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Noel Coward once said that only "mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun." Journalist Jeroen van Bergeijk, whose chronicle of an "auto-misadventure across the Sahara," piloting his used 190D from Amsterdam to Ouagadougou in My Mercedes Is Not for Sale, is Dutch. You do the math.

Crazy-making is also often funny-making, and van B’s musings on subjects like the state of African commerce ("Things in Africa come in two forms: broken or almost broken.") inform the armchair traveler about the real on-the-road experience in ways Baedeker and Lonely Planet never could. In a place where border delays may be measured in days rather than minutes, our explorer has learned to pass his idle time wisely: not only do we hear digressions, related in some detail, about the history of the Paris to Dakar Rally and the disastrous expeditions to map out the desert in advance of a never-completed Trans-Sahara Railway, we also meet every previous owner of his humble Mercedes and travel to the factory in Bremen where it was built two decades ago.

Places like Mauritania, Togo, Burkina Faso and Benin will likely never rank with France, Mexico, The Bahamas or even China as a potential vacation destination. But thanks to a crazy Dutchman who boldly went where few men ever go, entertaining us every kilometer of the way, I’m dusting off the old passport and thinking . . . maybe a visit to Disneyland would be nice this summer.

 

Noel Coward once said that only "mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun." Journalist Jeroen van Bergeijk, whose chronicle of an "auto-misadventure across the Sahara," piloting his used 190D from Amsterdam to Ouagadougou in My Mercedes Is Not for Sale, is…

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Ah, the frothy fun and occasional heartbreak of a slightly snarky, narcissistic sob story. Who doesn’t like that? Especially when mixed with lulling surf, a comfy lounge chair and a long, cool drink nestled nearby. If this recipe for relaxation holds appeal, then be sure to slip Up for Renewal: What Magazines Taught Me about Love, Sex, and Starting Over into your beach tote.

Author Cathy Alter, with a neurotically humorous flair for enumerating her foibles (think Bridget Jones), sets out to improve her junky, less-than-wholesome lifestyle by turning to the pages of slick consumer magazines for guidance. Alter, a 37-year-old freelance writer churning out “painfully dry sales and marketing material” by day, is recently divorced and living life on the edge. She engages in risky “cubicle” sex with a playboy co-worker, fuels herself on pepperoni and Cherry Coke and compulsively overspends so that she’s “reduced to paying for my morning coffee with fists of pennies.” Enter O, Marie Claire, Elle, Cosmo and the rest of the SWF 20s-to-30s demographic glossies to the rescue. For 12 months, Alter vows to follow, to the letter, these magazines’ dictums on cooking, diet, exercise, entertaining, sex and the path to true love.

Her writing is witty and raunchy, and her attempts at change are often (comically) tragic. She sticks to her self-help guns, eventually realizing that “you can’t solve life’s mysteries with the right pair of shoes or the perfect shade of lipstick. . . . But at least I tried.”

Ah, the frothy fun and occasional heartbreak of a slightly snarky, narcissistic sob story. Who doesn't like that? Especially when mixed with lulling surf, a comfy lounge chair and a long, cool drink nestled nearby. If this recipe for relaxation holds appeal, then be sure…
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Writing with the family stories of her own grandmother’s struggle to raise two girls on a mud-slogged Southern farm reverberating in her memories, debut novelist Hillary Jordan has crafted an unforgettable tale of family loyalties, the spiraling after-effects of war and the unfathomable human behavior generated by racism.

Mudbound is told in six first-person voices, starting with Laura, a city-raised teacher who is beginning to consider herself a spinster when, in 1939, she meets Henry, that “rare and marvelous creature, a forty-one-year-old bachelor.” They marry, and Laura loves their quiet domestic life in Memphis. But Henry has yearned since childhood to farm his own land, and when the opportunity presents itself, he buys a cotton farm in rural Mississippi, dragging Laura and their daughters there in the middle of rainy season. Resenting being dropped, Dorothy-like, in a foreign land – “a dirt yard with a pump in the middle of it . . . a pig wallow, a chicken coop and an outhouse” – Laura names their new home Mudbound. And it is not only lack of running water that Laura has to deal with, it is Pappy, her cantankerous father-in-law who comes to live with them – a “sour, bossy” bigoted misogynist.

