Category Archives: Books Worth Keeping

Plenty of books are worth reading once.
These selections are good enough that they deserve shelf space; to be remembered and referred to, and to cherish the prospect of one day experiencing them again.

How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia, Mohsin Hamid

Version 1.0.0

Posing as satire of the Western world’s self-help book genre, this clever volume starts out strong (“Look, unless you’re writing one, a self-help book is an oxymoron.  You read a self-help book so someone who isn’t yourself can help you, that someone being the author.”) and finishes even stronger.  There is a stretch about three quarters through its slender 220 pages that treads close to familiar crime and corruption thriller terrain, but happily that is only a dalliance, employed by Hamid to bring his protagonist down to earth and set up the final chapters wherein we realize what sort of wealth is really being promoted here, and in what way this book truly proposes to help its readers help themselves.

Along the way, we get a glimpse of what life is like for many hundreds of millions across the globe.  A lesson given greater impact by being written in the second person, casting the reader as protagonist (“The whites of your eyes are yellow, a consequence of spiking bilirubin levels in your blood.”) This choice is particularly effective at impressing readers from prosperous northwestern-quadrisphere cultures (such as myself) with the realities of life for those who indirectly support our affluence (“The virus affecting you is called hepatitis E. Its typical mode of transmission is fecal-oral.  Yum.”)  Later, when a different range of emotions arise among characters in circumstances superficially different from our (my) own, this second-person setting makes plain the conclusion that we are all the same underneath, no matter how different our economics make us seem at first glance.

Lest this sound like a civics lesson, I want to emphasize that the writing throughout is full of wry insight and humor.  To that, the final chapters add great warmth and sympathy for the human condition and an understanding of love, aging and the grace with which those can be faced – when complex and imperfect beings rise to their best potential.  An unexpected and very welcome reward at the end of a brisk and entertaining trip.

Ultra-impressive work by Hamid, who is fast becoming a favorite author.  Originally from Pakistan, he has dual English citizenship, degrees from Princeton and Harvard Law and experiences in the worlds of corporate law and McKinsey consulting to complement his South Asian frame of reference. Author of five novels so far and at least one work of non-fiction (Discontent and its Civilizations: Despatches from Lahore, New York and London, 2014), his is a voice which deserves to be heard, and widely.

Paris Undercover

Version 1.0.0

Paris Undercover – A Wartime Story of courage, Friendship and Betrayal, Matthew Goodman (2025)

At times inspiring, at others horrific, this is an impressive example of historical scholarship and its value in setting the record straight – as opposed to its all too prevalent effect of skewing history to the writer’s preferences.

In the midst of WWII the Etta Shiber’s purported memoir Paris-Underground is published in New York describing the exploits of herself and Kitty Bonnefous, two female resistance workers in Nazi-occupied France.  How that book came about, how much it was fact and how much fiction, and what were the effects its publication, are this current book’s subjects.

Part One of this volume gives us a factual record of the women’s actual lives and actions, up through Etta’s capture trial and imprisonment by the Nazis, thru her eventual release and arrival in New York. (At least I believe this is the factual version.  Given what follows, I do wish Goodman gave us a more explicit assurance to that effect.  In particular, his choice to open with the moment of Etta’s arrival in New York and then backtrack to their exploits confused me when, in Part Two, he informed us that is the way in which Etta’s book was structured.)

Readers looking for a pleasant and inspiring book could perhaps stop right here, and be somewhat satisfied.

Part Two is Goodman’s account of how Etta’s book came to be, how it was or was not written and by whom (there are differing accounts), and the impacts it had on her life..(This is where Goodman details that book’s departures from fact, and where I became a bit confused as to whether what I’d previously read was the true facts, or a replaying of the wartime book’s fabrications.  Perhaps a more diligent reader would not experience any confusion, but I did). What does seem clear though, is that Paul Winkler, himself a Jewish refugee from France, had the leading role as publisher and assembler and probably came out farther ahead financially than anyone else did.  Certainly the book sold well, and Etta Shriber did not get much for it.  What is also clear is that the book’s publication would certainly cause the Nazis to revisit Kitty’s case with even more sadistic vigor than before, likely with deadly consequences for her and others.

By the end of this section, one is angry with Winkler and others, but mostly on the edge of one’s seat, impatient to learn where Kitty has been imprisoned how she has fared while this profit-oriented sideshow was taking place in the safety of North America.  An excellent demonstration of how even a nonfiction book can be structured to maximize its suspense.

