Cheaper by the Dozen

Frank and Lillian Gilbreth were efficiency experts. Frank basically invented the field of motion study, looking to save a minute here and a second there at every opportunity. He tried shaving once with two razors, but the time he saved shaving he then spent - and then some! - tending to the cuts he inflicted upon himself. It was much to his chagrin, then, that in their quest to have "an even dozen," none of the children were multiples.

Frank Bunker Gilbreth, Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey have created a charming portrait of growing up in the midst of this large and eccentric family. Because of their parents' fame and wealth, life in the Gilbreth household was vastly different from life in most of America in the early part of the twentieth century. The family resides in an imposing home, maintains a summer home on Nantucket Island, and travels between the two in "Foolish Carriage," a temperamental 1914 Pierce Arrow that was, naturally, the most luxurious car money could buy.

Like Over the Top, Cheaper by the Dozen clearly illuminates life in another era. And what a life. Admittedly, the Gilbreths are so far ahead of their time, what with weekly trips to the movies and their propensity to go for long drives in Foolish Carriage, that I often felt like that era was three or four decades later than it actually was!

The adventures had by the Gilbreths, beyond outings in their automobile, were manifold, and mostly instigated by father Frank, "a born limilight-hogger," as he was described in a 2003 Washington Post review. (Notably, the Post reviewed Cheaper by the Dozen as part of an occasional series in which their book critics review "notable or neglected" books from the past. But I digress.) From teaching his clan to touch type, to learning to sail, to lessons on Morse Code conducted by painting dots and dashes on the walls of the summer home, Frank's energy and enthusiasm is the impetus behind the Gilbreths' memorable antics.

Yet it is clear from the opening pages that it is mother Lillian who truly rules the roost. Born to an exceptionally wealthy Bay Area family, Lillian did what few women in the 1890s managed: she graduated from college. In fact, at the time of her marriage, one of the newspapers reported that "Although a graduate of the University of California, the bride is nonetheless an extremely attractive young woman." Indeed. With her calm demeanor and distaste for all things "Eskimo" (i.e., off-color, even slightly), she infuses the book - and obviously her family - with warmth and love.

Overall, Cheaper by the Dozen was delightful. It makes an especially good beach (or airplane, as the case may be) read. I found myself quickly immersed in the Gilbreths' lives, and the pages just flew by.

*Footnote: I could not understand why Gilbreth #2, Mary, was not mentioned in the book beyond the fact of her birth. It turns out she died at age 5, in 1912, of diphtheria. And so, in fact, there were never actually a dozen Gilbreth children together.

The Last Original Wife

Leslie Carter is the last "original" wife among her husband's group of friends. On vacation in Edinburgh, she falls down a manhole, is knocked unconscious and breaks her arm. Her husband - walking a few paces ahead with friends - doesn't notice until he's back at the hotel. When she wakes up from surgery, it's to the face of an almost-stranger (one of the new wives), and not her husband. Returning home to Atlanta, she realizes how unhappy she is and begins to contemplate what a different life might look like.

The best thing that can be said for Dorothea Benton Frank's The Last Original Wife is that it's pure mind mush: an easy afternoon read that requires virtually no concentration. Which is good, because once you start to think about it, it makes no sense.

First, the whole, "Boo hoo, I'm the last original wife." Now, from the inside of the book flap, "Leslie Anne Greene Carter is the Last Original Wife among her husband Wesley's wildly successful Atlanta social set. His cronies have all traded in the mothers of their children that they promised to love and cherish - 'til death did them part - for tanned and toned Barbie brides." Issue number one: the "wildly successful social set" consists of only two other men. Not exactly a robust social scene - or even sample size. Secondly, "til death did them part." Well, in one case, it did. So there is one - read that ONE - friend who "traded in" the mother of his children.

Secondly, early in the book Leslie is 58. This is stated quite clearly within the opening chapters. At the end of the book, Leslie celebrates her 60th birthday. And yet, over and over and over again, the reader is told that Leslie regrets getting pregnant in her last semester of college, not earning a degree, being such a young mother, blah, blah, blah. So is she 52 going on 53 or is she 58 going on 60? And how did Frank's editor not catch this/insist that it be corrected?

Also, Leslie describes Wesley (seriously??) as the consummate bully, but while he might be a bit of a boor (or bore), he never really comes across as a bully. I had a hard time feeling too sorry for her.

Finally, I actually find the plot to be very, very similar to that of Dora in Mary Alice Monroe's The Summer Wind. Like, weirdly similar. And I preferred Monroe's.

That is all.

Over the Top

Arthur Guy Empey was an American who traveled to England and enlisted with the British armed services well before the United States joined World War I in 1917. Over the Top is Empey's memoir of his time "somewhere in France," but written as it was in 1917, it is also a manual of sorts for prospective U.S. soldiers and their families.

I discovered that this book existed in reading The Last of the Doughboys earlier this year. Richard Rubin excerpted from it liberally and I wanted to read it in full. Thanks to the Internet Archives, I was able to do so, and on my Nook, and entirely for free.

