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The "world’s playground" of 1930s Atlantic City is as much a character in The Girl on the High-Diving Horse as Ivy Cordelia, the young heroine who gets her chance to dive-dive-dive from the high platform on the Steel Pier into the deep-deep-deep pool, holding on to Arnette French, a "crazy-brave" diving horse girl. Wow-wow-wow! That adventure alone is worth the read.

Linda Oatman High’s wonderful story is part history, part adventure and all-engaging. As Ivy Cordelia and her photographer father spend the summer at a castle-shaped hotel on the boardwalk, they ride the rolling chair to the Steel Pier, where well-dressed crowds are entertained by the card-playing cats, the boxing kangaroos and the human cannonballs. Ivy has entered another world! She is most entranced, however, by the high-diving horses and their riders, and she watches as "an enormous white horse sprints fast up a steep slanting ramp, hooves hammering and his flashing dark eyes sparking stars of fire." Oh, to be the girl on that horse!

Artist Ted Lewin has painted Ivy’s longing in a poignant wash of color and emotion. His depiction of Atlantic City in the 1930s and ’40s is nothing short of stunning. Mimicking the style of linen postcards that were so popular during that time, Lewin first executed his pictures in black-and-white, then applied thin washes of a limited number of colors, thereby transporting us into another time a pastel, spirited world of purple early mornings and salt-water taffy afternoons, wide open skies and endless sea-sprays of lightness and possibility.

Extensive author and illustrator notes accompany the text and further enhance the story. Details in "postcards" throughout the book impart a feeling of nostalgia and . . . love! Love for a time gone by, love of a father for a daughter, love of the ocean piers, boardwalks, haberdashers, fortune tellers and daredevil stunts that defined the city by the sea.

Step right up!

Deborah Wiles is the author of Freedom Summer; Love, Ruby Lavender and the forthcoming One Wide Sky (Harcourt).

 

The "world's playground" of 1930s Atlantic City is as much a character in The Girl on the High-Diving Horse as Ivy Cordelia, the young heroine who gets her chance to dive-dive-dive from the high platform on the Steel Pier into the deep-deep-deep pool, holding…

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It’s the summer of 1895, and 16-year-old Gemma Doyle is bored and impatient. Tired of her life in Bombay, India, she’s indignant that her mother continually rebuffs her requests to move to London. But Gemma’s teenage angst is quickly forgotten when she has a terrible vision, a frightening experience that sets off an astonishing series of events. In the space of a few shocking moments, her life is altered in ways she never could have imagined and suddenly, her days are far from boring.

After tragedy strikes, Gemma’s family falls apart, and her pompous brother deposits her at Spence Academy, a boarding school near London. Readers who enjoy the archetypal high-school-girl-triumphs-over-her-tormentors storyline will not be disappointed in the characters Bray has created: unfashionable scholarship student Ann; beautiful yet mean-spirited Pippa, and power-hungry Felicity become central to the plot and commit much mischief after lights-out. There is also the sophisticated but wise teacher, the uptight headmistress who just might have something to hide and, for good measure, a compelling-yet-creepy young man who utters cryptic warnings to an increasingly disconcerted yet determinedly curious Gemma.

And yes, Gemma uses her wit and creativity to win the girls over, learning along the way that she has ties to a former Spence student who possessed strange powers, too. As her visions become ever more vivid and strange, it becomes clear that her new talents are from an unearthly realm. She convinces the other girls to join her in learning more about these powers, and together they venture into a world where each discovers her own strengths, longings and weaknesses. As the cover indicates, there is a bit of bodice-ripping to be found in Bray’s book, but for the most part, corsets are loosened rather than torn off. Bray also explores family secrets, personal history and the ways in which knowledge, power and ego interact and affect one another. A Great and Terrible Beauty is a multi-layered, ambitious work that mixes history, magic, romance, humor and mystery, making it a good choice for a wide range of readers.

Linda M. Castellitto writes from Rhode Island.

It's the summer of 1895, and 16-year-old Gemma Doyle is bored and impatient. Tired of her life in Bombay, India, she's indignant that her mother continually rebuffs her requests to move to London. But Gemma's teenage angst is quickly forgotten when she has a terrible…
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This fascinating biography of free-wheeling French-born sculptor Louise Bourgeois, who is still going strong at 91, is the perfect way to get youngsters interested in art. Bourgeois, whose work is exhibited in galleries around the world, broke new ground for women in the field of art. Runaway Girl is a fitting tribute to her indomitable spirit and skill as a sculptor.

