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Like every world-class (“universe-class”?) story set on a distant planet ages hence, the true marvel of Jim Grimsley’s novel The Ordinary lies not in its technological wonders or its fully imagined alien landscapes and cultures, though there are these aplenty. The magic radiates, rather, from the way we identify with the characters, who see and feel things that flatly had no existence before the author conjured them into being.

“Magic” is just the right word for this story of conflicts and hidden connections between technology and wizardry. When Jedda Martele travels through the strange new Twil Gate from Senal to Irion from her technologically advanced, war-ridden home world to a world where there seem to be no sophisticated machines of any kind she believes she is going to a simple place as a simple trader and linguist. But the goods she acquires in magical Irion and the language she eventually learns there so far exceed her original conception that she must, in the end, trade far more than her textiles: She must exchange one idea of reality for another, surrender her former understanding of language for a new knowledge of the power of words.

In Irion (the site of Grimsley’s fantasy novel, Kirith Kirin, winner of the 2000 Lambda Literary Award), language wed to music has developed into a kind of magic that can change consciousness and alter the course of events. The ambassadors from Senal (for whom Jedda serves as translator) arrogantly presume that they can overwhelm Irion with their military might, but they have not reckoned the overwhelming force of Ironian magic wielded so effortlessly by the beautiful Queen Malin.

Jedda and Malin are women of different worlds, beings of different orders yet they are destined for each other. For many readers, the Sapphic grace of this love affair will be one more way in which Grimsley has opened a new, alternative reality of unanticipated beauty. Their “ordinary” love that is, ordained for every possible twist of fate literally transcends time, for Irion is not only the name of a world, but the name of its most powerful wizard, a wondrous demigod who sweeps Jedda through time to help him “change the sky” and discover the source of his own magic. Grimsley’s own wizardry could be put in almost the same terms: He sweeps us through time and space and changes our sky. By bringing two alien worlds together, he brings them both to us. It is a gift of unearthly power. Michael Alec Rose writes from Nashville.

Like every world-class ("universe-class"?) story set on a distant planet ages hence, the true marvel of Jim Grimsley's novel The Ordinary lies not in its technological wonders or its fully imagined alien landscapes and cultures, though there are these aplenty. The magic radiates, rather, from…
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Alexander C. Irvine’s debut novel, A Scattering of Jades, is a rich and entertaining tale. With no sign of first-timer nerves, Irvine brings together such disparate elements as Tammany Hall, Kentucky’s Mammoth Cave, P.T. Barnum, Aztec gods, riverboats and New York in the mid-1800s to create a glorious adventure. While all these well-known people and places might overwhelm other writers, Irvine moves serenely among them, using characters and settings when necessary and dropping them immediately whenever his story demands it.

Irvine is like a real estate agent working areas no one else has discovered. He knows that one of the secrets of a good novel is location, location, location, and he fearlessly takes the reader down the rivers, into the caves and through the cities of the still-coalescing 19th century United States. One of the most interesting threads of the novel is the tale of Stephen Johnson, a historical figure whose real-life story Irvine entwines with his fiction. Johnson, a guide at Mammoth Cave, had a knack for discovering new caves and was responsible for finding and naming many of the caverns that are now famous visitor spots. In a particularly dark and almost claustrophobic section of the novel, Johnson explores a new cave. The scene is frightening, and the action gets even stranger when he goes off the beaten path and discovers an Aztec mummy hidden far from where anyone else had ventured at least for the last several hundred years. The mummy is an Aztec god who, now awakened, wants to bring about the end of the world, and needs a few small things including a child sacrifice to make it happen.

A Scattering of Jades is not a run-of-the-mill quest novel, in which a plucky band of brothers takes on the Dark Lord of So-and-So. Here, saving the world is left to a half-dozen or so seemingly unconnected people.

Irvine can be favorably compared to Tim Powers, especially Powers’ historically flavored novels such as The Anubis Gates, yet A Scattering of Jades instantly sets Irvine apart from his influences and allows him to carve out a space for himself.

Alexander C. Irvine's debut novel, A Scattering of Jades, is a rich and entertaining tale. With no sign of first-timer nerves, Irvine brings together such disparate elements as Tammany Hall, Kentucky's Mammoth Cave, P.T. Barnum, Aztec gods, riverboats and New York in the mid-1800s to…
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Frederica Hatch is no ordinary teenager. Raised in a dorm on the campus of Dewing College, a second-rate institution where her parents teach and serve as houseparents, she’s spent her life as a mascot of sorts for the students of this all-female college.

