Books

In October 2021 I switched from full-time work to half time. I made a list of things that I should do with my extra time, reading one book a week among them. So far, I'm not meeting my goal. I read a lot of magazine articles, though.

I don't do great at keeping track of what I've read, so I started this list as a reminder to myself and as a recommendation (or not, as the case may be) to others. I suppose I could post reviews on Goodreads, but this feels more like home.

River-Horse, by William Least Heat-Moon. A river trip across America. Brilliant and funny.

Gravity & Grace, by Simone Weil. I wish I knew what she was talking about more of the time.

Jesus & John Wayne, by Kristin Kobes Du Mez. Trump's popularity among evangelicals is far from an anomaly. Du Mez understands my people.

Morality, by Jonathan Sacks. Meh.

Longitude, by Dava Sobel. Exceptional, mind-blowing. A story like this makes me think we should teach mathematics, geography, history, and physics all mixed together—from stories like this.

Bewilderment, by Richard Powers. Oof.

Lincoln Highway, by Amor Towles. Almost as good as A Gentleman in Moscow.

Klara and the Sun, by Kazuo Ishiguro. A look at humans through the eyes of an artificial human.

The World That We Knew, by Alice Hoffman. Another story that features an artificial human observing humanity, but in circumstances much more ominous than Klara's.

Feline Philosophy, by John Gray. A philosophical essay that looks at humans through the eyes of a non-human, and invites us to do the same.

Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic, by Reinhold Niebuhr. A peek into the life and times of a young, thoughtful pastor in the 1920s.

Moral Man and Immoral Society, by Reinhold Niebuhr. I didn't have the patience to re-read all the sentences and (long) paragraphs that are more convoluted than it seems they need to be. But there were sections, where I followed his brilliant and thought-provoking perspectives. Viewing the world through the eyes of a 1930s American intellectual is like being introduced to another culture.

The Children of Light and The Children of Darkness, by Reinhold Niebuhr. Some surprising flip-flops here. Did not finish; there were other works in the anthology, "Major Works on Religion and Politics," that I wanted to read more while I had it checked out: The Irony of American History and some of his shorter writings.

The Road to Character, by David Brooks. Meh.

Grimm's Fairy Tales, by Brothers Grimm. Struck by the similarity of some of the stories to Mr Spider and other African folk tales.

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander. A monumental book. The introduction and chapter titled "The Color of Justice" are required reading. Anyone who considers her an extreme ideologue would needs to explain why in the acknowledgements she points out that her husband, a federal prosecutor, "does not share my views about the criminal justice system." If the evidence of her research is not enough, this admission of other points of view speaks to honesty and authenticity.

State of Terror, by Hillary Clinton and Louise Penny. A pretty good thriller. I'm skeptical of the premise that the ones behind it all are extremist "patriots." I think the story would be more believable if it turned out to be money- and power-grubbing assholes who manipulate the extremists.

The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon, by Alexander McCall Smith. Witty and philosophical, as usual. A little slow and dozy. (By dozy, I mean that I nodded off more than once while reading it.)

Nasty, Brutish, and Short: Adventures in Philosophy with my Kids, by Scott Hershovitz. Everyone with kids should read this. And everyone with grandkids. Maybe just everyone.

There's Nothing Here for You, by Fiona Hill. A memoir with an analysis of our discontent and resulting penchant for authoritarianism. Worth the read.

The Persuaders, by Anand Giridharandas. A positive take on how to communicate about political issues. Might be worth a re-read. I bought the book as an alternative to subscribing to his Substack posts. 

The Great Gilly Hopkins, by Katherine Paterson. When I first read it, I determined that this book deserved a screenplay. On second reading, I'm perhaps a bit less enthusiastic. I'm not sure that it deals with race in quite the way it would if it were written today. But still a wonderful kids' book.

The Language of God, by Francis Collins. Displays more patience with anti-science evangelicals than I have. Presents compelling cases for the Big Bang, evolution, and God.