The authors are not content to present the mere facts of a life, accompanied by signature works. They delve avidly into the whys behind the whats, and the result, in this instance, is a narrative as vivid as a novel. Born to a family in the business of restoring medieval tapestries, the young Louise enjoyed her first taste of an artist’s power while wielding a needle to reweave worn fabric, and redrawing legs and feet, the first features to go in panels dragged across floors for centuries. Raised in an unsettled household her dashing father appropriated her 18-year-old British governess as his mistress she would later use the events of her past to enrich her art.

Louise’s mother advised her daughter that, to find success in life, "All you have to do is make yourself indispensable." Bourgeois did her best, attending art school against her father’s wishes, moving to New York with her art-critic husband, and working in obscurity for years as Abstract Expressionism ruled the international art scene. It wasn’t until the late ’60s, during the resurgence of feminism, that she began to attract some long-overdue attention. Instead of bemoaning her unheralded years, Bourgeois looks upon them as a stroke of luck: "I was left to work by myself. I did not consider I was ignored. I considered that I was being blessed by privacy." To this day, she retains an enchanting humility ("As an artist I am a powerful person. In real life, I feel like the mouse behind the radiator.") and the eternally fresh outlook of a child.

The authors include passages from Bourgeois’ journals, family photos and images of her work. Beyond a riveting life story, Runaway Girl is a copiously illustrated volume that provides a blueprint for aspiring artists of all ages.

 

 

This fascinating biography of free-wheeling French-born sculptor Louise Bourgeois, who is still going strong at 91, is the perfect way to get youngsters interested in art. Bourgeois, whose work is exhibited in galleries around the world, broke new ground for women in the field…

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History has layers, like an onion: peel one off, and you suddenly have a slightly different perspective. Teaching young people about events in the past that shaped our world requires the exploration of various layers simply recounting an event isn’t enough. Jim Murphy’s <B>Inside the Alamo</B> does just that, going well beyond the average junior high textbook explanation of events that had broader implications for this country than were immediately obvious.

In the 1830s, the United States was straining at its boundaries. All but two of the 24 states were east of the Mississippi River, and people were flocking to the territories beyond. South and west, towards the Rio Grande, was an area claimed by Mexico, but under-populated at least until Americans began to immigrate. The expansion was rapid, and within a few years Americans outnumbered the Mexican residents of the area, thus setting in motion the events that culminated at the Alamo.

Murphy’s book opens with the arrival of the army of Mexican general Santa Anna at the outskirts of the Alamo as he lays siege to its small band of defenders. Murphy details the personalities inside and outside the Alamo walls, the events that brought them there, and as the final battle begins, their eventual fates. He covers the major players: David Crockett, Jim Bowie and William Travis, all of whom died defending the fort, as well as Santa Anna, the general who was also Mexico’s dictator, and Sam Houston, who would eventually defeat Santa Anna through a combination of luck and hubris. Murphy doesn’t neglect the lesser-known actors in this drama either, from the woman who nursed Bowie to the black man who was Travis’ slave. Thanks to these details, a full-bodied profile of the battle and its participants emerges.

Murphy’s book is a treasure trove of illustrations, diagrams, maps and photos, and his direct prose is enlightening and entertaining. <B>Inside the Alamo</B> is a children’s book that adult history buffs will enjoy even those who aren’t from Texas.

History has layers, like an onion: peel one off, and you suddenly have a slightly different perspective. Teaching young people about events in the past that shaped our world requires the exploration of various layers simply recounting an event isn't enough. Jim Murphy's <B>Inside…

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Teachers of composition advise their students to write about what they know. It is best not to speculate just how much this advice applies to the life and, ahem, “work” of Mary K. Witte. According to the press release accompanying her book Redneck Haiku, the author lives in Fresno, where the mayor’s name is Bubba, and she works for a garbage company. However, it is safe to say that Witte herself is not a redneck, because clever self-analysis is not the hallmark of this indigenous American species. Trust me; I know. These are my people. And Witte, it almost pains me to admit, lives up to her surname. In more than 100 haikus yes, textbook haiku, three lines, 17 syllables she wittily describes what an anthropologist might call the socioeconomic signifiers of redneckdom. Pam can’t identify the father of her child. Betty Lou’s was conceived in a church parking lot, thereby flouting one of her pet theories. One man is named for the drive-in where he was born. It’s all here food designed to persevere rather than to nourish, homes that tend to blow away in a high wind, criminally reckless fashion decisions, eat-until-you-die buffets and the deification of race car drivers. Consider this example of Witte’s cartoonish but depressingly accurate portrait of a culture: Wanda’s hip slit skirt allows her to climb into monster pickup truck. It may be that rednecks are the last group considered fair game for mocking. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. After all, “rednecks” as Witte seems to define them are simply a widespread group linked by a chosen lifestyle. And isn’t the very definition of a free country a place where you can make fun of your neighbors?