In a conversational and self-deprecating style, Empey tells the reader all that he experienced. (They style, I should add is highly reminiscent of Edmund Love, for whom I've previously stated by admiration. I have no doubt this is one of the reasons I liked this book so much. But I digress.)

Empey captures the language and atmosphere in the trenches beautifully, and he recalls his exploits with a heavy dose of humor, noting for example, that upon uncovering a decomposing corpse, one of the men fainted. I was that one, Empey writes in the next sentence. The humor carries into the last section of the book, "Tommies Dictionary of the Trenches." For example, Supper: Tommy's fourth meal, generally eaten just before "lights out." It is composed of the remains of the day's rations. There are a lot of Tommies who never eat supper. There is a a reason.

I think part of what I appreciated so much about Over the Top is that it is written in the midst of World War I. Empey hasn't had time to reflect, either on the causes of the war, or on the ways it will change him. It is written in the moment, when all Tommy wants to do is survive - and maybe have a little fun along the way.

Five stars.

Every Man Will Do His Duty: An Anthology of Firsthand Accounts from the Age of Nelson 1793-1815

Every Man Will Do His Duty showed up in my daily BookBub as I was finishing The Last Stand of the Tin Can Soldiers, in which author James D. Hornfischer does a wonderful job of describing both navy battles and life on battleships. I was curious to read a similar account of another age. The book's description is of "Twenty-two enthralling stories of the Royal Navy, bringing to vivid life the greatest battles and daily struggles of seafaring in the Napoleonic era." Unfortunately, this anthology did not captivate me in the same way as Tin Can Soldiers - or at all.

Many of the anecdotes are presented in their original form; the men who wrote them were sailors, not writers. And in any age when every man was free to render his words with whatever spelling he liked, no less. It was enough to drive this modern reader to distraction. Even those which were clearly written lacked the pizzazz and passion of Hornfisher's stories (a high bar, I know), and it often felt like, "and then this happened and then this happened and then that happened." Ultimately, I gave up about half-way through.

The Ascent of Money

Niall Ferguson's The Ascent of Money has been on my reading list since it was part of a globalEDGE blog series two years ago. Ferguson traces the origins of money and the financial system itself carefully tracing how we reached a time and place where money is almost entirely electronic. Along the way, he explores everything from insurance to hedge funds, the bond market and the IMF. He offers a discussion of the Dutch West India Company - arguably the world's first global trading company - and his exposition on the Scottish Widows insurance company should make Arthur Herman proud. There's even a bit on the crisis state of Detroit. In sum, Ferguson's work is a nice, comprehensive read for those seeking to understand the evolution of the world's financial systems, crises, and interconnectedness.

The Book Thief

The grim reaper himself narrates The Book Thief, which is probably appropriate for any book set in World War II Germany. As he himself notes, there was no shortage of work for him in that time and in that place.

It is with a sense of foreboding, then, that the reader dives into the story of Liesel Meminger, a 10-year-old foster girl who is haunted by her brother's death and mother's absence. Taken in by Rosa and Hans Hubermann, Liesel becomes especially close to her accordion-playing foster father who teaches her to read and, in so doing, gives her an abiding love for books so strong that she will stop at nothing to obtain them.

This is Liesel's story, but the backdrop, of course is World War II. Some of the Hubermann's neighbors are Nazis, some are undecided, and some are decidedly not. Each must navigate the war carefully; each must eventually face the music of the falling bombs.

The Book Thief is a rare book, with a unique - and searing - perspective. Markus Zusak's greatest accomplishment in writing it is undoubtedly the way in which he humanizes the German people, telling their story from the perspective of those too young to fully grasp what is happening but caught just the same, as the grim reaper reminds us early and often, in the mounds of rubble.

Although classified as a Young Adult (YA) book, I can easily recommend The Book Thief to young and old alike. This is a remarkable novel, one that will undoubtedly figure on my "best of" list at the end of the year.

The Adventure of English: The Biography of a Language

Melvyn Bragg sets out to trace the origins, history, and evolution of the English language in The Adventure of English: The Biography of a Language. He achieves his aims admirably, beginning with the invasion of the British isles by the tribes of Anglos and Saxons whose Germanic-rooted dialect has evolved into the English we know today.

Bragg examines both the linguistic influences - from Old Norse to French, Latin, Greek, Italian, Spanish, Yiddish, and Yoruba - as well as the influences of individuals such as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Jonathan Swift, and Mark Twain. From chapter-to-chapter the evolution of English unfurls and pushes west around the world, to North America and the West Indies and to India, Australia, and Singapore.

The Adventure of English is a study in an etymologist's dream as Bragg covers words from earnest (Victorian slang for gay, which gives a whole new meaning to Oscar Wilde's Importance of Being Earnest) to boogie-woogie (southern black slang for syphilis long before it was a style of dance, which likewise lends a new meaning to the boogie woogie blues).

If you've ever wondered about the origin of words and how and why accents exist, Bragg is your man. He held my attention from the opening chapter to the closing pages. It's possible one needs to be a card-carrying member of Club Nerd to make this claim, but those who can will not be disappointed.