Her parents are obsessed with labor relations and social justice they stamped their wedding invitations with a union bug. Her father, David, commutes to classes by bike, and her mother, Aviva, painted all of Frederica’s Barbies so they’d be anatomically correct. Neither elder Hatch gives a thought to clothes or hair or living in a real house, and can’t understand why their teenage daughter might take an interest in any of these things.

Still, the Hatches are a happy bunch in their own unconventional way, until Laura Lee French comes to Dewing. Hired as a housemother, Laura Lee is brash, self-centered and has a penchant for bringing her own hooch to the dining hall at mealtimes. Turns out, Laura Lee is a distant cousin of David Hatch and they were once, briefly, married. Laura Lee wastes no time starting up an affair with the married college president, with bittersweet results that the Hatches are left to clean up.

No one balances seriousness and hilarity better than Elinor Lipman, best known for her novels The Inn at Lake Devine and The Pursuit of Alice Thrift. Add My Latest Grievance to the list of her excellent works: it’s a heartfelt story filled with people you’ll be thinking about long after you turn the last page.

Frederica is the sort of refreshingly articulate young adult seldom found among the sullen, navel-gazing teens populating modern fiction. Often surprisingly wise, she’s also smart-alecky in the tradition of all real 16-year-olds. And Lipman is able to imbue Laura Lee, who could easily have been a grating, one-note character, with heart and humor. My Latest Grievance is joyfully witty; this is not-to-be-missed reading that’ll leave you wishing you could enroll at Dewing College, if only to meet the Hatches. Amy Scribner writes from Olympia, Washington.

Frederica Hatch is no ordinary teenager. Raised in a dorm on the campus of Dewing College, a second-rate institution where her parents teach and serve as houseparents, she's spent her life as a mascot of sorts for the students of this all-female college.

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Kim Stanley Robinson’s latest novel, Forty Signs of Rain, is a convincing story of weather disasters in the not-too-distant future. Already a Hugo and Nebula award winner for The Years of Rice and Salt and his Mars trilogy, Robinson pulls his latest tale straight from the headlines. As a result of global warming, the Arctic ice shelf is melting at an alarming rate and millions of coastal dwellers are in danger.

At the center of the action are Charlie and Anna Quibler, a typical Washington, D.C., power couple. Charlie is a stay-at-home dad who works part time as a science advisor to a popular senator, and Anna is a full-time researcher for the National Science Foundation. Charlie and Anna are struggling to get the government to take global warming seriously while the administration’s only concern is surviving the next election.

Anna’s co-worker, Frank, is a scientist who prides himself on his emotional detachment, but he loses his comfortably distanced view of the world when he meets a group of Buddhist diplomats from a low-lying island nation. The monks blow Frank’s mind by pointing out that a single-minded devotion to one aspect of life (such as science) makes the mind unbalanced. Frank is unexpectedly open to this life-changing idea.

Forty Signs of Rain is all about balance, whether it’s love or work, spirituality or politics. There are flood warnings throughout (beginning with the Biblical reference in the title) but the blinkered D.C. politicians won’t pay attention until the rising water is lapping at their doorways. Robinson skips between the domestic, scientific and political spheres without missing a beat and delivers a hot-topic page-turner that leaves the reader gasping and stranded at high tide, eager for the next book from this science fiction master. Gavin J. Grant writes from Northampton, Massachusetts.

Kim Stanley Robinson's latest novel, Forty Signs of Rain, is a convincing story of weather disasters in the not-too-distant future. Already a Hugo and Nebula award winner for The Years of Rice and Salt and his Mars trilogy, Robinson pulls his latest tale straight from…
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Anyone who has ever sat facing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream with a grimness better suited to a chess match with Death himself knows Geneen Roth’s work. Roth has made a career teaching people to look within and question the motivations underlying their behavior around food, balancing ruthless self-inquiry with a gentle assessment of the facts uncovered. She’s logged couch time with Oprah, so it’s not surprising that many of her books, like Women Food and God, have been bestsellers.

The surprise she encounters in Lost and Found is that her meticulous focus on food and eating contrasted with a gaping blind spot about money, “as if money were as deadly as the plague and even thinking about it would lead me to being one of the bad guys.”