Part Three: Into the Night and Fog is the crux of Goodman’s work, a detailed account of Kitty’s imprisonment and mistreatment, the effect of Etta’s book on her such, the terrible  privations she and other prisoners of the Nazis had to endure to survive and even after being ‘freed’ by Soviet troops and, at long last, Kitty’s eventual return to the land of the living, where she lived to very nearly 80 years of age, at last enjoying some comforts and peaceful pleasures despite the debilitating effects of her ordeal.

(Given the chaos and destruction endemic to wartime, especially the end of a World War, it is amazing that Goodman is able to reconstruct this period in such detail and anecdote.  Since the overall purpose of the current volume is to expose the fabrications of Etta’s earlier book, it would have been worthwhile for him to address head on how he is able to be so comprehensive and how he avoided inserting his own imaginings in it, though the extensive Acknowledgements, Notes and Bibliography do help in this regard.)

As with other accounts of wars and particularly the Nazi Reich, one comes away from Paris Underground near despair at the eagerness of some men (and a few women, too) to inflict unnecessary pain and agony on other humans.  And, at the same time, amazed at the ability of many humans to survive mistreatment and hardships that would seem, if described in the abstract, unendurable.

A compelling and thoroughly worthwhile read, but not pleasant, and not for the faint of heart.

 The Netanyahus: An account of a Minor and Ultimately Even Negligible Episode in the History of a Very Famous Family, Joshua Cohen

Started reading this in the mistaken belief that it was non-fiction and was immediately put off by the narrator’s (and, I assumed, author’s) arrogant attitudes and artificial style of speech. Once I realized it was fiction, those became crucial elements of the narrator’s character and the entire story, rather than obstacles.  A chastising lesson in the difference between forms and the expectations they set up in a reader – and the responsibility of the reader to know what sort of a book e is opening up!

That said, this impressive novel is not without its challenges.  Cohen is knowledgeable and compelling on Jewish culture and Zionist history and politics. His “Credits” make clear this is based on a real incident involving real individuals; the literary critic and educator Harold Bloom, whom Cohen knew well in his last years and on whom he loosely bases his narrator, Ruben Blum; Benzion Netanyahu, a Polish born scholar of medieval Judaism and activist for the creation of the State of Israel – and the father of Israel’s current strongman, Benjamin ‘Bibi’ Netanyahu (who appears briefly, as a child); and, to a lesser but critical degree, Benzion’s father/Bibi’s grandfather, Nathan Mileikowsky, a Russian born activist, Rabbi and author.  The incident – Benjamin showing up at Blum’s university for an interview with his wife and children unexpectedly and chaotically in tow – is also real, though to what degree is up for debate.

The first half of the novel is serious to the verge of textbook, if a bit satirical, showing us the attitudes of Blum and the surrounding culture (nineteen fifties/sixties backwaters US academia) toward Jews.   One note that struck this reader was how closely the described intentions of Zionist theorists appear to confirm the contentions of Rashid Khalidi’s The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine, which I had begun prior to reading Cohen’s book and am still working my way through (it’s dense).  In this view, it has always been the intent of core Zionists to possess not just what the UN mandated, but all of what have been called, at one time or another, Palestinian territories (reduced today, through a rolling mix of annexations, wartime seizures and occupations, to Gaza and The West Bank – minus the many Israeli settlements already inserted within those boundaries).  The Balfour Declaration and subsequent legalistic measures to enact some sharing of those lands between Israel and the ‘non-Jewish residents’ (to avoid taking a side by describing them as ‘Palestinians’), which I naively believed bestowed a solid legality to the nation, have never been fully accepted by the more ardent Zionists.  Rather, they acceded to these grudgingly and only as temporary accommodations for short term benefits, with always the hope and/or intention that eventually the nation would take by force what it could not win politically.  That even the Balfour Declaration came about only because Zionists and settlers (who were mostly recent arrivals, rather than having been resident prior to the early 20th Century and Zionist movement) backed the British and other nations into conceding it through raids, sabotage and what some have called terrorism, foreshadowed this long-term belligerence.

The novel’s tone changes dramatically in its second portion, as the Netanyahus (or Yahus, as Blum comes to call them, in one of the author’s most amusing bits) arrive and what had been an academic exercise turns into a slapstick comedy of poor manners, poorer parenting, arrogant presumptiveness, cliché infighting between spouses and barbed daggers at academics in general.  For this reader, who finds nearly all ‘comic’ writing an oxymoron, that sectionis less successful and somewhat overextended.

