I’d never read anything by Geraldine Brooks, but the premise of the story intrigued me. I’d read no reviews, and had no idea what to expect. I started this story with low expectations and mentally prepared to bail on it and go to something else if it didn’t grab me pretty quickly.
It grabbed me quickly, and held on through the entire story.
The story is a most excellent one, and Brooks does a tremendous job of painting characters that you can believe in and identify with. She masterfully weaves her tale back and forth through history, intertwining it perfectly with the life of the main character. Brooks is high on my list as an author that I want to read more of – I REALLY like how she writes.
The story is a fabricated “what if” history of the famed Sarajevo Haggadah. While the reader knows that both the back story (history of the book) and the main character (a book conservator/restorer) are fictional, they’re so well crafted I found myself wanting them to be real. Ms Brooks outstanding research on the times and people of which she writes makes the history lesson in itself worth the read. Moreover, the voices she pulls from the story seem so authentic I found myself impressed over and over as the story unfolded.
This was an Audible book for me. Listening to books, it’s common to find an author and story I like, but have the story ruined by poor narration. What a delight to experience this recording though, as the actress who does the narration (Edwina Wren) is the perfect physical voice for this story, and does an absolutely wonderful job. Ms Wren enhances and improves the telling of the story with her outstanding narration. This was one of the rare occasions where – after completing the book – I actually did a search for other books that Ms Wren has narrated. The only complaint I have with her narration is that she isn’t all that good with accents (beyond British, Aussie, and American). It’s such a tiny thing within the context of her whole performance that I still give her 5 stars on the narration.
A friend and I were corresponding about a road trip she took recently. She reconnected with a brother, and found herself surprised at who he was. She and the brother had apparently not really talked or corresponded for quite some time – maybe 20 years.
I don’t know the details of why the estrangement occurred in the first place. There are almost always all sorts of reasons for these sorts of things. I think part of it was that she made some assumptions about what he must believe, and he made some similar assumptions about her. Probably things got said that reinforced those assumptions.
She has a lifestyle that most folks would call alternative. He converted from something to Mormonism. She was getting wild tattoos way before wild tattoos were all the rage. He was apparently deeply involved in his Faith. She assumed his Faith would have little room for her lifestyle, he probably assumed her lifestyle would mock his Faith.
The years went by. No voices crossed phone lines. No letters came into mailboxes. Email became a “thing”, but email inboxes remained uncluttered by messages from one another.
Then a conference came up that she wanted to attend, and it was close to where the brother lived. A hand was extended, and grasped, and a dinner happened.
And they liked each other. They found one another to be far more open to the other than either had expected. She was, after all his sister. We all have faults after all, and who’s to say which faults trump others, and what are really faults anyway? He is, after all, her brother, and his heart is open and good and accepting.
They enjoy dinner, and are amazed at the similarities they share as brother and sister. They feel the glow of reminiscence as they tell stories they haven’t thought of in years.
In the depths of our DNA, we’re all brothers and sisters at some ancient place. Like my friend and her brother, we’ve all had assumptions and misconceptions woven into the lens through which we see those distant brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and neighbors. Those assumptions and misconceptions maintain walls and borders that are most strong and excellent. They help the morally corrupt among us sow hatred of anyone a little different that we are. They stoke the machinery of war, and maintain a constant flow of our tax dollars into that machinery.
In the relative scheme of things, I wonder if it was easy for my friend to reconnect with her brother. He’s her brother after all. Or is it even harder with those that we’re closest to? It’s not a matter of forgivingness for past wrongs that I’m talking about – it’s a willingness to be open to truly understanding the other person, without the burden of assumptions and misconceptions.
I think it comes down, once again, to that amazing power our brain has to categorize. We build a category for something, and then our brain does a really great job of sorting the world we walk through very efficiently, placing new things into the categories it’s built. So, I have a brother that becomes a Mormon, and my wonderfully efficient brain drops him into the category it’s built for Mormons. I don’t need to ask him what he believes, and waste all that time listening to how he really feels, when my wonderfully efficient category already has a set of answers.
I don’t need to spend time getting to know my Muslim neighbors, because I have a wonderfully efficient category for Muslims that tells me what I need to know about how they behave and what they believe. I don’t need to waste my time with my coworker who’s quite vocal in his support of Atheism, since my category for Atheism tells me all I need to know about him.