The catalyst for this realization was catastrophic: Roth and her husband lost their life savings in Bernard Madoff’s Ponzi scheme. After a period of mourning, she noticed that the cycle of binge-eating and starvation she had previously worked through had now been replaced by similar patterns of shopping and hoarding. Yet if anyone could make lemonade out of such difficult circumstances, it’s Roth, whose persistence and curiosity can help make sense of any addictive behavior. She opens up a conversation about money with exercises that she has used with retreat participants, along with some of their responses, and adds plenty of insight from her own soul-searching. She writes, “If I could believe that we didn’t have enough when we did and then lose it and believe that we did have enough—what or where is enough?”

Roth and her husband are now on the path back to fiscal solvency. With Lost and Found, she has made a gift of wisdom to readers that may help them make the same journey.

 

Anyone who has ever sat facing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream with a grimness better suited to a chess match with Death himself knows Geneen Roth’s work. Roth has made a career teaching people to look within and question the motivations underlying…

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Tim Flannery’s The Weather Makers: How Man Is Changing the Climate and What It Means for Life on Earth may well be the most reader-friendly book to date on the science and consequences of climate change. Flannery breaks down the types of greenhouse gases, where they come from, and what they do to the air and ocean. He shows how warming ocean waters gave Hurricane Katrina the added strength to blow right through Florida and on to New Orleans, and he documents worst-case scenarios for accelerated change.

Flannery and other scientific writers have identified 1976 as the year when the earth’s climate took a serious turn under specifically human influences, when the ocean’s surface waters warmed and its salt content fell. Flannery writes of humanity’s commitment to global warming. We are moving inexorably toward a serious climate shift, due around 2050, based on gases that have already been released into the atmosphere. Like those characters in the Sixth Sense and Jacob’s Ladder who haven’t noticed that they’re dead yet, most of us live in a short-term bubble, blind to what is increasingly obvious and alarming to scientists. Warm the ocean by a degree or two and disaster strikes. Take for example the number of vanishing animal species. Roughly half our rich panoply of creatures could go the way of the dodo by the end of this century. Nor can we any longer ignore the threat of water shortages and famine that may pit us against formerly friendly neighbors and nations in a desperate quest for our personal survival, Flannery notes. We have been running the environmental equivalent of a deficit budget, which is sustained only by plundering our capital base, he writes.

Tim Flannery's The Weather Makers: How Man Is Changing the Climate and What It Means for Life on Earth may well be the most reader-friendly book to date on the science and consequences of climate change. Flannery breaks down the types of greenhouse gases, where…
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Teresa Mendoza is a living doll, a painted, prettied-up bangle on the arm of a pilot smuggler for Mexican drug lords. She shops and drinks and waits for the inevitable for her seemingly bulletproof boyfriend to skim one kilo of cocaine too many from his murderous employers. When he does, when his bosses kill him and order everyone around him eradicated as an example, Teresa escapes to lovely, deadly Spain.

So begins The Queen of the South, the tale of a shockingly bold Mexican woman who schemes her way to the top of the only profession she knows: drug smuggling. In his newest novel, Arturo PŽrez-Reverte creates a woman whose courage, intelligence and will make her more than a match for the men around her.

PŽrez-Reverte, whose previous novels include The Flanders Panel and The Fencing Master, is in no hurry here. His research is so meticulous, his touch with characters so deft, that you are inexorably drawn into Teresa’s world of international smuggling and multinational thugs. Surly Frenchmen, ham-faced Russians, elegant Moroccans all are outwitted by Teresa. Her astonishing success is chronicled by the adoring European press and brings her to the attention of her old Mexican enemies.

PŽrez-Reverte understands that the glamour of the narcosmuggler is rooted in the codes of revenge and honor that the futureless poor of all countries hold dear. He has Teresa clinging to that code as she returns to Mexico to face the killers of her first love in an unforgettable showdown that cements the Queen’s legend in a country whose corridos musical poems glorifying the underdog have long championed lawless rebels.

The Queen of the South is audacious, and its heroine uncommon, but it is PŽrez-Reverte’s pace, unhurried and unforced, and his superb attention to detail, that makes the Spanish novelist’s sixth book so mesmerizing. The Queen of the South is that rare blessing a book by a mature writer at the top of his game, unwilling to settle for less than his best.

