Category: Reviews
Born to Run
Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Christopher McDougall, 4/5
It’s no wonder this entertaining tale is a bestseller that helped fuel the natural running craze–it has all the right ingredients: a mysterious Mexican tribe renowned for long-distance running ability, a legendary and equally mysterious American runner who gained their trust, superhuman athletes running ultramarathons in unbelievably punishing conditions, scientific evidence that natural running is…well…natural, and all told from an intoxicating “everyman” perspective that makes you feel that you too could learn to run forever.
As an inspiring story, I give it full points. But. As an ethnography or scientific case for natural running, not so much.
Yes, I am an unattractively skeptical person, but I’ve been burned before (see The Long Walk and The Third Eye) and something definitely smells fishy about this book. It is an issue of trust and McDougall doesn’t exactly make it easy for the suspicious reader. Thanks to the paucity of corroborating material online and the book’s lack of citations, endnotes, and pictures, one must simply trust that McDougall is telling a true story and not succumbing unduly to the temptation to sensationalize, romanticize and otherwise manipulate the truth. The author’s background in journalism is not enough to assuage my suspicion that much was sacrificed in the interest of The Story.
McDougall’s case for natural running features interviews with various experts in the field and interesting statistics/studies, but his approach is one-sided, oversimplifying a complicated topic that is still much debated and far from resolved. Also, if “a little learning is a dangerous thing” then readers beware–there is very little technical, practical information to arm the newly-inspired disciple of natural running. However, the author undoubtedly achieves what seems to be his main goals–general entertainment and inspiration.
[Why I read it: My dad was sorting through some of his books and thought I might be interested.]
The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy
Titus Groan, Gormenghast and Titus Alone by Mervyn Peake, 3/5
Possessing the writing style of an orphan love child of J.R.R. Tolkien and Charles Dickens, Peake sees the world through rotting-salmon colored glasses and creates a gloomy trilogy that is, for all its sprawling imaginativeness, unsettlingly grim and ghastly. Perhaps readers who are less sensitive to words’ connotations, sounds, and tastes would be less disturbed, but I was continually galled by Peake’s preference for off-putting, unpleasant language. The opening paragraph alone contains several good examples: the castle of Gormenghast is surrounded by “mean dwellings that swarmed like an epidemic around its outer walls” and one of its towers, “patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven.”
So what, you might think, he’s just describing a creepy old castle. But no, almost everything is treated similarly. A candelabrum is “like a vast spider suspended by a metal chord,” a character’s teeth are like “two brand new rows of gravestones,” the morning sky is “awakening air quilled with blood,” and a lone cloud is “like a wing ripped from the body of an eagle.” Almost all of the characters are portrayed repellently and most posses gross names such as Rottcodd, Mr. Flay, Swelter, Steerpike, Nannie Slagg, Doctor Prunesquallor, Lord Sepulchrave Groan, Sourdust…and many more. It is not often that a reader is presented with so many characters and so few of them likeable.
The first two novels are partly redeemed, in my mind, by their vivid portrayal of many memorable characters and an imaginative setting for a plot that contains several exciting episodes and a few moving ones. I think the first two books are much stronger without the third, which was disjointed–almost incomprehensible at times–and ended poorly (it is not surprising to learn that it was cobbled together from the manuscripts of a dying author).
My review would not feel complete without mentioning Peake’s skilled illustrations, which were scattered generously throughout the text. It is so unusual to encounter an author who is capable of drawing what he writes (I always felt sorry for Tolkien in this respect). Also noteworthy is the author’s prodigious vocabulary. Between pages 309 and 793 (the trilogy is almost a thousand pages long, but it took me a while to realize that the strange words were going to keep popping up, then even longer to get tired of writing them down), I encountered no fewer than 23 very unusual words, 16 of which I am almost absolutely sure I’ve never seen in print before. For the curious, here are the 16 words with links to definitions: liana, canalized, spilth’d, daedal, abactina, lacuna, umbrageous, anile, cruddled, gracile, marcid, oriflamme, purdah, titivating, humus and mulcted.
[Why I read it: I enjoyed the BBC miniseries based on the first two books.]