Life is so efficient when we let those efficient categories in our brain work to keep the world around us nice and tidy. We don’t need to think too much. We don’t need to go through the messy and uncomfortable soul searching and self-evaluation.
Or we could get a bit messy, and have dinner with our brother.
This is solid 5-star book. It captures you from the first pages, and doesn’t release you until the end. It leaves you ready for the next one in the series, which I guess doesn’t come out for another year or so.
Character development is outstanding, storytelling is among the best I’ve read, and the historical aspects of the book are tremendous. As a reader, I felt pulled deeply into the heart and mind of many of the characters – even the ones I didn’t care much for as people. The story flows quite nicely, as the different threads come together as the storyline develops. Best of all, as a history nut, I LOVED the history lesson I got from this book. I really think this should be required reading for high school students as a lesson in how WW1 happened, and what it meant.
The only other Follett I’ve read is his first series of this sort – Pillars of the Earth and World Without End. In those two books, it was quite uncomfortable for me when he would make his characters endure deep, repeated, and unfair hardship. In this first of this new series, he is much more kind to his characters as he develops them into believable people.
Having now read 3 of his books, I’ve got to say Follett is surely one of the best historical fiction writers of our generation. I can’t wait to read the next in the series!
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
-Â Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, Frank Herbert – Dune
Pulling into the airport in Monterey, I’m a little surprised to feel a touch of dread creeping into my mind. For the past couple of days, this rental car has become my “base camp†as I’ve traveled out here from Colorado. I expected to feel excited at this point – dropping off the one-way rental to begin my journey – but I feel a bit of reluctance to give up the security of the car.
Over the past couple hours of driving up California’s Central Valley, I’ve felt the hint of doubt tickling the back of my mind. I’ve driven a lot of miles to get here, and the many hours in the car have me wondering about whether I’m really up for backtracking those thousand-plus miles on a bicycle – most of the way by myself.
Am I nuts? What on earth makes me think I can do this at 57 years old?
I park the car, and start to rig up my bike for riding. Back in Colorado, I was careful to make sure everything fit. The only “extra†things I brought were the old jeans and t-shirt that I plan on throwing away at the airport. As I rig up the bike, though, I find a few “extra†things that ended up with me. My truck keys for example, that had been in my jeans pocket – not something I want to throw away.
I get stuff bundled up, and decide to move away from the car. I take all my gear and my bike with me to the Hertz counter, drop off the keys, and do my final arranging there in the airport – away from the security of the car. A quick stop at the men’s room, and I drop my jeans and t-shirt in the trash can.
That simple gesture – dropping those clothes in the trash can – seems to lift a weight from my shoulders. As-though I were releasing the last remaining connection with my security and connection to the journey that brought me to this point. Releasing that connection illuminates the place the fear had occupied, and allows me to look forward toward the journey now in front of me.
Departing
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
– T.S. Eliot
The automatic doors part for me as I walk out of the airport terminal to the sidewalk outside. It feels pretty right for me – releasing my connection to the past, turning, and walking into the sunlight of the future as the doorway opens for me.
At Monterey Airport - Mile 1 Still Ahead Of Me
I lean my bike against a post to take a picture of the bike at the beginning of the trip. I strike up a conversation with a young woman sitting on the bench, who offers to take a picture of me with the bike. My white and untanned legs shine brightly in the picture, but I feel pretty neat documenting this beginning point.
The young woman has come out to Carmel for a writers conference that lasts all week. Ironic, I think to myself. I hope to write about this trip when it’s over, and I start the trip with a conversation with a young writer who travels clear across the country to learn more about how to write.
I leave the airport, and immediately start a little climb. I’m surprised at the weight of the bike, and figure I’ll get used to it as the trip goes along. I feel little pangs and pings in my knees and hips as I climb, and worry about whether or not they’ll develop into real problems in the coming hundreds of miles.
Worry – it’s a deep black hole into which enjoyment of the present falls, never to be retrieved. I’ve learned this lesson throughout my life, and I think of it now as I feel the deep pang in my right knee each time I bear down on the pedal. I’ve always been the “designated worrier†in our family, but I’ve gotten better in recent years. I’ve come to realize that unless there’s something I can do to change the situation, then I need to focus on where I am. In this case, I’ve spent reasonable time getting myself in shape, and what I can do right now is gear down and take pressure off the knees. Take it easy, and put it out of my mind.