Teresa Mendoza is a living doll, a painted, prettied-up bangle on the arm of a pilot smuggler for Mexican drug lords. She shops and drinks and waits for the inevitable for her seemingly bulletproof boyfriend to skim one kilo of cocaine too many from his…
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One morning more than five years ago, Diane Ackerman arrived in the high-tech cove of the local hospital to find her husband, the novelist Paul West, trailing so many tubes that he looked like a jellyfish. Fighting a systemic kidney infection, West had languished in the hospital bed for more than three weeks, but he brightened at Ackerman’s entrance. The couple playfully plotted his escape from the world of the sick and infirm and his return to their cozy world full of words and wonder at the marvels of nature in their rural New York home. Those bright hopes shattered when, after a long and arduous surgery, he suffered a stroke, losing all command of language, memory and muscular coordination—and needing her to nurse him back to wholeness.

Through her poignant memoir, One Hundred Names for Love, Ackerman guides us through the territory of anxiety and despair as she navigates the cartography of loss. As a poet and writer deeply in love with language, she feels viscerally the loss that her beloved must feel in the moments, days, months and even years after his stroke. After a couple of years, Ackerman feels as if she is becoming West’s coach, cheerleader, teammate, teacher, translator, best friend and wife all rolled into one. No one can play so many roles without burning out.

Yet in spite of her physical and mental fatigue, she lovingly continues to talk to, cajole and banter with West in the slow, demanding work of helping him to regain his use of language. A triumphant moment occurs when she asks him to make up some new pet names for her to replace the ones he has forgotten; almost immediately West calls her his “celandine hunter” and “swallow haven.” From those hours he begins to focus on his writing once again, recovering more steadily as he regains the ability to use language creatively rather than simply to name objects. Since his stroke, West has written his own memoir of the event (The Shadow Factory) along with essays and book reviews for publications like Harper’s.

Although Ackerman’s faith in West’s ability to regain language changed from moment to moment, her moving memoir captures her loving faith in the unerring power of words to heal her loved one’s broken soul and body.

 

One morning more than five years ago, Diane Ackerman arrived in the high-tech cove of the local hospital to find her husband, the novelist Paul West, trailing so many tubes that he looked like a jellyfish. Fighting a systemic kidney infection, West had languished in…

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The days at issue here are those immediately following the resignation and departure from the White House of Richard Nixon on Aug. 9, 1974, to succeeding president Gerald Ford’s controversial pardoning of him on Sept. 8. These were turbulent times, as Barry Werth points out in 31 Days, not simply because of the continuing Watergate scandal, but also because of a faltering national economy, rising oil prices, a potentially explosive clash between Greece and Turkey over Cyprus, and the international and domestic fallout from the war in Vietnam.

Stepping into this morass was an undistinguished former congressman from Michigan whose fate it was to be struck twice by political lightning first, being elevated to the vice presidency after Spiro Agnew was forced to resign; then, ascending to the presidency when Nixon himself was toppled. During the transition, Ford had to cope with many Nixon holdovers, including the supremely ambitious Henry Kissinger and Alexander Haig. Moreover, there was the lingering problem of what to do with his unrepentant predecessor.

Given such turmoil and the power vacuum it created, it was only natural that political opportunists would move in. Werth subtitles his book: The Crisis That Gave Us The Government We Have Today. At that time, George H.

W. Bush was chairman of the Republican National Committee and eager to become Ford’s vice president (a post that ultimately went to Nelson Rockefeller); Donald Rumsfeld, who also aspired to the vice presidency, was ambassador to NATO; Richard Cheney was his deputy, later to be Ford’s chief of staff; Richard Perle was an aide to hawkish Democratic senator Henry Scoop Jackson; and Ronald Reagan was still governor of California. All these figures were considerably to the right of the congenitally moderate and accommodating Ford.

Initially, Ford’s openness and congeniality won over both the country and a Congress that was overjoyed to be rid of the tainted Nixon. But when Ford announced against the advice of many of his counselors that he was pardoning his predecessor, the honeymoon was over and the stage was set for his defeat three years hence by the upstart Jimmy Carter. Edward Morris reviews from Nashville.