The Theory of Everything, by Stephen Hawking. An exceptional job of making theoretical physics marginally accessible to the public. It only skims the surface, of course, but offers enough for us to appreciate and admire physicists and their theories. One or two essays left me confused, but most were as understandable as I'm ever likely to attain.

The Fifth Risk, by Michael Lewis. A tribute to the heads-down government workers who keep things running and keep us safe. The so-called deep state is deep in thought and deep into doing their jobs. Thank God!

Death of an Expert Witness, by P.D. James. Another great mystery by a great mystery writer, who tells stories about crime and the human condition.

How to Be an Antiracist, by Ibram X. Kendi. A remarkable book. Kendi never points a finger without first seeing the same problem in himself. Two points that stuck with me:

• Don't use racist as a slur; it's a descriptive term, and no one is exempt
• Focus on policies and the effects of those policies

Caste, by Isabel Wilkerson, is, as Kenneth Mack puts it, "strongest when she illustrates her points through poignant stories." Even if you disagreed with all her conclusions, you would have to deal with the truth of her stories. And then I would challenge you to make better conclusions. Our problems go deeper than race, to caste, she argues. Agreed, but maybe they go deeper than caste, too. What is the underlying cause of caste? (Answering this, though, may be asking a bit much of any journalist.)

The Bullet that Missed, by Richard Osman. I read this one first and immediately got the two previous books in the Thursday Mystery Club series. All the more interesting now that I can (almost) relate to the pensioner protagonists of the stories. Funny and gripping, with surprising plots and Agatha Christie-like aphorisms on the human condition.

Man's Search for Meaning, by Viktor Frankl. I think this is the first time I've read this. I borrowed the book from a friend for whom it apparently had been assigned reading in high school or college. It should have been assigned reading for all of us: as history, as a warning, as an antidote to our notions of having been dealt a bad hand in life—or as a source of hope for those who truly have been dealt a bad hand.

Zero at the Bone, by Christian Wiman. I regret to say that I have never really appreciated poetry the way I think I should. But I love reading prose written by poets. The honesty, depth, and beauty of this book, like Wiman's earlier My Bright Abyss, more than qualify it for a re-read. But I bought this copy to give as a gift, so I'll need to buy or borrow another.

Barracoon, by Zora Neale Hurston and Ibram X. Kendi. We had the opportunity to attend an interview of Kendi at the Wright Museum in Detroit. He has adapted several of Hurston's books for his daughters and other young readers. It's a good story, but I should read the original.

The Cruellest Month, by Louise Penny. If I want to meet my goal of one book a week, I should read more like this. I started Friday evening and finished Sunday afternoon. Chief Inspector Gamache is an archetype of goodness and honesty that I should aspire more to. So that's a reason to read any Penny novel with his character. I've read several, and at this point find some of the small-town characters strained to their limits, but still enjoyable company. I'm not sure she knows much about birds; a baby robin with an orange breast? Ducks (or maybe Canada geese) that quack at a day old? I guess when you crank out the stories, realism sometimes suffers.

Small Things Like These and Foster, by Claire Keegan. Exquisite. Each of these books is less than 100 pages long, so no one should ever say they didn't have time to read at least one of them. A favorite quote: "Many's the man lost much just because he missed a perfect opportunity to say nothing." Makes sense to listen to the man or woman who said just enough and not too much.

The Ethics of Ambiguity, by Simone de Beauvoir. It's about the value of freedom. From the conclusion: The individual "exists only by transcending himself, and his freedom can be achieved only through the freedom of others." I should start back at the beginning and reread it, to better understand.

On Truth, by Harry Frankfurt. I went to the Wyoming, MI, library and asked about a philosophy book. Their philosophy section consisted of about a dozen books, this one among them. It's a very short follow-up to a previous essay, On Bullshit. Some people may say we are post-truth, but they, like all of us, depend on facts every day.