Your Money or Your Life
Your Money or Your Life: 9 Steps to Transforming Your Relationship with Money and Achieving Financial Independence by Vicki Robin and Joe Dominguez with Monique Tilford, 3/5
Comparing this book to Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad series, it soon becomes clear that the concept of financial independence means different things to different people. To some, such as Kiyosaki, it seems to mean being able to live a luxurious lifestyle, supported by more money than they could possibly spend. Unfortunately, this seems to coincide with dedicating your life to the all-engrossing pursuit of ever-increasing income, which at the end doesn’t really look like independence to me. To those who see financial independence more as freedom from obsessive worry over money, Your Money or Your Life asks a question that Kiyosaki would find completely nonsensical: How much money is enough? It turns out that, thanks to some inexplicable vagary of the human condition, more and more money does not necessarily equal more and more happiness. The authors argue convincingly that peak fulfillment occurs when we have enough money for the things we need and a little bit more. By this metric, financial independence is achieved when one’s passive income covers these basic expenses and little luxuries.
Given the mindless consumerism endemic to the average American, it is no surprise that the authors would choose to focus on the low-hanging fruit of lowering expenses rather than the more complicated issue of creating passive income. Similar to keeping a food diary in order to lose weight, the mere act of tracking expenses, realizing the expended life-energy they represent and assessing the resulting feelings of fulfillment or lack thereof could be a relatively painless way to increase savings, lower debt and create a healthier relationship with money. However, my personal saving rate is already so high and my expenses so low (my three main hobbies–reading, exercising and surfing the internet–cost less than most people’s coffee habit) that I don’t think any life-changing revelations would come out of applying the book’s method for tracking finances.
I am much more interested in developing sources of passive income, which is a topic that is not addressed very well in this book. This was very disappointing and surprising, since passive income plays such a huge part in the book’s own description of financial independence. The authors’ main (basically, only) advice is simply to buy U.S. treasury bonds. As far as I can understand, you’d have to tie up about $350k in 30-year treasury bonds in order to make just $10k a year at the current 2.87% yield. I don’t see how this could be a viable path to financial independence for most people, but I guess I need to do more research.
[Why I read it: It was mentioned in a book review of Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Trent Hamm on The Simple Dollar blog.]
Present Concerns
Present Concerns: A Compelling Collection of Timely, Journalistic Essays by C.S. Lewis, 4/5
The necessarily limited length of these articles means that Lewis doesn’t have time to fully develop and defend his opinions, but they are still a joy to read and cover a stimulating variety of topics (in addition to the ever-present subject of Christianity) such as history, philosophy, education, and morality. Some of the essays have not aged well and some would be of little interest to the average reader, but overall they are a nice supplement to Lewis’ more in-depth works.
[Why I read it: It seems that just when I think I’ve read everything C.S. Lewis ever wrote, something else turns up. I think I picked this unfamiliar title up at some used bookstore or other.]
The Book of Hours
The Book of Hours by Davis Bunn, 2/5
I don’t think I’d ever read a “Christian romance” before, but now I feel as if I’ve read every single one ever written. Almost everything about this book was cliched, from the handsome widower trying to escape his grief to the beautiful and independent female doctor who develops an immediate (and spoiler temporary) disliking for him. To be fair, the archetypes were intrinsically appealing, it was a lot less preachy than could be expected, and there were even some artistic touches: an insightful sentiment here and there, or a deft description. But ultimately, nothing could compensate for deficiencies of plot and characterization, which were contrived, worn-out and predictable all around. The plot was especially lame–a Nancy Drew take on National Treasure with some “Touched by an Angel” thrown in; however, as an antidote to my last read, Kafka, it was not entirely unwelcome.
[Why I read it: my brother’s mother-in-law thought I might enjoy it and thoughtfully gave me a copy. There was no dust cover, so I thought it was historical fiction…]
The Metamorphosis and Other Stories
The Metamorphosis and Other Stories by Franz Kafka, translated by Stanley Appelbaum, 2/5
I’m not sure which of these five short stories were worse, the three that made some sort of sense or the two that didn’t. The first piece, “The Judgement,” initially impressed me with Kafka’s more than competent writing skill and eye for detail. However, the end of what could only be loosely termed a “story” left me bewildered. Still trusting, I reread the main bits carefully, thinking that perhaps I’d missed some important detail or was simply not smart enough to understand. Finally, I resorted to the relevant Wikipedia article. Now I have a pretty good nose for bullshit and my eyes started watering with the stench almost immediately. Is the story a commentary on the conflict between a world of “vital existence in which probability and reservation rule” and a world “in which every step has an incalculable importance because it is taken under the horizon of an absolute summons to the road,” or is it a load of old bollocks imparting nothing but the vague flavour of some unspecified psychosis? Since I’ve cleverly managed to include my answer to that question inside the question itself, we’ll move right along to the other “chocolate chips” in this raisin cookie.