Teachers of composition advise their students to write about what they know. It is best not to speculate just how much this advice applies to the life and, ahem, "work" of Mary K. Witte. According to the press release accompanying her book Redneck Haiku, the…
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With the economy in a slump and business leaders exposed as common crooks, it’s time to return to business basics or so it would seem. Some experts argue just the opposite, maintaining that scandals and declining profits are a sure sign it’s time for radical change in how we think about business. This month we take a look at different perspectives on today’s business climate with three new books that challenge the way business gets done.

Getting back to the basics Author Kirk Cheyfitz hammers home 12 timeless truths of business in the insightful, fun-to-read Thinking Inside the Box: The 12 Timeless Rules for Managing a Successful Business. Cheyfitz says we “can’t think outside the box or even inside the box unless we have a very precise idea of what the box is.” By following the 12 unchanging rules or “planks” that make up the box, the authors say a business can survive any passing fad or temporary disaster.

It’s a waste of time to try to create a new business model, he says, because there aren’t any. There’s no waffling with Cheyfitz, and his concise, self-assured wisdom is hard to dispute. Dotcoms are a frequent target of his box-breaking examples, and in retrospect, it does seem obvious that spending a little more time on business necessities (second plank in the box: the first business of business is making money) would have served the paper billionaires well. Other elements of the box include hiring the best people, creating customers with every transaction and paying close attention to true revenues, expenses and cash flows. Cultivating new growth Instead of getting back to the basics, the author of The Art of Profitability explains “a different way to grow” in a world of product saturation and market crashes. How to Grow When Markets Don’t by Adrian Slywotzky and Richard Wise (Warner, $22, 352 pages, ISBN 0446531774) says the old growth model invent a great product, sell it to death, go international, cut costs and raise prices if you can has run out of steam. Product innovations no longer generate big bucks, and international expansion and acquisitions have largely been depleted.

So how can companies grow in tough environments? Simply put, they should stop thinking about the product and start addressing the hassles and issues that surround the product to create new types of demand from customers.

Fascinating case studies of ventures like GM OnStar and John Deere Landscapes demonstrate how mature companies have taken a new look at solving their customers’ biggest problems. Even in areas that were thought incapable of growth, these innovative companies have created new revenue streams by deploying hidden assets customer relationships, information, real estate to meet the next generation of demands from customers.

Putting people above profits Leaders like Tony Blair, former President Bill Clinton and Super Bowl champ Jimmy Johnson were inspired by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s groundbreaking book Flow, which explained why some people lose themselves in their work. Now the author brings the concept of flow to the workplace in Good Business: Leadership, Flow, and the Making of Meaning (Viking, $24.95, 256 pages, ISBN 0670031968). The author dares to put people above profits, saying, “Fundamentally, business exists to enhance human well-being.” Interviews with successful leaders (whose sole ambition isn’t selfish advantage) show how leaders can bring flow to the workplace and what they should avoid. The global perspective includes visionary leaders all over the world who have transformed stifling jobs and workplaces into exciting vocations. For example, outdoor equipment maker Patagonia has a “Let My People Go Surfing” policy. At any time of the day, employees can take off and go surfing. It’s an “attitude that changes your whole life,” says Yvon Chouinard of his happy company headquarters. Plush, ostentatious surroundings may lie; look for onsite childcare, cheerful cafeterias and the demeanor of the people for insight into workplace happiness.

Good Business is an important book for managers who want to increase productivity, and a must-read if your business heroes aren’t Machiavelli, Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun.