The Netanuyahus is saved in part by the aforementioned orientation on Zionist history and in another part by the insight it provides into the making of one future Prime Minister.

To wit: if the actual Bibi Netanyahu comes from such stock as these fictional father and grandfather, then there seems no way in hell or heaven that he will ever honestly support the idea of a Palestinian state.  Coupled with his actions so far since the tragedy of October 7, 2023, this leads one to conclude there will be no other outcome of the present Israeli/Palestinian conflict than Israel’s elimination of the Palestinians as a people or political entity and the integration of all previously Palestinian-controlled lands into an increasingly theocratic, increasingly Orthodox and bindingly-Jewish state of Isreal. 

Benzion’s scholarly opinion that this tragedy is a result of Medieval Iberia’s choice to maximize economic advantage by portraying Judaism as a race rather than a religion makes it more tragic, not less.  History and religion are not so far apart as some of Cohen’s characters would like them to be.

An impressively erudite novel, depressingly timely.

P. S. – As Cohen tells us, the literal meaning in Hebrew of ‘Netanyahu,’ the surname which Benzion chose to replace his father’s (‘Mileikowsky’) is “gift of God.”  This suggests that the attitude of supreme arrogance and entitlement which Cohen portrays in the character modeled upon Benzion is likely very true to its original.

P. P. S. – Early on, Cohen depicts the anti-progressive bent of conservative strains in Jewish and early Zionist thought.  This reader was struck hard by the similarity of that reactionary and absolutist world view with that of America’s present-day nuovo-populists and MAGA fundamentalists.  One more reason for our Mr. Trump and his fundamentalist Christian supporters to side so strongly with Mr. Netanyahu’s Israeli policies, if their shared paternalism, avarice, brutality and need to perform Alpha Male masculinity were not sufficient.

Karla’s Choice, Nick Harkaway

Picked this up less than fully convinced that a John Le Carre novel sans Le Carre was really needed.  Fact it was penned by the master’s son, Nick Harkaway, made it somewhat more promising than the various Ian Fleming-less Bond retreads by unrelated followers (of whom Harkaway is one, the admirable William Boyd another).  Was encouraged before the start by a statement in the Author’s Note that “There were always supposed to be more Smiley books.”  LeCarre’s having graciously left ten years of blank foolscap between The Spy Who Came in From the Cold and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy also suggested room for this insertion.

From the start, what I found was encouraging, gliding along quite happily to the familiar rhythms and contexts of LeCarre’s world as scored and conducted by Harkaway (who has the benefit of having actually been present and somewhat privy to his father’s creative processes).   A pleasant enough experience, but not eye-opening – until somewhere around 80% of the way through – stop reading here if you don’t want to spoil the experience for yourself…

Just as I’d begun to worry this might be all retread, Susannah, the naive civilian whose cry for help initially set the entire story into motion, despairs at Smiley’s apparent lack of principle and crosses the Iron Curtain into Hungary (at the time a Communist autocracy tightly leashed to the Soviet Union) to commandeer his mission for herself.  Though believable based upon her earlier actions and personal history, this impulsive act nonetheless flips us into another plot entirely, as Smiley and his professionals must improvise in hopes of catching up with her.  Then, just as I’d accepted that and begun to anticipate the excitement it must generate, Harkaway switched form entirely – stopping the clock to preview various character’s future reminiscences on whether Smiley’d had no idea this was coming and was now in totally reactive mode, or had anticipated and accepted Susannah’s action as inevitable and gone with the flow or had, in fact, callously conceived, arranged and ensured such a dangerous act in order to achieve his own ends at the probabl cost of her innocent life.  By dancing a follow-spot rapidly over Smiley’s talent, skill and commitment even as it highlights several canonic characters’ own abilities and relationship to the master, Harkaway makes clear that moral principle, guilt and regret are the true subjects of the novel, assuming LeCarre’s mantle very nicely, thank you. 