At this point it is 1946, and two returning war veterans enter the story: Jamie, Henry’s dashing but emotionally scarred younger brother, and Ronsel, the son of two of Henry’s black tenant farmers. Jordan perceptively sets the stage for the novel’s seemingly predetermined denouement by giving each of these characters a voice.

Ronsel seethes with resentment that his black comrades who gave their lives in the war are just “dead niggers” in white Mississippi’s eyes. Jamie is a vulnerable soul who befriends Ronsel, opening himself to the town’s prejudice-fueled rage.

Jordan’s debut novel has been given the Bellwether Prize – an award founded by Barbara Kingsolver to recognize literature of social change. Mudbound fits that description to a tee – and leaves the reader anticipating the author’s next endeavor.

Deborah Donovan writes from Cincinnati and La Veta, Colorado.

Writing with the family stories of her own grandmother's struggle to raise two girls on a mud-slogged Southern farm reverberating in her memories, debut novelist Hillary Jordan has crafted an unforgettable tale of family loyalties, the spiraling after-effects of war and the unfathomable human behavior…
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Who’s afraid of the big ol’ wolf? Not Compre Lapin, the roguish rabbit nemesis of Compre Bouki, featured in Lapin Plays Possum, a collection of three hilarious folk tales adapted by Sharon Arms Doucet. Originally brought to Louisiana by West African slaves in the early 1700s, the fables have been told and retold on porches in the Louisiana Bayou country by Cajuns and Creoles alike.

Doucet admits to taking liberties in the recounting and recombining of the tales. “Compre Lapin’s famous cousin Brer Rabbit ended up on the East Coast,” she explains. “Compre Bouki started life in Africa as a hyena.” Since hyenas tend to be scarce in Louisiana, Bouki evolved into a dog-wolf character, large on size, short on brains.

Duping the dog is Lapin’s favorite pastime. Capricious by nature, his ideas for tricks to play on his friend Bouki pop up faster than corn in a Louisiana frying pan. In the first story, the characters are introduced and the stage is set. Bouki casts a big shadow and owns a farm field with “soil so rich that if you planted a penny at sunrise, you could pick a dollar before sundown. But as for smarts, he must have been hiding behind the barn door when they were passed out.” Lapin is a puny, penniless rabbit, but he has one thing going for him, an extra helping of smarts. He uses his wily ways to garner some of Bouki’s wealth for himself.

In the second story, Bouki wants to get even and vows to turn the tables on his crafty friend. But nobody is as good at being bad as Lapin! He can’t resist playing tricks on Bouki anymore than he can refuse King Cake at Mardi Gras.

The last story, “Lapin Tangles with ÔTee Tar BŽbŽ’,” is a feisty retelling of the famous “briar patch” fable. As Lapin says, “Size ain’t anything in this world. It’s what you do with it that matters.” Using an impressionistic style, illustrator Cook fully captures the action and humor as well as the impish nature of that rascally rabbit, Lapin.

In her glossary of Cajun terminology, Doucet explains that compre (comb PARE) means comrade or brother. Soon, kids everywhere may be saying do-do (doh DOH: night-night) to their parents when the stories are tout fini (too fee NEE: all gone).

Who's afraid of the big ol' wolf? Not Compre Lapin, the roguish rabbit nemesis of Compre Bouki, featured in Lapin Plays Possum, a collection of three hilarious folk tales adapted by Sharon Arms Doucet. Originally brought to Louisiana by West African slaves in the…
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Readers, meet your narrator: Agnes Shanklin, a plain, unmarried schoolteacher of 40 living in Ohio at the end of World War I. Although she is a spirited woman with a real thirst for knowledge, Agnes is accepting of, even mildly content with, her unremarkable place in life, and she has no reason to think things will change. But then they do. Drastically.