With the economy in a slump and business leaders exposed as common crooks, it's time to return to business basics or so it would seem. Some experts argue just the opposite, maintaining that scandals and declining profits are a sure sign it's time for radical…
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<B>Young patients’ heart-rending lessons</B> Don’t even think of starting this brief but beautiful book without a box of tissues at your elbow. You’ve got a lot of crying ahead. <B>If I Get To Five</B> takes its title from the sayings of a four-year-old girl, Naomi, whom author Fred Epstein was treating for a brain cancer. "If I get to five," the little girl would tell him, "I’m going to learn to ride a two-wheeler!" Or "If I get to five, I’m going to learn to tie my shoes with a double-knot!" Epstein, who established the Institute for Neurology and Neurosurgery (INN) at Beth Israel Medical Center in New York, tells story after story of children he came to know as he was trying to save their lives. But this is more than a maudlin exercise in recollection. It is at bottom a recitation of what he has learned from dealing with these incredibly resilient children and how surroundings and attitudes can contribute to the healing process. Initially, Epstein confesses, he placed virtually all his faith in medical technology and his ability to refine and manipulate it. However, a poem from one of his young patients one who didn’t survive made him realize that imparting a feeling of love, understanding and acceptance was as vital as having and mastering all the best surgical tools. Armed with this new-found wisdom, Epstein says he designed a hospital the INN that would take the children’s feelings and wishes into account, a hospital with a resident clown, around-the-clock visiting hours, parties in the patients’ rooms and impromptu ball games in the halls. Running parallel to Epstein’s tales about his patients is an account of his own bumpy life and what it has taught him about healing. An academic underachiever, afflicted with dyslexia, depression and self-doubt, Epstein at first seemed an unlikely candidate to become a medical doctor, much less a distinguished one. But in witnessing the power of his own determination to change predicted outcomes, he became aware of that same potential power in others. It is no slight to call <B>If I Get To Five</B> a "feel-good" book. It is. But, after all, isn’t feeling good what medicine is supposed to be about?

<B>Young patients' heart-rending lessons</B> Don't even think of starting this brief but beautiful book without a box of tissues at your elbow. You've got a lot of crying ahead. <B>If I Get To Five</B> takes its title from the sayings of a four-year-old girl, Naomi,…

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With the recent loss of the space shuttle Columbia, the world was once again reminded of the hazards and risks no matter how advanced the technology that are always present when man endeavors to fly. Coincidentally, 2003 marks the 100th anniversary of Wilbur and Orville Wright’s astounding achievements in the tiny North Carolina coastal town of Kitty Hawk, where the Dayton, Ohio, proprietors of a bicycle shop repeatedly launched their homemade glider and eventually completed the first successful experiments in sustained flight. In To Conquer the Air, award-winning journalist James Tobin approaches this subject with dramatic flair, as he tells the story not only of the gifted, determined and humble team of brothers, but also of the other starry-eyed dreamers at the turn of the 20th century who bravely ventured into the previously little-explored field of aerodynamics. Chief among the latter was Samuel Langley, a highly respected astronomer, inventor and Smithsonian Institution executive, who, with the aid of government grants and important friends such as Alexander Graham Bell, spent years searching for the proper engine design for his own craft, which he called an aerodrome. But while Langley invested thousands of dollars and man-hours in continuously flawed mechanical plans and modifications, it was the Wrights working almost completely on their own, and at their own modest expense who methodically came to grips with essential yet elusive flight principles such as lift and drag, tirelessly hauling their wooden glider-prototype up and down the desolate sand dunes of Kitty Hawk, making one trial run after another. For the Wrights, flying began as simply a hobby inspired by routine observation of birds on the wing. Yet it grew into an all-consuming passion fueled by the quietly brilliant Wilbur (the clean-shaven one), who never went to college but combined voracious reading habits with high intelligence and an incredibly keen sense of scientific inquiry. It wasn’t until the Wrights had a good grasp of unpowered flight that they tapped machinist Charley Taylor, yet another hometown Dayton boy, to provide them with a modest yet efficient engine that would turn the glider into a true flying machine. December 17, 1903, was the day that marked the first incident of officially legitimate motor-propelled flight, but in some ways that was only the beginning of the story. Unlike their more vocal and somewhat grandstanding competitors, the Wrights worked in isolation. Flying was one thing; proving to a skeptical world that they’d really done so was quite another. Friends and associates were both admiring and jealous; newspapermen weren’t ready to believe; even whole nations, such as France, the birthplace of early balloon flight, remained caustically cynical. In the few years that followed, the Wrights eventually triumphed, as both Wilbur and Orville (the mustachioed one) built new machines and demonstrated them to an astounded even delirious public both abroad and in the U.S. Tobin’s thoroughly focused text often reads like the treatment for what would certainly be a fascinating film, featuring colorful characters, contentious relationships, and dramatic events of discovery and disappointment. Tobin also provides readers with a warm and highly interesting profile of the staunchly Protestant Wright family, including schoolteacher sister Kate, who played a key role for her brothers as devoted helpmeet, as grounded in sensible everyday advice as her brothers were aloft in the sky. This is a magnificent book about magnificent men. Martin Brady is a freelance writer and theater critic in Nashville.