Minutes later (in reading time, that is) we’re back into thriller form, watching as George discovers he has been made and is being tailed, and then as this unassuming ‘little man’ deals brilliantly with the challenges (including a car chase with Smiley at the wheel – never thought we’d see that!).  These scenes are virtuosic for both character and author, and from there it is a race to a signature LeCarre finish: bloodshed held off-screen, morality front and center and more than a hint of anticlimax, until Harkaway surgically exposes just what values and choices lay behind the various participants’ actions. Despite the infamous Karla (through-line villain of the entire Smiley oeuvre) having appeared very sparingly and with minimal back story, it turns out that his ‘choice’ is indeed the true point of this novel.  Not to mention a worthy gift to the fans in how it adds color and insight to Le Carre’s own chronologically-later volumes. Very nicely done!

Credit where credit is due:  I read this in e-book form – one of the more benevolent byproducts of our evolving digital hegemony.  An e-book I had borrowed online from a public, i.e. ‘government funded’ (cue the sinister theme music) library – one of those many liberal-culture institutions from which our marginally-elected leaders are currently scrambling to rescue us.  Had downloaded it in moments and for free – another benefit of the ‘mommy state’ imposed upon us by the ‘deep state’ which is now being shredded in favor of absolute free-market fundamentalism. Who knew we had so much to lose?  Anyone with eyes…

Having thus tested the waters and found them delicious, I’ll now be purchasing a hard-copy of Karla’s Choice so as to compensate author and industry for conspiring to make such an entertaining and worthwhile title available.

Kköszönöm mindenkinek – ’Thank you everyone.’

Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver

Kudos to the 2023 Pulitzer Prize Board for a totally worthy selection.  Kingsolver ticks a literary box by channeling Dickens and his David Copperfield without crass imitation, a societal significance box by addressing child poverty, abuse and the epidemic of rural drug use (especially opioid addiction, calling out some of the companies and their owners by name) and the readership box by creating a captivating and moving tale featuring flawed but valuable characters of realistic human color and complexity in an interesting land- and culture-scape.

The opening chapter or two induced a little hissy fit in this reader – knee-jerk objection to spending time with a self-destructive junky single mother and a narrator who seemed, at first, kind of stereotypically hillbilly.  The prize award was helpful then, inducing me to power through to where it began to dawn on my urban elitist New York-raised mind that the mother was not going to be our companion all the way through, the child/narrator quite a bit more self-aware than my prejudices first supposed, and the hillbilly voice (along with my dismissive reaction to it) was central to the moral view of the novel. Just as it is best not to judge political speech on the speaker’s accent, neither should the reader allow Demon’s voice, which cements him into his milieu, to obscure his story.

Kingsolver’s craft extends also to the novel’s plotting, following Demon’s trials and tribulations for long enough to make the reader feel his despair and self-doubt while every now and then throwing us the lifeline of a gentle soul or a positive experience before descending again into the long, slow slide.  By the time his fate takes its most significant downward turn (page 333 of 546) we are fully invested and watch the slow-motion pileup with horror until around 508 when a ray of sunshine begins to probe the rotted-out shutters of doom.  Even then, we’re on pins and needles till very nearly the end, hoping against hope that he will find it in himself to succeed and when he does, in the final twenty pages, the payoff brought tears to these eyes. 

I gather some readers have said that happy ending (one should say tentatively happy, having been reminded in the preceding pages of the regression statistics on addiction treatment) feels false and not credible, after all that came before, and it would certainly be possible for an author to have ended this story on the downbeat of despair.  Possible, but not as rewarding and not as true to the model’s modus operandi. Dickens too was writing to entertain a wide public and so needed to grant them the satisfaction of a good story with a rewarding culmination even as he fed them the unvarnished truths he believed they needed to hear.  His legacy over the intervening 175 years is sufficient to suggest that he, and now Kingsolver, made the correct choice in that.

As a writer one can well imagine the fun Kingsolver must have had transcribing character names into the nicknaming vernacular of mountain folk: David Copperfield to Demon Copperhead, James Steerforth to Fast Forward, Uriah Heap to U-Haul, etc.  While Mr. Micawber made a modest move to Mr. McCobb, the author seems to have hewn closer to model the more admirable the cast member:  Aunt Betsey gets the slimmest change of spelling as Aunt Betsy, the Peggety family becomes the Peggot clan and Dora morphs into Dori, still trying her young husband’s patience and love just as much despite the different vowel and dying an early tragic death as well.  Demon’s other romantic interest retains her original name, Agnes, despite being referred to throughout as Angus (for reasons the novel explains).  A further twist is necessary for her father, who in Dickens is Dr. Strong.  Since the physician in that part of the story will turn out to be a villain whose neglectful care and wrong-headed prescriptions start Demon on his steepest and deepest slide, Kingsolver names him Dr. Ward (as in ‘ward of,’ perhaps?) while Agnes’ father and Demon’s putative rescuer becomes the high school football team’s Coach Winfield – as in ‘win on the field,’ perpetuating Dickens’ own custom of punacious character names.  