Mary Doria Russell, acclaimed author of such novels as Children of God and The Sparrow, brings us a delightful – and completely fantastical – story in Dreamers of the Day. When Agnes loses all of her living family members in the influenza epidemic and comes into a bit of inheritance money, she decides to realize her lifelong dream of visiting Egypt and the Holy Land. With her dog Rosie in tow, Agnes makes her way to the Middle East, where she will be far more than a mere tourist.

As rich in history as it is in character development, Dreamers of the Day gives its readers a backstage look at the 1921 Cairo Peace Conference and its players, whom Agnes finds herself surrounded by during her stay at the Semiramis Hotel, the site of the conference. Before she knows it, this small-town schoolteacher is mingling with the likes of T. E. Lawrence, Winston Churchill, Percy Cox and Gertrude Bell as they hammer out plans to transform the Arab world. Not only does Agnes get a glimpse of history in the making, she also gets her first real taste of romance – something she assumed she would never experience – as she is courted by German spy Karl Weilbacher.

Russell perfectly captures the political and social milieus of the 1920s, driving home how important it is to consider history when dealing with present-day issues. As Agnes says at the book’s opening: "My little story has become your history. You won’t really understand your times until you understand mine." The fact that Agnes is telling her story after she has – yes – already died does not come across as a literary conceit but as perfectly fitting for this perfectly enchanting tale.

Rebecca Stropoli writes from Brooklyn.

 

Readers, meet your narrator: Agnes Shanklin, a plain, unmarried schoolteacher of 40 living in Ohio at the end of World War I. Although she is a spirited woman with a real thirst for knowledge, Agnes is accepting of, even mildly content with, her unremarkable…

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Move my cheese. I dare you. Yes, the business curmudgeon is now in residence. National layoffs and shady corporate accounting practices brought on a severe case of arthritis in my funny bone. Consumer debt, anti-mom hiring practices, a computer virus (and hockey playoffs that lasted well into May) just plain shut down my tickle reflex. This curmudgeon admits it recent business news has taken the sunshine out of my earnings forecast. This month, humor me as we look at three books that promise to reactivate the funny bone in any weary road warrior. Let’s just say they will help you bite off a new piece of cheese.

I need daycare Sometimes what ails you at work is what ails you at home. If you have ever worked from home (or thought about it) pick up Life’s Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom by Lisa Belkin. She’ll stop you before you do great damage to yourself. Belkin, the author of the witty weekly Life’s Work column in The New York Times, exposes the myths and joys of work, family and the balancing act that almost every woman tries to perform before realizing that it’s all just too much. With humor and happiness, Belkin describes the exacting way her kids and even her dog took all control from her life. They left her with a little time to work at the computer and a lot of time to clean up and make dinner for them. After Life’s Work you’ll never look at life and work the same way again.

Burn your business books The New! New Economy by Tim McEachern and Chris O’Brien is the one book you need to read to stay in business! Or not. A hilarious satire of just about every business book ever written, McEachern and O’Brien team to undermine and ridicule every business practice ever invented, touted or marketed as a "bestseller idea." Have you ever suffered through the unqualified boredom of a marketing demographics lecture? McEachern and O’Brien have written down what you were really thinking while Consumer Insights Professionals painted a rosy picture of your demographic. ("18-29 year olds? A bunch of overspending baby nut cases. . . . 65 plus? They’re just accessing the bitterness.") Yeah, this team says what you only thought. Forget Dilbert; he’s too tame. This is the kind of sarcasm you need to face your job day after day.

A dog’s life 21 Dog Years: Doing Time @ Amazon.com by Mike Daisey is a memoir of a self-proclaimed dilettante’s life at Amazon.com, a time he remembers as work, play and Jeff. As he describes his first interview at Amazon: "There was a certain inescapable sameness to their responses. They seemed fixated on the words Ôworking,’ Ôplaying,’ and ÔJeff.’ Jeff came up constantly. I had no idea who Jeff was." "Jeff" turns out to be founder and CEO Jeff Bezos and Daisey’s first clue that he was probably not cut out for techie Internet work. But Amazon hired him right away and the next two years of his life were spent bewitched and bedazzled by the Internet craze. Daisey’s tale is one of self-recognition in a business world gone mad. His curious, funny and slightly insane take on business will assure you that life at your office isn’t so bad after all.

