Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

by Tom Stoppard

1966

What happens to minor characters when they're not on stage in a drama? Well, for the hapless Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of "Hamlet," they're stuck in a theatrical limbo, an empty stage on which they wonder what their purpose is. Sure of nothing, not even their names, with only fragments of memory as to their task of delivering Hamlet to England, they encounter the play's dramatists, who give them only cryptic answers, and only every now and then the main characters of "Hamlet," who sweep past them, engrossed in their own roles.

It's a little bit "Waiting For Godot," a little bit "Six Characters in Search of an Author," and a little bit "No Exit." Ros. and Guild. have, for the preponderance of the play, only themselves to talk to, annoy, console, and baffle in turn, and in this case it does turn out that hell is other people. But this play is brilliant in its own right, with its meta-textural humor, surrealism, and frank contemplation of death. I'll tell you one thing, though. Death is not being on a boat. Possibly, however, at times it is not-being on a boat. 

five stars

The High Window

by Raymond Chandler

1942

In the third Philip Marlowe book, a bilious, dipsomaniac widow hires the sleuth to track down a very rare and valuable coin, which she believes has been stolen by her estranged daughter-in-law. He soon finds out that the job includes being accosted by the woman's ineffectual son, who still loves his wife, and by her timorous, neurotic secretary, for their own reasons. There's even another detective on the case, a cheerful but clumsy fellow, and two murders later Marlowe is checking in with the criminal classes to see what they have to say. He gets along with them better than he does the widow.

This is an astonishing feat of writing. These books aren't whodunits in the traditional sense; they aren't even noir, really. Marlowe is a genre unto itself, with original and self-assured writing that constructs a labyrinthine plot, but isn't really about the plot at all. A man confesses to a murder he didn't commit; later he'll recant and the murder will go cold and unsolved. Marlowe helps a lady in distress as far as he can. He also maybe helps another fellow get away with murder. Maybe the victim deserved it. Who's to say? Not Marlowe. "The white moonlight was cold and clear, like the justice we dream of but don't find." 

five stars

Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen

by Christopher McDougall

The author, a sportswriter who runs but finds himself constantly injured, goes to several sports doctors to find the reason why. They tell him the same thing: after a certain age and at a certain weight, running is bad for your body, period. Unsatisfied with this bad news, he seeks answers in other areas, eventually stumbling upon a Mexican desert tribe called the Tarahumara, who run hundreds of miles a week as a daily routine, even into late middle age, and seem to never get injured. This discovery leads to McDougall hearing of a mysterious American called Caballo Blanco who lives among these people and has adopted their ways and diet. Once an article about this man is published, it sparks a new interest in the largely hidden and unknown Tarahumara in several of ultra-marathoning's top figures. Eventually, a race is set up between the bravest of American athletes and the top Tarahumara runners, a race filled with drama and surprises, which no one except the participants and the few townsfolk near the race area ever see.

The story is indeed dramatic, but the lily is gilded by the author's style. It is written in a very sensationalist tone: everything is the best, the most nutritious superfood, the most dangerous remote location, the highest town, the most capable humans, the toughest. McDougall is definitely not a just-the-facts type of writer. Every meeting has to be earth shaking, every character has to be larger than life. However, the book has everything, and it has it in copious detail. There is a cast of extremely quirky characters, there is serious medical data on the benefits of running barefoot, there’s criticism of the Nike sneaker industry for deliberately perpetuating bad running, there is the personal journey and breakthrough that the author goes through (along with practical step-by-step plan which the reader can copy to improve his or her running), there is the trove of historical tidbits and fascinating anecdotes about the limits of human endurance, and of course there’s the stars of the show, the Tarahumara themselves and their fascinating way of life and how it makes them such amazing athletes. Plus some American super-athletes. And a lot of data about the benefits of a vegetarian diet. Even evolutionary biology. Quite a lot. And thus we come to the raison d'etre of the book: according to the evidence McDougall cites, humans are evolutionarily created to run. We have the right ligaments, buttocks, and feet to run, and if we don't run, we are destroying ourselves with heart disease, diabetes, and cancer. It's a tall order. But McDougall seems to have interviewed everyone remotely connected with the race, or runs great distances, or the science of running, or the running tribes, and the book is both marvelously entertaining and informative from beginning to end. It gets a little corny and quasi mystical near the end when the race reaches a climax, but chalk that up to a runner's high. I don’t have the knowledge to debate the veracity or debunk or support some of the wilder claims, and the author is prone to depict detailed visuals and conversations for which he was not present. That said, taken at its face value it is a superb book. 