Another interesting bit of craft regards how reticent the cover quotes and inside flap summary are (at least in the hardcover edition I read).  A potential reader would never know from them what a harrowing story they are in for.  One suspects that was a calculated choice, aiming for potential readers to be drawn in by Kingsolver’s previous commercial successes and the Pulitzer award so they would read far enough to become emotionally invested before seriously questioning whether or not to continue.

One could say a lot more, but I’ll just leave it that Demon Copperhead has already taken a prominent spot on the shelf so I’ll frequently glimpse its spine and be reminded that highly satisfying and truly worthwhile fiction is still possible – even in this age of internet, AI and attention spans measured in microseconds.

Another Side of Bob Dylan, Victor Maymudes (Co-written and Edited by Jacob Maymudes)

Subtitled ‘A Personal History on the Road and off the Tracks,’ and found by happenstance in a used-book store, this is a bit of marketing, in that it’s real subject is not Dylan at all, but Victor Maymudes, a longtime roadie and tour manager for Dylan, who spoke much of the text into a tape recorder in anticipation of a memoir he did not live to write.  Son Jacob (intriguing note: Dylan also has a son by that name) found the tapes after nearly every other possession or memento of his father had been destroyed in a fire, and put together this volume out of loyalty, respect and love.  Intertwining his own recollections, he added also quite a bit of explanation regarding the drifting apart that separated Maymudes from Dylan for years, how they came back together and how they fell-out again, more deeply and permanently, superficially due to business issues touching upon Jacob and his sister, but really thanks to Dylan’s own mercurial and dictatorial personality.  End result, the title is a deliberate misdirection but – as no doubt intended – induced me to pick up and read a book I’d likely not have been interested in if it had been titled more accurately.

Part rock/pop music hagiography, part social history of the sixties, part family paean, what resulted is an oddity but worth the reading.  Maymudes is interesting and unique, his journey intermittently exciting and at other times reflective.  The glimpses of Dylan depict savantic brilliance within the realm of music and songwriting coupled with a chilling inability to understand, consider or forgive those close to him.    As if, being so successful on his own terms at the one or two things he believes matter, he can barely spare a moment or a thought for anyone who is not equally blessed.  This seems confirmed by scenes of his collaboration with other musicians whom Dylan found satisfactory to his craft’s needs and so deigned to treat in a more-humane manner.

A dual portrait then, of two very different characters, their colorful journey and the tragic end of their always-unequal friendship over misunderstandings and slights that by rights should have been, given Dylan’s extraordinary wealth and independence, inconsequential.  Obscure and oddball, but definitely worth holding onto once you’ve come across it.

(Another note: Treehorn Books, Santa Rosa CA, is all a paper-hound could ask for.  Narrow aisles, shelves piled high, well-categorized and welcoming.  Stopped in for the first time to see if they had any G. B. Shaw for a birthday gift and found the perfect Collected Prose; inches thick, hard cover, great condition including library-style plastic over the dust-cover.   I will be back…)

Red Notice, Bill Browder

Naïve American-born (but later a British citizen) investment banker stumbles upon vast opportunities in post-Soviet Russia, makes a fortune for himself and his hedge-fund clients, then runs afoul of Putin’s thuggish cronies, with tragic consequences, especially for one of his Russian attorneys, who is imprisoned, tortured and beaten to death.

Coming from a background of self-importance, Browder’s brief youthful rebellion is followed by a dive into the hyper-establishment world of investment banking.  It is from that platform he learns the post-Soviet Russian government has given every citizen a voucher to invest in their newly-privatizing economy – a laudable goal, on its surface. Realizing that most citizens have no idea how to benefit from this historic opportunity, Browder organizes the means necessary for himself and other non-Russian investors to buy up those vouchers and benefits, instead.

Perhaps not surprisingly, there are Russians who resent this.  Not, the ordinary citizens, who have made at least a tiny gain by selling him vouchers they believe to be worthless, but rather the local sharks, who resent not being able to gobble up this bonanza themselves.  When they, with the help of corrupt police and courts, begin stealing from Browder’s organization and, even more tellingly, from their own government (and thus its citizens) Browder, being a good child of American idealism, tries to use the rule of law to stop them.  The majority of the text, and its drama, concern this white-hat intrigue, and the death of Russian attorney Sergei Magnitsky, whose only sin was believing to the end in the myth of his nation’s legal system.