Move my cheese. I dare you. Yes, the business curmudgeon is now in residence. National layoffs and shady corporate accounting practices brought on a severe case of arthritis in my funny bone. Consumer debt, anti-mom hiring practices, a computer virus (and hockey playoffs that…

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Every picture, they say, is worth a thousand words, and in Jonathan Coe’s eighth work of fiction, The Rain Before It Falls, the reader lucks out in both categories. The clever underlying premise of the story lies in 20 pictures the 73-year-old Rosamond refers to as she tapes her life memories for her blind distant cousin, Imogen, in hopes of explaining how Imogen fits into their dysfunctional family. When she cannot be located after Rosamond’s death, Rosamond’s niece Gill and her daughters, who have concerns of their own, must listen to the tapes and determine their fate.

Tapping into childhood memories of World War II, Rosamond explores photographs taken in the months she spent at the farm of her young cousin Bea during the historic evacuation of the children from London. Bea is an anomaly and, in a sense, can be considered the key to almost everything that happens. Unloved by her mother, Bea welcomes Rosamond and immediately makes her a “blood sister.” From the very beginning, though, she pursues her own agenda, eventually at the cost of her own daughter, Thea, and her granddaughter, Imogen.

This major storyline is accompanied by Rosamond’s gradual recognition of her own lesbian inclinations, and indeed, the tapes reveal more about the older generations than they do about their intended recipient. Even the presence of the mostly unknown picture takers and makers sets up a haunting heartbeat in a story that is triggered by unknowns, especially of intentions and unheeded life lessons.

Coe, a British author who has received multiple prizes for his work, derived his title from a tune by Michael Gibbs, and his gloss on it is touching, as young Thea announces at one point that she likes “the rain before it falls,” because “it makes her happy even if it isn’t real” yet. In the end, such a tenuous hold on joy proves unequal to the tug of world and family. As Gill learns for herself, in a curiously unelaborated close, omens can be affectingly true but basically unhelpful in the end.

Maude McDaniel writes from Cumberland, Maryland.

Every picture, they say, is worth a thousand words, and in Jonathan Coe's eighth work of fiction, The Rain Before It Falls, the reader lucks out in both categories. The clever underlying premise of the story lies in 20 pictures the 73-year-old Rosamond refers to…
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Move my cheese. I dare you. Yes, the business curmudgeon is now in residence. National layoffs and shady corporate accounting practices brought on a severe case of arthritis in my funny bone. Consumer debt, anti-mom hiring practices, a computer virus (and hockey playoffs that lasted well into May) just plain shut down my tickle reflex. This curmudgeon admits it recent business news has taken the sunshine out of my earnings forecast. This month, humor me as we look at three books that promise to reactivate the funny bone in any weary road warrior. Let’s just say they will help you bite off a new piece of cheese.

I need daycare Sometimes what ails you at work is what ails you at home. If you have ever worked from home (or thought about it) pick up Life’s Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom by Lisa Belkin. She’ll stop you before you do great damage to yourself. Belkin, the author of the witty weekly Life’s Work column in The New York Times, exposes the myths and joys of work, family and the balancing act that almost every woman tries to perform before realizing that it’s all just too much. With humor and happiness, Belkin describes the exacting way her kids and even her dog took all control from her life. They left her with a little time to work at the computer and a lot of time to clean up and make dinner for them. After Life’s Work you’ll never look at life and work the same way again.

Burn your business books The New! New Economy by Tim McEachern and Chris O’Brien is the one book you need to read to stay in business! Or not. A hilarious satire of just about every business book ever written, McEachern and O’Brien team to undermine and ridicule every business practice ever invented, touted or marketed as a “bestseller idea.” Have you ever suffered through the unqualified boredom of a marketing demographics lecture? McEachern and O’Brien have written down what you were really thinking while Consumer Insights Professionals painted a rosy picture of your demographic. (“18-29 year olds? A bunch of overspending baby nut cases. . . . 65 plus? They’re just accessing the bitterness.”) Yeah, this team says what you only thought. Forget Dilbert; he’s too tame. This is the kind of sarcasm you need to face your job day after day.