five stars

The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs: A New History of Their Lost World

by Steve Brusatte

The author, a paleontologist at the University of Edinburgh, covers hundreds of millions of years of biological history, from the pre-Cambrian to the latest Cretaceous (a fun phrase to say, by the way), explaining in lucid prose the story of the dinosaurs. Brusatte writes with the infectious giddiness of the young geek he still is; his informative chapter on T. Rex in particular is breathless in admiration for "the king." There's almost too much history and discovery for Brusatte to cover, so wide is his scope and excitement. He tells in vivid detail about the two great extinction events (the second, the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs, is confirmed in his account by a layer in the ancient rock of iridium that had to come from outer space). He explains how the ponderous sauropods grew so huge (fast growth, light bones, and most interestingly their birdlike lungs, which allowed them to take in both oxygen on inhalation and exhalation). He discusses the unfortunate and bizarre episode known as the "Bone Wars," in which eccentric 19th-century natural scientists Edward Drinker Cope and Othniel Charles Marshand (they had such great names back then) let their rivalry for glory overcome their desire for scientific advancement. Brusatte also makes clear the now accepted theory that birds are dinosaurs.

Considering the vastness of the subject and the amount of explanation required to lay everything out for the layman (including the required background knowledge on Pangaea, climate change, evolutionary adaption), this is a brilliantly written book. Sometimes Brusatte's excitable authorial voice made me wish he would slow down and lay things out a bit more slowly. He also spends valuable page time on very brief biographies of some of the paleontologists across China, Eastern Europe, and America whom Brusatte admires and works with – all fine people, I am sure, but I really don't care if one affects dandy clothes and listens to the Doors or if another loves to dance at techno clubs. I also would have liked a more in-depth look into the best guess on why only bird-dinosaurs survived the asteroid and not a single other true dinosaur species, while reptiles and mammals did. Still, these are minor complaints; Brusatte's book is probably the best complete overview of what the world of the dinosaurs was like.

Gang Leader For a Day

Gang Leader for a Day: A Rogue Sociologist Takes to the Streets (2008)

by Sudhir Venkatesh

The author describes himself as a "rogue sociologist," a bold bit of branding that's more than just posturing.  Tired of the stilted questionnaires and lack of human feeling in poverty research, Venkatesh one day takes it upon himself to walk straight up to a high-rise in Chicago and talk to the drug dealers.  He's accosted roughly and initially mistaken for a Hispanic, but one charismatic middle-level dealer, JT, is impressed with Venkatesh's bravado and allows him to see the day to day life of the people in the projects as well as some of the seedier aspects of gang life in the Black Kings.  For ten years, Venkatesh remained a somewhat trusted figure, an outsider for sure, albeit one with privileges as a sympathetic observer, and every once in a while getting his hands dirty (or his feet – at one point he joins in the beatdown of a woman-abusing junkie).  Eventually Venkatesh is even allowed to make the rounds of the South Side and even suggest ways to iron out squabbles and problems that JT deals with.

There are problems with this sort of rogue ethnography, of course.  Venkatesh is for better or worse an ally of the Black Kings, and thus may not be allowed to see the toll their protection racket may take on civilians, small business owners, and others trying to get by.  However, it's fascinating to hear how the gangs act as de facto police in the area, dispensing favors and settling disputes.  The real police, like EMTs, rarely come to the projects, so certainly the Kings are providing a needed service, but are they filling a need left by a racist system or, through violence, creating a reason for their interference and growing power?  It's more likely closer to the latter; JT isn't stupid, and uses Venkatesh for his own ends, as when he takes economic data recorded by the sociologist to extract more tribute.  In all, this is an eye-opening and enthralling look at a too-often hidden side of poverty in America, although since it's through the lens of a crack dealer in a high-rise in the '90s, it's a bit skewed.