“The Metamorphosis” was the most readable piece–a miserably surreal little tale that left me feeling depressed and wondering why the author even bothered with it. “In the Penal Colony” was even more unpleasant, but the hint of deep psychological meaning and political commentary made it feel less pointless, at least. “A Report to an Academy,” the story of an ape who became a man, was almost funny and probably the least off-putting work in the collection, though nothing that would make an author famous. Finally that nonsensical nightmare “A Country Doctor,” which might as well have been included in its original German for all the sense it made.
Nothing makes one feel quite like an ignoramus as much as not “getting” a famous literary work. However, my first exposure to Kafka gives me the distinct sense that his fame comes from the self-congratulation of literary critics, psychologists and scholars who find endless theses in his tangled writings, only brought to the public eye through tireless promotion (one could almost say, exploitation) by his rather sketchy friend, Max Brod.
[Why I read it: Another one of those classics that didn’t make it onto my reading list until I came across it in the thrift store. I actually started reading it while in the middle of Forrest Griffin’s Be Ready When the Sh*t Goes Down because I needed something else (for obvious reasons) to fill the hour between doors opening and the start of Ax Fighting #51 (featuring martial artists, not crazed lumberjacks, unfortunately).]
Be Ready When the Sh*t Goes Down
Be Ready When the Sh*t Goes Down: A Survival Guide to the Apocalypse by Forrest Griffin and Erich Krauss, 3/5
This book is extremely crude and full of hilariously bad advice, but is also somehow endearingly funny. Definitely not a book you’d want to read in public or, for that matter, send your mom and little sister to pick up for you at the library (true story)…
[Why I read it: I enjoyed Griffin’s other book Got Fight.]
Robinson Crusoe
Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, 2/5
I have been familiar with the story of Robinson Crusoe since childhood, thanks to one of those tiny children’s abridgments that is equal parts text and illustrations, so I was pretty excited to finally get around to reading the real thing. Surprisingly, I did not much enjoy this famous novel.
I was irritated, first off, to learn from the introduction that the author’s main talent lay in the believability of his straightforward writing style, which he used indiscriminately in the creation of propaganda for countless political pamphlets. Now, I don’t expect authors of adventure stories to have SAS training, but I do have other criteria for fictional survival tales than “seems true.” Because Defoe’s writing style is so very factual (which is a nice way of saying dry and prosaically detailed) and his preface to the book claims the title of nonfiction outright, I felt lied-to throughout. Now this might not seem like a big deal; after all, isn’t all fiction basically a lie and all novelists liars? But I feel that literature which attempts to coerce suspension of disbelief from its readers through deception lacks the authenticity and magic of literature that facilitates a willing suspension of disbelief.
It is not difficult to imagine that Robinson Crusoe was unprecedented when it was written back in 1719 and inspired a genre to some extent, but I found very little in it to admire and even littler to enjoy.
[Why I read it: Another one of those classics that just never made it onto my list until I found a nice vintage copy at the thrift store.]
How to Talk American
How to Talk American: A Guide to Our Native Tongues by Jim “the Mad Monk” Crotty, 3/5
This haphazard collection of vernacularisms is fun, though not at all up to the standards of a proper dictionary. I especially enjoyed the words spelled to reflect regional pronunciation, such as “PSDS” (pierced ears), “sssta” (sister), “dreckly” (soon. “We’ll be at the store dreckly.”), and “tamar” (the day after today).
[Why I read it: came across it in the thrift store and thought it looked interesting.]
Democracy–The God That Failed
Democracy–The God That Failed: The Economics and Politics of Monarchy, Democracy, and Natural Order by Hans-Hermann Hoppe, 2/5
This series of essays starts out strong, with the author daring to question the hallowed concept of democracy and finding it severely lacking in several easily demonstrable ways. However, common sense and strong opinions can only take you so far when it comes to formulating complicated theories of politics and economics. As Hoppe’s ideas became more and more bizarre, I became increasingly angered by his failure to provide convincing supporting arguments or hard data of any kind. I couldn’t figure out why an obviously intelligent academic would present his opinions so insultingly, through shallow reasoning, cheap rhetoric and gross oversimplification. After quite a lot of teeth gnashing, I finally realised the problem was identified right in the first sentence of the book’s introduction: the essays were originally speeches written for Libertarian conferences. The whole point was to fire up sympathetic audiences, not necessarily to convince anyone of anything. I wish I’d known this ahead of time, because maybe then I’d have been spared the prospect of Hoppe’s horrifying “solution” to the problem of democracy: an “anarchic” private law society, overseen by military-grade private insurance corporations.
[Why I read it: it came up in conversation with my brother.]
OmniRambles 