A dog’s life 21 Dog Years: Doing Time @ Amazon.com by Mike Daisey is a memoir of a self-proclaimed dilettante’s life at Amazon.com, a time he remembers as work, play and Jeff. As he describes his first interview at Amazon: “There was a certain inescapable sameness to their responses. They seemed fixated on the words working,’ playing,’ and Jeff.’ Jeff came up constantly. I had no idea who Jeff was.” “Jeff” turns out to be founder and CEO Jeff Bezos and Daisey’s first clue that he was probably not cut out for techie Internet work. But Amazon hired him right away and the next two years of his life were spent bewitched and bedazzled by the Internet craze. Daisey’s tale is one of self-recognition in a business world gone mad. His curious, funny and slightly insane take on business will assure you that life at your office isn’t so bad after all.

Move my cheese. I dare you. Yes, the business curmudgeon is now in residence. National layoffs and shady corporate accounting practices brought on a severe case of arthritis in my funny bone. Consumer debt, anti-mom hiring practices, a computer virus (and hockey playoffs that lasted…
Review by

I’ve been doing my traveling via armchair for some years now. With the right book in hand, though, this is not nearly as limiting as it might sound. Beth Helms’ first novel, Dervishes, is an excellent way to visit Turkey in the turbulent 1970s. Helms, who grew up abroad, writes with authority about what it’s like to be the daughter or wife of a man attached to the American embassy, a man who gets phone calls in the middle of the night, takes the suitcase he keeps packed for such times, and disappears for weeks at a time. His 12-year-old daughter Canada muses, "We must have trusted the government to return him to us when they were finished with him." Canada, who knows her parents are having problems, wonders if her mother is aware of "the changes, when he had gone, in the very texture of the atmosphere around us, in the molecules and the spaces between them, in even the temperature of the air."

Helms is a beautiful writer. Grace, Canada’s unhappy mother, describes the way her daughter smells: "her girlish, horsey, filched bath-salts odor"; she fantasizes about spending time with her Turkish lover "while long, gorgeous minutes slip by." Canada’s best friend’s looks fascinate Canada: "What would it be like in there—moored inside Catherine’s flawless self?" This thought-provoking book is not a light, isn’t-it-interesting-growing-up-in-a-foreign-culture novel.

Much of what Helms turns her intensely observant eye on is painful, ugly, embarrassing or grim. (This can be a particularly tough book for animal lovers.) Canada and Catherine pass time making recipes from The Officer’s Wife, a 30-year-old guide for women whose husbands are in the foreign service, a book whose attitudes only sound antique. And in the relationships between the Turkish characters and the American and Canadians who reside in their country as guests, there’s little that isn’t flinch-worthy, although there are faults on all sides. For those interested in the true complexity of the East-West divide, Dervishes is a trip worth taking.

Joanne Collings writes from Washington, D.C.

I've been doing my traveling via armchair for some years now. With the right book in hand, though, this is not nearly as limiting as it might sound. Beth Helms' first novel, Dervishes, is an excellent way to visit Turkey in the turbulent 1970s. Helms,…

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Elisa Albert’s 2006 collection of short stories, How This Night Is Different, established her as a sharp, welcome literary voice. In her first novel, The Book of Dahlia, she turns her pen toward death itself.

Albert’s brother died of cancer while she was in college, and that experience informs this story of the final months of 29-year-old Dahlia Finger. Dahlia, drifting through life on her couch, suddenly has something happen to her: an inoperable brain tumor. As she faces the hereafter with bravado and a healthy level of bitterness, she recounts the events of her life, including its heartbreaks and failures. And as the book of Dahlia’s life nears its end, we arrive at an image of death that is bare, authentic and deeply affecting.