 

The days at issue here are those immediately following the resignation and departure from the White House of Richard Nixon on Aug. 9, 1974, to succeeding president Gerald Ford's controversial pardoning of him on Sept. 8. These were turbulent times, as Barry Werth points…

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If Between Two Rivers, by acclaimed novelist and poet Nicholas Rinaldi, were a classic martini, it would be served in a properly chilled glass, contain top-shelf gin with a hint of vermouth and be garnished with a succulent olive. Further, it would be sipped in a jazz club overlooking the Hudson on a balmy evening while music flowed with edgy sophistication. In other words, this book offers even more than fine writing and a well-constructed, intriguing tale. It’s a whole experience. Rinaldi skillfully manages a whole cast of eclectic characters living or working in Echo Terrace, a luxury condominium building in lower Manhattan run by the quietly opinionated concierge, Farro Fescu, who has been there “from the start, when the building first opened its doors nine years ago.” Fescu “knows the pace, the tempo, the rhythm, the vibrations in the lobby walls. Without looking up he knows the tap of Ravijohn’s cane, the scent of Maggie Sowle’s cologne, the click of Lena Klongdorf’s heels.” Rinaldi brings these people to life like a modern-day Dickens, creating memorable, well-defined characters such as Nora Abernooth, whose grandfather hunted with Teddy Roosevelt and who shares her apartment, (at the start of the novel things change dramatically) with a menagerie that contains a rhesus monkey, a cobra, a macaw and numerous finches. Rinaldi also craftily makes the Twin Towers rise up with an unsettling presence that foreshadows the Trade Center tragedy to come and brings the whole complicated construct along with the many changes and interactions in the character’s lives to its shattering conclusion. He does all of these things with such finesse, such careful insight into human hopes and hurts, such poetry, that the book almost becomes something to live through, rather than simply read. Despite the inexorable, horrific ending, underlying messages of connection, the beauty of love, and the amazing resilience of the human spirit are woven into the web and render the outcome poignant and uplifting. Perhaps I could say if Between Two Rivers were a martini it would be a classic, but it would leave you shaken and stirred.

Linda Stankard writes from Nanuet, New York.

If Between Two Rivers, by acclaimed novelist and poet Nicholas Rinaldi, were a classic martini, it would be served in a properly chilled glass, contain top-shelf gin with a hint of vermouth and be garnished with a succulent olive. Further, it would be sipped in…
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When Aldo Leopold advocated “thinking like a mountain” in his 1949 ecological classic, A Sand County Almanac, he meant that removing any one element from an ecosystem (e.g., a predator like a wolf) has disastrous implications for its other residents: The population of deer explodes, denuding the mountain of shrubbery, which leads to erosion, and so on. In this stunning gift of a memoir, Philip Connors pursues both the ecological and spiritual aspects of thinking like a mountain through his vocation as a fire lookout in the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico.

Leopold was instrumental in having this region declared America’s first protected Wilderness Area on June 3, 1924, a day that Connors holds as a “high holy day” in the four-month season he spends each year perched in a tower scanning the horizon for plumes of smoke. Some fires caused by lightning will be allowed to burn, while those started by humans will be put out. Connors explains that fire is a natural part of the ecosystem, burning grass and fertilizing soil—a recognition that has only come recently to the Forest Service.

With Fire Season, Connors joins a long and distinguished line of literary “freaks on peaks,” including Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac and Norman Maclean, each of whom spent a season as a fire lookout. Spending eight hours a day as an “eyeball in tune with cloud and light, a being of pure sensation,” allows Connors a meditative peace unavailable to the rest of us with our blinking screens and divided attention. “I want to lengthen, not shorten, my attention span,” Connors says, and his memoir offers a spirited defense of the virtues of indolence and poetry.

As he gains both pragmatic and mystical wisdom, Connors proffers an ecological manifesto for making our peace with fire. More importantly, he offers a profound (and at times hilariously profane) perspective on the relationship between humans and the earth. Attuned to the plants, animals, terrain and weather patterns of his mountain environment, Connors assumes his rightful place as mere member of this ecosystem, a citizen rather than a conqueror of the wilderness. Passionate and funny, Fire Season is an exciting new addition to the canon of American nature writing.