The hills are steeper than I expect them to be in the short jaunt over to Carmel. Are they really this steep, I wonder, or is the load on my bike that heavy? Climbing, after all, is where you most notice the extra weight when you tour on a bicycle. Have I brought too much with me?
Worry again.
Neil's Bike at Night 1 Lodging - The Green Lantern Inn
I crest the final climb, and begin the wonderful descent down into Carmel. In the short distance, I’ve climbed over 800 feet, and descend every one of those feet plus a few more. I wind my way through the quaint little tourist town of Carmel By The Sea, and find the Green Lantern Inn, where I have reservations for my first night. I put up my bike in my room, shower, change into walking-around clothes, and head to town for dinner.
I like Carmel. It’s surely the land of the Beautiful People, as they say, but it’s cute and homey, and gives me a warm and comfortable feeling for the start of my adventure. It’s Erik’s (my brother) birthday, and I call and wish him happy birthday. He’s not at all happy about me taking this trip, and has been trying to talk me out of it for months. He has the worry gene too, but much worse than me.
I stand on the beach after dinner, talking to Erik, reassuring him that I’ll be fine. After we hang up, I sit on the beach and think about Erik and I, and consider the difference in how the cancer of worry has manifested itself in our separate lives.
Not that worry is a wholly bad thing – it can certainly help in the decision-making process so long as it’s moderated. In the case of this trip, there are surely things I should worry about – crossing hundreds of miles of desert on a bicycle in the worst month of the year for example – but should I let that worry keep me from a great adventure?
That old Bene Gesserit litany on fear has stayed with me my whole life: I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
I can easily substitute the word “worry†for the word “fearâ€, and the litany would still apply. Makes sense after all – worry is just another form of fear. The difference in my mind is that worry is fear of something poorly defined and theoretical, and I usually have very little ability to sway the outcome of the object of my worry. Nothing healthy about that, is there?
Sunset, Sunrise
Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool or you go out in the ocean.
– Christopher Reeve
I’ve lived in the middle of the country my whole life. Mountains and prairie, Ponderosa Pine and oceans of grassland and wheat, this is what home looks like to me. The ocean is a thing of grandeur and magic to me – a real novelty.
I enjoy the sunset on the beach at Carmel, walking around, taking pictures of people, taking pictures of the sunset over the ocean. There are folks out in the water surfing, and I see a couple guys trotting down toward the water.
Confession: I don’t like cold water. I can’t imagine what enjoyment a person could get out of swimming in cold water. This water is cold – way too cold to swim in as far as I’m concerned – yet folks are splashing out there on surfboards and acting like they’re enjoying themselves. It’s just plain crazy, since the best you can hope for is a little wave that might carry you 20 or 30 yards.
After taking some nice sunset pictures, I walk back to my room at the Green Lantern Inn, do a little writing and a little reading, and fall asleep, looking forward to tomorrow. They don’t serve breakfast until 7:00, and I have a short day, so I decide to sleep in until 6:00, and enjoy breakfast. Today marks the beginning of this journey, and the sunset I just enjoyed seems the perfect way to begin.
For three weeks in June, I rode my bicycle down the coast of California through Big Sur, turned left to cross the mountains, rode across the Mojave and Sonoran deserts, then northeast through Navajo, Hopi, and Ute lands, finally crossing southern Colorado and the Continental Divide at Wolf Creek Pass, ending up in Walsenburg, CO. I rode the first 60% or so by myself, then met my friend Dave in Flagstaff for the last 40% or so of the ride.
A coast-to-coast ride is a nice thing to check off “the list†for sure, but I’m learning the checkmark on the list is something that gets the ride started, but the ride always turns into something much bigger than the checkmark. The goal of the checkmark is a good motivator to get me into the saddle, and get me planning and executing the trip, but it’s never the “whyâ€. Continue reading “Tour of the West – A Bicycle Adventure”
Coming of the Storm – Contact – The Battle For America – Book One
By Michael Gear and Kathleen O’Neal Gear
This is the first book I’ve read by this husband and wife team, and I’ve gotta say I’ll be reading more.
I love historical fiction, and love reading about other cultures, so this book had a leg up. The writing style really intrigued me, and I found it quite enjoyable and engaging. In addition, the authors seem to have created an extremely believable world that sounds like it could be very true to the world that they write about.
The characters are well-developed and easy to fall into stride with and identify with. In particular, I like the joint effort, in that it allows characters to be developed from both a male and female perspective.