This is a compelling tale, worthy of LeCarre or Green, and Browder tells it pretty well for a first-timer (no other pen is credited…).  While one can almost hear the author swearing not to aggrandize his own role, though, he does come off as…well…a crusader for justice.  A jet-setting lifestyle, financed by taking advantage of the same lax government which cultivated Russia’s oligarchs and oligarchy, is hardly a stable perch from which to condemn others, but the degree of corruption and cruelty he uncovers makes such criticism seem rather a quibble. 

The real hero here, as Browder frequently and forcefully reminds us, is Sergei Magnitsky, attorney, husband and father, who risks all for the truth, and pays the ultimate price, his last weeks recounted here with justified horror and sympathy.  It is to Browder’s credit that he then pursued the only form of justice available; the Magnitsky act by which the USA (and later several other nations) put Russa on the public stage and on record as a criminal conspiracy dressed up in nation’s clothing.  (Browder appears also to have taken financial care of Magnitsky’s family after his death, another stand-up move.)

The events of this book took place in the aughts, the first decade or so of Vladimir Putin’s presidency.   As the autocrat now wreaks his havoc on Ukraine, Red Notice (not to be confused with the movie or another novel of the same title, btw) is more valuable than ever for its glimpse behind the curtain, confirming that his tyranny is no recent development, but the true measure of the man, evil rooted and growing for many years.   All the way back to his KGB days in the old Soviet Union, in fact.  Clearly, there is no hope Putin will ever change his ways, and no wisdom in ever believing anything he spouts about agreements, cooperation, the rule of law or any alternative to simple brute force and self-service.  Fair warning to the next president who believes he has seen the Russian’s soul in his eye (43), or finds in him a friendly bro’ with whom to shoot the breeze – with no witnesses and no notes taken (45).

Pass this one around; people deserve to know.

The Well of Loneliness, Radclyffe Hall

Among the earliest novelistic depictions of homosexual love and life, Hall’s book movingly expresses the solitary pain of living out a prohibited nature. Her protagonist, Stephen Gordon, enters this life a contradiction – christened with the name of the male child she is not – and ends it in the same way – professing love for one woman in order to free the other woman she truly loves to live a more conventional life – the very conventional life for which Stephen has longed since adolescence but can never have.

That conclusion may sound melodramatic, and it bears a bit of that taste, but the tale in its entirety is far more individual and nuanced than any melodrama.  It is, given the date of  publication (1928) , an amazingly deep and subtle reflection of what living a secret can do to a person; the isolation, doubt and self-destructiveness which it may often engender. More than just a woman who loves women, Gordon’s inner life, expressed through third person narration, seems more truly that of the transgendered; wishing with all her heart to live the sort of life her father had, and which those who happen to be born male may take for granted.

Noteworthy also is Hall’s depiction of louche Paris nightlife among the ‘inverts,’ that crowd of homosexuals, lesbians, gender transcenders and others who seek out one another’s company in the few establishments which tolerate them, and where many take refuge in reflexive excess.  This is not a pretty picture, but one of desperation and degradation – and exploitation, as at least one proprietor carefully records his customers’ identities for future exploitation. Other episodes reflect the democratizing effect of war, wherein women are briefly allowed to take on less-gendered roles, and the impact of snobbery and societal rejection, how friends become enemies the moment one’s secret is exposed. One gets the feeling these scenes are written from personal experience, or at leas those of the author’s close acquaintances.

In what seems a typical pretense of fiction from this period, Stephen’s dilemma is one of personal fulfillment rather than survival; being born into substantial wealth, she travels and writes and publishes for personal reasons only. Working for living is never an issue, thus insulating her from the even greater impacts some of her other gay friends suffer (an artist couple are movingly depicted as they struggle, starve and die, one of illness, the other of suicide borne of despair).

As easy as it might seem to call this an historical curiosity, that things are much better now, one must remember that is only true of some ‘liberal’ cultures; in many places and cultures around the world (and even here in the good ‘ol USA) repression is still the norm.  In truth, The Well of Loneliness is very much as timely today as it was a hundred years ago.