Irreverent and witty, The Book of Dahlia is perfectly executed. The prose bounces smartly and acutely as the characters reach us with their failures and potential. The third person narration hovers closely around Dahlia; there’s a feeling that this narrator, without biasing itself, loves her. Or maybe it’s just that the reader does. Dahlia is flawed and funny and caustic, consumed with all that is wrong in her world. It’s that willingness to really feel that makes her a perfect heroine, vulnerable and invulnerable at the very same time.

The book succeeds in its most important goal: to point a finger at the culture of death and dying, with all its gerbera daisies and macrobiotics and positive thinking. Watching Dahlia interact with this world brings about realizations about the way we live and the way we approach death. Soon after her diagnosis, Dahlia notices that there are three types of people: those who cower from death; those who approach the subject carefully and ineptly; and those “who can stare into the lonely, mysterious everlasting right alongside you.” The intimacy of Dahlia’s story makes us desperately desire to be the third type, the person with the courage to really grieve.

Jessica Inman writes from Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Elisa Albert's 2006 collection of short stories, How This Night Is Different, established her as a sharp, welcome literary voice. In her first novel, The Book of Dahlia, she turns her pen toward death itself.

Albert's brother died of cancer while she was…
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In fleshing out the creator of Roget’s Thesaurus, writer Joshua Kendall faces something of a dramatic and structural problem: How does one enliven and sustain interest in a man who didn’t make his major intellectual contribution until he was 73 years old? The man in question is Peter Mark Roget, a physician by training and a wordsmith by choice. Kendall ties his chronicle together by demonstrating that Roget (1779-1869) was obsessed with classifying and list-making from early childhood onward. These habits of mind proved crucial when he finally decided the time had come to compile and publish his exhaustive list of English synonyms and their opposites (the term"antonym" was yet to be coined).

Roget’s life was not particularly exciting – even to him. True, he had a smothering, self-centered mother who eventually went mad, a rich and politically prominent uncle who committed suicide and a harrowing escape from French-held territory in 1803 after Napoleon resumed his war with Britain. But there were long periods during which Roget pursued his career only desultorily, seemingly indifferent to the cause that would ultimately immortalize him.

To compensate for the lack of intrinsic drama, Kendall amasses details of places and personalities that were significant to Roget, frequently drawing on tangential and recently discovered sources. Uneven as his personal life was, it is clear that Roget was unwavering in his fascination with science. He wrote and delivered papers on subjects ranging from anatomy to optics to improving the slide rule. Roget completed the first draft of his "Collection of English Synonyms classified and arranged" in 1805, but he did not publish it – and then in a much expanded form – until 1852.

In his epilogue, the author explains how Roget’s Thesaurus has survived as a reference book and valuable literary property (selling almost 40 million copies) despite the advent of online parallels and a withering criticism from author Simon Winchester, who maintained that the work made possible, and thus encouraged, an indiscriminate attitude toward word choices and writing style. Kendall correctly notes that this judgment demands too much from the book and too little from its users.

 

In fleshing out the creator of Roget's Thesaurus, writer Joshua Kendall faces something of a dramatic and structural problem: How does one enliven and sustain interest in a man who didn't make his major intellectual contribution until he was 73 years old? The man…

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Seventy-five years ago, in March 1933, Franklin D. Roosevelt became president amid the gravest economic crisis in the nation’s history. The Depression that began with, but was not necessarily caused by, the collapse of the stock market in 1929 was now pulling banks, farms and businesses into a swirling vortex. Unemployment ratcheted up to 25 percent.

FDR’s response was to try something, anything, to get people working again. Congress agreed to put the federal government in debt to create jobs, and in 1935, the Works Progress Administration started to “make the dirt fly,” in the president’s words. Before it officially closed in 1943, the workers hired and paid by the WPA built countless roads, stadiums, libraries, parks, New York’s LaGuardia Airport and San Antonio’s River Walk.