Why Good Things Happen to Good People

Why Good Things Happen to Good People: The Exciting New Research That proves the Link Between Doing Good and Living a Longer, Healthier, Happier Life (2007)

by Stephen Post and Jill Neimark

The (main) author, Stephen Post, is a professor of bioethics at Case Western, and the president and founder of the Institute for Research on Unlimited Love (IRUL), located at the school.  In this book, he makes the claim that possessing and acting on loving traits such as generosity, courage, listening, respect, creativity, humor, compassion, and so on help improve one's outlook, health, and lifespan.  Citing dozens of studies commissioned and funded by his own IRUL institute, and with some dubious phrases such as "compassion may be oxytocin, the feel-good hormone" and "drumming in groups can boost the immune system" (these statements probably not approved by the FDA), he does show some evidence that altruism is linked to health.  Of course there is also a lot of reliance on correlation as well: veterans who performed acts of bravery were found to score high on maturity and emotional stability; those who volunteer to help others tend to live longer.  But does volunteering make you live longer, or do healthier, positive, stress-free people volunteer?  The passages on forgiveness and listening are the strongest, in my view.  With practical advice including how to use Tonglen breathing, a Tibetan Buddhist technique for sending compassion into the universe, and great quotes such as "you can't hear with your heart until you silence the noise of the ego," these chapters give readers ways to improve their daily life by reducing stress.  I also enjoyed some of the advice on conflict: while listening to others, accept what they say, check how your body is reacting, and instead of replying, ask yourself, how can I meet this with kindness?  In all, Post's "proofs" of the benefits of living with love fall somewhere between dubious science and cultish zealotry, but shouldn't we all act like it is true anyway?  After all, "compassion is the basis of morality."  Until we have more rigorous proof, that's good enough.

The King of Torts

by John Grisham

Clay Carter is a lawyer, but a lowly one, earning about a teacher's pay at the Office of the Public Defender. His finacée's snobby, nouveau riche parents (cartoonish villains, environmentally-unfriendly urban developers and social climbers) dislike him and urge him to venture into higher-paying arenas of the law. But when Clay is tapped to defend a young man who shot an acquaintance for seemingly no reason, his fortune changes. It seems that a new drug was rushed through trials, and an unintended consequence is that it temporarily gives some takers an urge to kill. In his quest to defend his client, Clay gets too close to the truth. But is he targeted by an infinitely rich corporation? No! He is turned into a big-time tort lawyer on the victims' behalf and becomes a multimillionaire almost overnight. Instead of walking away, he embraces the life of a tort lawyer and finds complaints about diet pills and other drugs. As the massive tort cases come in, the nine-digit payoffs become regular, but Clay is spending nearly as much as he earns to get the cases. The private jets and islands are tempting, but a single mistake and he could be on the receiving end of a lawsuit himself.

So, this is a very tightly plotted legal thriller very much in the Grisham vein, with a large cast of characters and no shortage of thrills, not so much from suspense as through Clay's roller-coaster whirlwind race through the world of big tort settlements, very much out of his depth. There's drama, romance, obscene amounts of money, and social critique. The pacing is good, the characters are well drawn, and the commentary is cutting. What doesn't work so well, though, is the setup. This science-fiction idea, about a drug that turns people into killers, could have been the basis for the whole novel. Governments, radical groups, and other NGOs would pay vast amounts or kill to get their hands on that drug. Yet Grisham drops this element, treats it only as the basis for a tort claim, and then it's off to the exciting world of greedy tort lawyers. It seems to me that Grisham might have let this idea develop a little more and gotten a real thriller out of it. 

 

four stars