With the recent loss of the space shuttle Columbia, the world was once again reminded of the hazards and risks no matter how advanced the technology that are always present when man endeavors to fly. Coincidentally, 2003 marks the 100th anniversary of Wilbur and Orville…
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You’d think that life-long friendships would bond a group of coal miners rescued after more than a week of being buried alive, but it didn’t work out that way for the 18 Nova Scotians whose story Melissa Fay Greene recounts in her new book Last Man Out: The Story of the Springhill Mine Disaster. Surviving nature’s violence and overcoming bruised egos were only two of the challenges the men faced as a result of the disaster, which Greene recounts through exhaustive and meticulous research. Remarkably, she is able to reconstruct their 1958 ordeal of being entombed in the world’s deepest coal mine, located in Springhill, Nova Scotia, as well as the aftermath of the tragedy, and she caps the story with a wonderfully moving account of the town’s remembrances more than four decades later.

After the underground geological convulsion that claimed 75 lives, Greene finds “deep in the pit, the survivors loved their mothers and wives more tenderly than ever and promised God they’d show the women how much they loved them, if only they could be released from this hole and permitted to walk, once more, up a little blacktop street toward home.” Then, using their own words, she records the trapped miners’ swings from determination and anger to disgust and fear, and, in some cases, hallucination. However, disaster does not always equal hopelessness, and we also meet the heroes, the miners who buoyed the spirits of their colleagues while the odor of rotting corpses wafted around them. After the rescue, the media, as is their wont, singled out one miner for more attention than the others, sowing resentment and dividing forever the men who once were united in tragedy. We see how they coped or didn’t cope with post-trauma stress and how the passing of years has twisted their memories and their families’ recollections of the most important event of their lives. This is a superb study of the human condition in extremis. Now we can almost laugh at the conniptions of hapless Georgia officials who seeking to promote segregated Jekyll Island as a resort area invited the miners to vacation there, only to discover that the last man rescued was black.

Greene’s previous books, Praying for Sheetrock and The Temple Bombing, were National Book Award finalists. Last Man Out will challenge those readers who tend to prolong the pleasure of a compelling book by rationing the last chapters; they set the book aside after savoring one page and return to it later. This book is sure to break them of that habit. Alan Prince of Deerfield Beach, Florida, is an ex-newsman and college lecturer.

You'd think that life-long friendships would bond a group of coal miners rescued after more than a week of being buried alive, but it didn't work out that way for the 18 Nova Scotians whose story Melissa Fay Greene recounts in her new book Last…
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Has it really been half a century since James D. Watson and Francis Crick announced to the world their discovery of the structure of DNA? Their breakthrough in the spring of 1953 was unquestionably one of the great milestones in the history of science. Crick famously (and forgivably) bragged in a local pub that he and Watson had discovered the “secret of life,” but even he would never have dared to predict how far this discovery would lead scientists in only 50 years. Naturally, the event is being commemorated in a variety of ways during 2003.

Watson’s new book, DNA: The Secret of Life, written in the first person although co-authored with Andrew Berry, is part of a group of interrelated celebrations of this golden anniversary. There will be a separate five-part PBS series starring Watson, as well as a multimedia companion program. The book provides details on these projects and also includes a strong Further Reading list. Watson’s new book is more than just another account of the great discovery. It is a history of the development of genetics and (inevitably) genetic engineering, told by one of the founders of the discipline. It covers the whole topic the Human Genome Project, genetic fingerprinting, genetically modified foods, even evolutionary microbiology’s search for human ancestors.