This is Water, by David Foster Wallace. Another tiny book that, with the one above, I could read in an afternoon at the library. This one was the transcript of a commencement address. I noticed that Wallace mentioned how being aware can prevent us from committing suicide. Later I found out he suffered from depression and committed suicide a few years later.

Letters Home: Pictures from Niger, by Ary Vreeken. Recollections, journal entries, photos, and letters from life in Niger, by a friend of mine. Some of the vignettes, such as "No Thank You," capture some of the trials and challenges of living in a culture we weren't born into. Ary, who moved to Canada from The Netherlands as a teenager, is especially perceptive of cultural differences and adept at bridging them with empathy and humor.

The Complete Wilderness Paddler, by James West Davidson and John Rugge. I picked this up from the giveaway table at the local nature center. It's a nice combination of travel story and how-to, which is a bit hard to pull off. Some of it is dated (such as the part about cameras). But a lot of good information, well told for the most part.

Waiting for God, by Simone Weil. More readable and comprehensible than Gravity & Grace. There are parts that strike me as profound and may always stay with me. Other parts: What the heck is she talking about?

On Violence, by Hannah Arendt. I had heard about the premise of this book when I wrote Of the People, which comes close to a theme of this book, which redefines power.

High Ground, by John McGahern. Short stories by an Irishman. Well written with a piercing look at humans. And mildly depressing.

Ramona the Pest, by Beverly Cleary. Read to a grandson. Cleary's books are a pleasure to read.

The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien. Picked this up from a pile of giveaways at a family reunion in Minnesota. Raw, tragic, beautiful collection of short stories about the Viet Nam war. Read this one, at least: "On the Rainy River," which is set in Minnesota.

Grand Opening, by Jon Hassler. A small family moves from the city to a small town with big characters in Minnesota to start a grocery business.

A Certain Justice, by P. D. James. I like James, but I got a bit lost and bored in the first half of this one.

Dirt Road Revival, by Chloe Maxmin. An account of how a young progressive won election as a state representative in the most conservative district in the nation. I think it boils down to hard work and listening. This book was part of what inspired my post on Rural Democracy.

On Lying and Politics, by Hannah Arendt. Two essays: Truth and Politics (1954) and Lying in Politics (1971, a response to the Pentagon Papers). How I wish for her observations on the current firehose strategies employed by Putin, Orban, and Trump.

Original Sin, by P. D. James. This one was easier to follow than A Certain Justice, maybe because I'm more familiar with publishing than English courts. I'm a little put off by narrating the thoughts of the murderer when introducing the characters. It seems that murder and getting away with it would be constantly on the mind of the culprit, not the routine concerns of a grumpy person going about their business.

Der Großinquisitor, an excerpt, in German, from Dostoevsky's classic. This version does not include conversation between Alyosha and Ivan. Maybe this is why the story struck me as so much more relevant than other times I've read it. Maybe it was because struggling with a translation made it sink in deeper. Or is it because of the horror I feel at what has become of so much of a church I thought I knew?

Warning to the West, by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Warnings against communism and socialism, as he experienced these. The warnings might better have been aimed at authoritarian and totalitarian governments. I wonder what his warnings to Russia would look like now. He saw Portugal and India becoming socialist, which hasn't happened. But India is is danger of authoritarian rule, and Russia is no longer socialist, but it is suppressed by a power-hungry dictator and an oligarchy that have replaced Soviet tyranny.

Fastest Things on Wings, by Terry Masear. A lot of information on hummingbirds and people who save them in the LA area, told by a rescuer.

Currently reading:

• White Teeth, by Zadie Smith.
• The False White Gospel, by Jim Wallis.
• The Oak and the Calf, by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (change in spelling of 1st name).
• Wenn ich einmal reich und tot bin, by Max Biller.

On my reading list: 

• On Tyranny, by Timothy Snyder (recommended by Kristin Du Mez)
• The Gate of Angels, by Penelope Fitzgerald (recommended by D. B. Hart)
• Long Walk to Freedom, by Nelson Mandela.