essence of the islands in the way MacLeod's first memoir does, perhaps because that book is so focused on the ways and events that make the Hebrides the Hebrides.
I was admittedly surprised when, with a few chapters to go, the MacLeods packed up and moved to California. In the U.S., the nurse did not nurse, and so these chapters are devoted to her musings on life in the U.S., particularly on the West Coast, as well as similarities and differences between the Americans and the Brits. It was a startling transition for this reader and would have made for a better epilogue, I felt.
Although I preferred Call the Nurse, this second memoir is also highly readable.
Thursday, August 2, 2018
A Gentleman in Moscow
Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov, Recipient of the Order of Saint Andrew, member of the Jockey Club, Master of the Hunt is confined to the Metropol Hotel for the duration: thus unfolds the opening scenes of Amor Towles's masterful A Gentleman in Moscow.
And so the reader comes to know Rostov, a former aristocrat who openly declares to the court that it is "not the business of gentlemen to have occupations" but will spend decades working as a waiter at one of the Metropol's hotel simply, it seems, to give a bit more structure to his days. So, too, is the reader introduced to the events unfolding in the new (and later not-so-new) USSR. Some of the events are smallish, such as the rationing that impacts the menu and some, like the workings of the communist bureaucracy, which leave no stone unturned - including the labels on bottles of wine, are indicative of the larger events brewing outside the Metropol. From the safety of his rooms in the hotel, Rostov lives World War II, the Cold War, and so many other seminal events.
As the century winds on and the Cold War plays out, Rostov transitions from a young man to a grandfatherly one. He befriends both staff and guests, the fabric of his life becoming ever richer despite the restrictions on his movement. Likewise, Rostov retains his wit (and his wits), his sometimes uncanny perception, and his loyalty to his friends and to the old Russia.
Towles's story seems to tell itself, unfolding languidly, like Rostov's years and building gradually. Every word reads as if plucked from the pages of Russian literature, such is A Gentleman in Moscow infused with zeitgeist. It is a pleasure to read in every sense of the word.
Five stars.
And so the reader comes to know Rostov, a former aristocrat who openly declares to the court that it is "not the business of gentlemen to have occupations" but will spend decades working as a waiter at one of the Metropol's hotel simply, it seems, to give a bit more structure to his days. So, too, is the reader introduced to the events unfolding in the new (and later not-so-new) USSR. Some of the events are smallish, such as the rationing that impacts the menu and some, like the workings of the communist bureaucracy, which leave no stone unturned - including the labels on bottles of wine, are indicative of the larger events brewing outside the Metropol. From the safety of his rooms in the hotel, Rostov lives World War II, the Cold War, and so many other seminal events.
As the century winds on and the Cold War plays out, Rostov transitions from a young man to a grandfatherly one. He befriends both staff and guests, the fabric of his life becoming ever richer despite the restrictions on his movement. Likewise, Rostov retains his wit (and his wits), his sometimes uncanny perception, and his loyalty to his friends and to the old Russia.
Towles's story seems to tell itself, unfolding languidly, like Rostov's years and building gradually. Every word reads as if plucked from the pages of Russian literature, such is A Gentleman in Moscow infused with zeitgeist. It is a pleasure to read in every sense of the word.
Five stars.
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