The book begins with a brief but impressively lucid history of ideas about heredity, from Lamarck’s notion of the inheritance of acquired characteristics to Mendel’s brilliant tinkering with peas in an Augustinian monastery. Like the rest of this spirited book, the section on early history is brought to life with telling anecdotes. We observe how Mendel’s weight gain curtailed his fieldwork. We learn about the “Hapsburg lip,” the distinctive physical trait that resulted from unwise inbreeding among European monarchs. The book is wonderfully unpredictable, and the whole discipline of genetics is presented in human terms, not in biochemical formulae.

Watson has never been accused of undue modesty, and in this book he doesn’t pretend to offer an objective account. He dismisses Jeremy Rifkin, one of the primary opponents of genetically modified foods, as a “professional alarmist.” He complains about the “knee-jerk, politically craven attitudes and even scientific incompetence” of government regulatory agencies that are opposed to genetically modified foods. Thrilled with the field, its history and its implications, Watson sums up his Dr. Frankenstein hubris by describing his response to the initial discovery of DNA’s structure: “We were no longer condemned to watch nature from the sidelines but could actually tinker with the DNA of living organisms, and we could actually read life’s basic script.” In case this topic seems daunting to you, note that DNA is designed for the nonspecialist. No technical terms are used without being fully explained, and their first mention is boldfaced in the index in case you want to refresh your memory later. You probably won’t even need to. The writing here does the work for you, as it ought to do in popular nonfiction. And this book will be popular. The authors sum up the importance of their volume and their topic in a single sentence: “DNA is no longer a matter of interest only to white-coated scientists in obscure university laboratories; it affects us all.” Michael Sims’ new book Adam’s Navel: A Natural and Cultural History of the Human Form will be published by Viking in August.

Has it really been half a century since James D. Watson and Francis Crick announced to the world their discovery of the structure of DNA? Their breakthrough in the spring of 1953 was unquestionably one of the great milestones in the history of science. Crick…
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<B>A gifted scholar’s farewell</B> When Stephen Jay Gould was five years old, his father took him to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. Frightened and fascinated by the sight of a 20-foot dinosaur’s skeleton, the boy announced that he was going to be a paleontologist when he grew up. Before succumbing to cancer last year at 60, Gould had become perhaps the world’s most famous evolutionary biologist since Charles Darwin. Now comes, posthumously, his final legacy, <B>The Hedgehog, the Fox, and the Magister’s Pox: Mending the Gap Between Science and the Humanities</B>.

The curious title can be traced to Archilochus, an ancient Greek soldier-poet, who wrote: “The fox devises many strategies; the hedgehog knows one great and effective strategy,” leading Gould to metaphorically derive pluralism (the fox) and single-mindedness (the hedgehog) as contrasting approaches to healing the age-old conflict between science and the humanities. He prescribes a conjunction of the two “so that we can all work together for the best of humanity.” Over the course of his wide-ranging but pertinent observations, he calls Galileo a frightfully undiplomatic hothead, bemoans college students’ abysmal ignorance of Shakespeare and the Bible, and says that Mickey Mantle was the best drag bunter in baseball. This heavyweight work sure to delight and challenge the intellectual community comes from a writer who refused to dumb down his material. Even the slightest inaccuracy resulting from oversimplification “destroys integrity and places an author upon a slippery slope of no return,” Gould once wrote. Two of his other books, <I>The Panda’s Thumb</I>, a National Book Award winner, and <I>The Mismeasure of Man</I>, which earned the National Book Critics Circle Award, helped him to attain ranking with Carl Sagan and Isaac Asimov as America’s most widely acclaimed popularizers of science. His last work is a scholarly farewell from one of the most gifted thinkers of this or any other generation.