Why We Sleep – Unlocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams, Walker, Mathew, PhD

An in-depth summary of current knowledge on the subject, by a researcher and sleep-geek unafraid to sound like a prophet in the wilderness.  His central creed is the imperative of 7 to 9 hours of sleep for every adult (more for children, varying by age), of an early to bed early to rise schedule that aligns with the sun’s presence and, most diabolically, of later school start times that would allow developing brains the early-morning REM sleep which data prove are critical to their ability to learn and, even more, to complete the complex brain-development necessary to achieve a healthy adult personality and abilities.

The many research citations go a long way to convince, as they also amaze with the cleverness of researchers, finding ways to determine what goes on during sleep, in minds that are, by definition, in no condition to report it.  Brain wave analysis is an obvious technical aid, but the comparison experiments he relates – involving specific sorts of lessons and challenges presented before and following specific extents of specific types of sleep – are more surprising. As is just the simple revelation that there are so many stages of sleep, each with its own character and purpose. 

A subject as broad as this naturally demands a polymath, and Walker is enough of one to cite pharmacology and chemistry in support of his arguments, literature regarding the origins of our long held illusions and more literature to show that humans have known at least some of this for generations, we’ve just allowed other priorities to blind us to what our bodies are screaming.  If we are to rise to the many challenges we humans create for ourselves ( politics, wars, climate change, social change, pandemics and general pandemonium, to name just a few), we’d do well to follow his advice.

Saving his most potent Jeremiad for last, the author addresses sleep aids, crying out against profitable products that make no effort to treat underlying conditions, but rather, simply sedate the user into a simulacrum of sleep with none of its functions.  If my own experience with Ambien during a week of all-nighters and 12-hour jet lag had not already been enough to turn me off of the stuff, this book certainly would.

Deserves to be more widely read.  And followed, though one holds out little help for that, in this age of pods, pads, tablets, laptops and streaming, screening, screaming masses.

Sleep well!

The Spy Who Loved, Clare Mulley

The paperback of this historical biography looks just about as substantial as a copy of Ulysses sitting on the shelf, but at 350 pages it is roughly half as long; is it printed on heavier-than-typical stock perhaps?   Or just buttressed by two Appendices, over thirty pages of attributive notes, a dozen of bibliography, and other supporting material.  Not that the story isn’t substantial, as we follow Christine Granville (nee: Krystyna Janina Skarbek) through the twists, turns, detours and (literal) dead-ends of WWII espionage in a depth of detail which is quite astounding, given that the crucial years of her life were lived in wartime, in secret and under varying names and legends.

Daughter of a dying aristocracy and a nation about to enter the two-stage coma of Nazism and Communism, Christine found purpose and a home of sorts among the secret service and, even more, the partisans, guerillas and Maquis of occupied Europe. For years she dared and dodged, evaded and enabled in ways that clearly contributed to the war effort. That she survived it all is little short of astonishing. When the war ended, however, and the British establishment decided it no longer required her services, she found herself adrift in many ways.  Despite the assistance and loyalty of many comrades, especially those also of Polish origin, she was still struggling to find a place in peacetime when a bit player – a merchant seaman with whom she had struck up a friendship of uncertain intimacy, then left – murdered her in an act of jealous impotence. 

Mulley does a fine job documenting all of this, and has clearly done an enormous effort in the research collating and checking departments.  More than that though, she has depicted the impact of the war from an original viewpoint, with special attention Britain’s taking advantage of Polish patriotism before abruptly abandoning their cause in order to appease Stalin – so he would assist the allies in correcting the damage caused by their earlier appeasement of Hitler…

Nor does the author ignore feminist elements of this story – the unusual degree to which Christine’s father treated her as equal or superior to her older brother, the many ways in which men in authority used her skills and then plied her for her favors, the independent and forward-looking manner in which she withheld or dispensed those favors for her own ends. And her own enjoyment. The tragic way in which what worked in wartime with principled and selfless patriots may have contributed to her death in a peacetime setting peopled by men with far fewer values or scruples. 

A bit slow to start, this slippery-slide through WWII gathers speed, tension and impact right up to its end, the final evening of Skarbec’s life, and more than retains interest through a brief but critical epilogue, where we see how several of the same men who competed for her love and endured disappointment when their efforts were not requited, formed an alliance to protect her memory from the worst tabloid exploitation and prudish disparagement.  That she engendered such loyalty is one more testament to the unique qualities of an extraordinary woman.  Brava.