 

When Aldo Leopold advocated “thinking like a mountain” in his 1949 ecological classic, A Sand County Almanac, he meant that removing any one element from an ecosystem (e.g., a predator like a wolf) has disastrous implications for its other residents: The population of deer explodes,…

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Readers of Dennis McFarland’s previous novels have marveled at his perceptive handling of varied facets of the human experience, including alcoholism, sexual abuse, aging, death and suicide. His memorable characters confront life’s pitfalls, usually looking back at their formative years imbued with the wisdom of adulthood. McFarland’s fifth novel, Prince Edward, varies from that formula in that the protagonist, Ben Rome, is not an adult but a 10-year-old boy struggling to navigate the complicated waters of the 1959 desegregation crisis in Prince Edward County, Virginia. Ben’s small town confronts the Supreme Court mandate to integrate its public schools by deciding instead to close them, enroll all its white children in private schools, and leave the blacks to fend for themselves.

The author adroitly illuminates all sides of the issue through the characters surrounding Ben, each of whom contributes to his coming of age over the long summer. His father, who is abusive and drunk much of the time, openly supports the ongoing segregation efforts, while his ineffectual mother seems to ignore the issue. His older brother professes to sympathize with the town’s blacks, but his actions say otherwise. Ben thinks his sister supports the town’s black families, including that of Ben’s best friend Burghardt, but she is so absorbed in her own problems that she has little time to discuss civil rights. Black sentiments are embodied by Burghardt and his grandmother, Granny Mays, who live on Ben’s grandfather’s farm; Granny will do anything it takes to see that her grandson gets an education.

McFarland masterfully blends his fictional characters into the real story of how one county actually kept its public schools closed for five years, depriving those blacks who couldn’t relocate of any formal education. Surrounded by a long-standing tradition of prejudice, and without the moral guidepost of an Atticus Finch, Ben gradually begins to understand the wrongs committed in the name of “states’ rights and civic responsibility,” which lie at the heart of this sensitive and compelling novel.

Readers of Dennis McFarland's previous novels have marveled at his perceptive handling of varied facets of the human experience, including alcoholism, sexual abuse, aging, death and suicide. His memorable characters confront life's pitfalls, usually looking back at their formative years imbued with the wisdom…
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Jennet Conant is a genius at finding significant World War II-era stories that have largely gone untold or unnoticed in the more comprehensive chronicles of that period. As the granddaughter of James Bryant Conant, the eminent chemist, statesman and longtime president of Harvard University, she has had particular access to the behind-the-scenes workings of history. From that access have come the dramatic and well-documented narratives Tuxedo Park, 109 East Palace and The Irregulars.

Now Conant is back with A Covert Affair, an equally readable account of larger-than-life Julia Child and her husband, Paul Child—not as culinary pioneers, but in their earlier incarnations as information-gatherers and propagandists for the World War II intelligence network, the Office of Strategic Services. Fascinating as these two figures are, though, the book’s real focal point is their good friend, the daring and alluring socialite and spy Jane Foster.

Julia and Jane were both from wealthy, conservative families in California; Paul, who was 10 years older than Julia, grew up relatively poor in Boston. Idealists all, they volunteered for the war effort and initially served together in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), working in league with the British. Later, in various configurations, they would continue their government services in Indonesia, China and Vietnam. An impulsive do-gooder, Foster grew incensed that the Dutch, French and English were intent on reasserting their colonial claims in the East once the Japanese were driven out. After the war ended, she argued eloquently and publicly on behalf of the Indonesian resistance movement—one of many political indiscretions that would come back to haunt her when the American government embarked on its witch hunt for Communists.

Conant devotes the last half of her book to showing how the Childs were caught up in Senator McCarthy’s red-baiting. Both were indignant at what they perceived as Foster’s persecution, and both spoke out in her defense, even when evidence filtered in that she might be more culpable in spying for Russia than she admitted. As Foster’s star was sinking, the irrepressible Julia’s was rising. After the war, she took cooking classes to impress hard-to-snare Paul—they were finally married in 1946—then expanded her studies when they were posted to France. By the time Julia’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking was published in 1961 to near-universal acclaim, Foster was living in exile in Paris, embittered, separated from her old friends and contemplating the enormous costs of her political sympathies. Conant’s account of the three friends’ stories is another masterpiece of historical reporting.

 

Jennet Conant is a genius at finding significant World War II-era stories that have largely gone untold or unnoticed in the more comprehensive chronicles of that period. As the granddaughter of James Bryant Conant, the eminent chemist, statesman and longtime president of Harvard University, she…

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