<B>A gifted scholar's farewell</B> When Stephen Jay Gould was five years old, his father took him to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. Frightened and fascinated by the sight of a 20-foot dinosaur's skeleton, the boy announced that he was going…
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The impetus to travel usually springs from a pleasurable sense of physical restlessness. But it was a feeling of spiritual unease that provided the catalyst for journalist Fenton Johnson’s recent odyssey. His fascinating personal chronicle Keeping Faith: A Skeptic’s Journey is a provocative account of travels both literal and metaphorical undertaken in an effort to redefine his spiritual faith. When Johnson, a disenfranchised Roman Catholic, is invited to an international gathering of Christian and Buddhist monks at the Trappist abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky, he attends, planning to use the experience as material for an article. But he’s surprised during the opening prayers by a sudden paralyzing anger that prevents him from making the reverential sign of the cross: “I have known this script since before memory . . . a simple gesture I once inhabited as easily as lifting my hand to wave goodbye . . . and I could not do it,” he marvels. So begins Johnson’s “cross-country journey through the briars and thistles of faith,” during which he ruthlessly dissects the disillusionment and skepticism that had grown from his Roman Catholic roots. He voluntarily enters periods of residential life at both western Buddhist and Christian monasteries, notably California’s Tassajara Zen Mountain Monastery and Kentucky’s Gethsemani Abbey. These residential immersions, which afford unique opportunities to interview monastic community members and teachers, complement the author’s rigorous ecumenical research. The result is a unique spiritual and philosophical investigation: a tightly woven helix of self-examination, historical discussion and inquiry into the sublime and perilous landscapes of religious belief and faith. Rich in honest self-revelation and the glories of an open-hearted search for sacred connection, Keeping Faith offers valid inspiration for spiritual seeking. Alison Hood writes from San Rafael, California.

The impetus to travel usually springs from a pleasurable sense of physical restlessness. But it was a feeling of spiritual unease that provided the catalyst for journalist Fenton Johnson's recent odyssey. His fascinating personal chronicle Keeping Faith: A Skeptic's Journey is a provocative account of…
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<B>Sandra Day O’Connor lightens up a little</B>

John Riggins, the pro football player, once embarrassed himself and Justice Sandra Day O’Connor with a comment he made while in his cups sitting next to her at a Washington fund-raiser. "Lighten up, Sandy Baby," he was alleged to have said. The frosty reply of the first woman in history to sit on the U.S. Supreme Court is not recorded. <B>The Majesty of the Law: Reflections of a Supreme Court Justice</B>, Sandra Day O’Connor’s new book, reflects her serious side, but it’s written in a light, informative and elegantly simple style. Not only informative to laymen and lawyers alike it’s elevating, and the author’s dedication and love of the law shines through on every page. O’Connor has divided the book into six parts, with sections focusing on history, women in law, and law in the 21st century, among other topics. Particularly interesting is her selection of seven past members of the court who she feels made notable contributions to the court and the judicial system. Although Oliver Wendell Holmes is on the list, there are others who might surprise the reader. One in this category is Chief Justice Warren Burger, who has never enjoyed particularly good standing among the academics who write about the court. Justice Lewis Powell is profiled for his personal traits. "For those who seek a model of human kindness, decency, exemplary behavior, and integrity, there will never be a better man," O’Connor writes. Thurgood Marshall is the raconteur, Holmes the giant in the area of individual rights, William Howard Taft (the only former president to sit on the court) the great and politic chief justice often overshadowed by John Marshall, and Charles Evans Hughes the chief justice who helped defeat the Roosevelt court-packing plan. <B>The Majesty of the Law</B> contains a number of interesting details. We learn, for instance, that the bas-relief of Chief Justice Marshall in a dining room of the Supreme Court was actually sculpted by Justice Burger. We also find out that the justices shake hands before sitting to hear cases each day.

In one sense, reading this book is a bittersweet experience. O’Connor articulately and eloquently describes the workings of the system of justice we enjoy. She explores judicial principles and administrative aspects of the Supreme Court, and gives her views on leading judicial figures. She discusses the lack of civility in the current legal profession. What she does not do and what no sitting Supreme Court justice in our times has ever done is "talk out of school" and tell us some of the things we’re dying to know. What was it like behind the scenes when the Bush v. Gore decision was made? Does she have any regrets regarding that decision? Is the current ideological split on the court uncomfortable? Does she want to be chief justice and, if not, who does she think would be best for the job? We may never get her answers to those questions, at least as long as she sits on the court. This is O’Connor’s second venture into writing a book. Her memoir <I>Lazy B</I>, an account of her childhood on a large Arizona ranch, revealed a compact but engaging writing style that she employs to advantage in this book as well. Simple, straightforward and never turgid, <B>The Majesty of the Law</B> makes interesting reading for anyone with a desire to know our court system better. <I>R. Dobie Langenkamp is an attorney and professor of law at the University of Tulsa College of Law.</I>

<B>Sandra Day O'Connor lightens up a little</B>

John Riggins, the pro football player, once embarrassed himself and Justice Sandra Day O'Connor with a comment he made while in his cups sitting next to her at a Washington fund-raiser. "Lighten up, Sandy Baby," he…

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