In American-Made: The Enduring Legacy of the WPA, When FDR Put the Nation to Work, writer Nick Taylor revels in the sprawling construction statistics. Nonetheless, he gives space in this story to the WPA’s critics in Congress, who insisted that those initials stood for “We Piddle Around” and that Communists had infiltrated the agency. He also touches on the continued rate of joblessness, which persisted despite Roosevelt’s efforts.

The New Deal’s job creation, if it failed in the aggregate, succeeded in the particular. Taylor, a writer of popular nonfiction and co-author of John Glenn’s memoir, puts a human face on the WPA through interviews with the folks who got government paychecks and their dignity back. “It wasn’t no different than no other job,” said Johnny Mills, who dug out embankments and shoveled gravel to widen roads in the North Carolina mountains. “You earned the money. I always tried to make a living for my family. And it was help to us.” Taylor’s second hero, after President Roosevelt, is Harry Hopkins, who ran the New Deal relief efforts for almost six years. Taylor gives a rich portrait of this great public servant, a rare bureaucrat who spoke his mind against his relentless critics. His resignation at the end of 1938 is as good a place as any to declare the New Deal over, as Taylor does. Nine months later, Hitler’s armies marched into Poland and began the conquest of Europe. Taylor acknowledges that the economic engine of manufacture for World War II brought unemployment down to single digits.

Taylor does not enter the debate over whether the New Deal amounted to another American revolution by intruding federal powers into political, social and personal matters. But in his sketches of New Deal relief programs, one can readily find the idea of government responsibility for individual well-being and welfare. Did the government’s involvement in a job creation program lead to today’s federal presence in education? Should the crisis of 1933-1943 have made the federal government what it later became – a regulator in the banking and securities business, as well as the agricultural and industrial sectors of the economy? Those aren’t Taylor’s questions. Instead, he chronicles with engaging detail the work of one New Deal agency that “placed its faith in ordinary men and women [who] proved to be extraordinary beyond all expectations.” James Summerville writes from Dickson, Tennessee.

Seventy-five years ago, in March 1933, Franklin D. Roosevelt became president amid the gravest economic crisis in the nation's history. The Depression that began with, but was not necessarily caused by, the collapse of the stock market in 1929 was now pulling banks, farms and…
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Joseph Conrad (1857-1924) considered himself a man of three lives: one as an ethnic Pole born in the Ukraine who lived the early part of his life in what is now Poland; one as a widely traveled seaman; and another as a writer in England. A master of reinventing himself, Conrad occasionally applied his fiction-writing skills to autobiography. To further complicate matters, some of those close to him gave inaccurate accounts of his life. John Stape, editor of The Cambridge Companion to Joseph Conrad and co-editor of two volumes of The Collected Letters of Joseph Conrad, is the ideal biographer for such a complex subject. An intrepid researcher, Stape debunks some Conradian myths in his latest book, The Several Lives of Joseph Conrad.

An orphan by his teens, Conrad decided to go to sea, inspired by sea novels and youthful rebellion. During this period he read widely and developed two defining lifelong characteristics: acute observation skills and a habit of living beyond his means. Of particular interest are Stape’s exploration of Conrad’s travels as sources for his later novels and stories; for example, his 1890 trip to the Congo inspired his most famous tale, Heart of Darkness. As Stape writes, “His experience of the depths of rapacity, inhumanity, and cynicism was to alter his views of life forever, and his contact with the climate permanently damaged his health.” Stape deals with the related questions of why Conrad became a writer and why he decided to write in English (his third language after Polish and French), dismissing Conrad’s insistence that he just sat down one day and started to write. Though Conrad’s extraordinary talent was recognized by many in literary circles early in his career, it would be years before he gained a significant readership. Conrad’s relationships with publishers and his close friendships with Stephen Crane and John Galsworthy are also discussed.

This authoritative and insightful book should be appreciated by all who enjoy Conrad’s work, as well as readers who like good biography.

Roger Bishop is a retired Nashville bookseller.

Joseph Conrad (1857-1924) considered himself a man of three lives: one as an ethnic Pole born in the Ukraine who lived the early part of his life in what is now Poland; one as a widely traveled seaman; and another as a writer in England.…

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