I’d recommend this book to anyone, but I’d particularly recommend it to folks who – like me – enjoy reading something that’s a bit like historical fiction.
Sorry for the lack of posts. I’ve been in the midst of a nice little bicycle ride, headed down the cost of California from Monterey, turning left at LAÂ and heading east across the desert.
Sitting in Twentynine Palms today, on the edge of the Mojave Desert and the Joshua Tree National Park, enjoying air-conditioning and a nice pool.
The ride down the coast and through Big Sur was pretty amazing. Definitely a ride anyone should consider. I’ll do some postings on the ride soon with pictures, but this is my quick rest-day update.
The thing that had the greatest impact on me over the first few days was the trees I think. On the western side of the range, it was the Redwoods, but then on the inland side of the range, and through the Paso Robles wine country and along the way up into the mountains again at Frazier Park, there were these massive Oak trees that I couldn’t get over. These things must me many hundreds of years old to have grown so massive in the climate. I couldn’t get enough of spending time with both these types of ancient trees.
Now, in the desert, things have changed dramatically. Spending time in the shade by the pool this morning, I noticed several little (warbler type) birds that I haven’t noticed as I’ve been riding, though I’m sure they’re around. And hummingbirds of course.
The wind here is insane. In can come up suddenly and ferociously, and I can tell you it’s something you don’t want in your face while you’re peddling a bicycle. Have had several stints of barely maintaining 7mph into the teeth of that deafening wind, curse words pouring out of my mouth.
Tomorrow I end my day in AZ, after crossing a pretty big section of highway with no water (about 100 miles or so). Cross your fingers for a west wind – I know I am!
The second in the “Camel Club” series, this is a fun read. Like the first one, I listened to this one, and think the narrator is good. The male actor could do a better job of differentiating between characters, but overall they did a good job with the audio, not taking away from what is (in my opinion) a good story. Personally, I like the narrator so well that I think the audio version would be better if they just let him do the whole thing, and skipped the actors, as they did in the first book in this series.
I suspect this book would have the greatest appeal to guys like me – past the mid-century mark in age – the age of the primary character. We love to be able to identify with a guy who’s “still got it” and does heroic things.
Hats off to this one, and I’ll be reading more for sure, though I won’t buy the next audiobook until they get the price down to reasonable – maybe the next one goes on the Kindle…
I tried hanging with these books, and after 3, I just can’t do it anymore. I hoped – after my last review, that things would improve, but they’re getting worse.
The author takes 50 pages of story, and packs it into hundreds and hundreds of pages. A good bit of these hundreds of pages is rehash of what we already know – both from within the current book and from previous books. Over and over and over again…
And frankly, the sex is just over the top. I’m no prude – I have no problem with explicit sex for the most part. It’s just that the way it’s presented here seems uncomfortable in this story. I don’t know how this isn’t classified as pornography.
So, after 3 in the series, I’m throwing in the towel. They’re getting worse not better. Which is too bad. If the editor would have helped the author winnow this down to the essential story, these first 3 books could have made a nice 200 to 300 page novel, and it would have been quite a good read. In those places where the author gets on with the story, she’s quite good. Her editor should be ashamed that this didn’t happen.
Continuing the theme of “how we deal with loss†that I started in my last post – especially the notion of trusting G-d to be G-d, and and being faithful enough to focus wholly and completely on doing my work as a human being.
When I see loss and pain around me, what if I don’t “pray†in the traditional sense? What if I don’t bow my head and ask G-d to fix everything and mend every pain? Does G-d need my instruction on how Creation needs to be run?
Prayer in the traditional sense here implies two entities – one entity petitioning a different higher entity. Yet, there is great tradition within most faith teaching, (certainly within my own), instructing us to live as or strive toward “oneness and unity†with G-d.
How does that change the nature of prayer? What if prayer becomes an act of connection with that oneness, rather than an act of petition to a separate entity?
In making this connection, we become a conduit for the energy and goodness and healing that is divine to move through us and out into the world around us.
There’s a difference, isn’t there? On the one hand I’m asking for someone or something else to do something, and on the other hand I’m seeking the strength, the guidance, and the will to be an agent of change myself – to be a force of human kindness and goodness.
When there’s loss and suffering around us, perhaps the best thing we can do is to stop praying for G-d to do something, and start connecting with G-d for the strength, wisdom, and will to be a force of pure and simple kindness to those around us who are suffering.
People of the Book
The Collectors by David Baldacci
