Tracing his personal history through the 1950s, Marquez applies the same skill and lyricism he demonstrates in his fiction to the genre of autobiography. The first in a series of three volumes chronicling his remarkable career, Living to Tell the Tale is a fluid, fascinating account of the Nobel Laureate’s upbringing in Colombia and his development as a writer. Unconfined by the bounds of a strict chronology, Marquez offers a meandering account of his childhood and adolescence in a vivid narrative that’s filled with anecdotes about his unconventional family, as well as insights into his personal relationships, his work as a journalist and novelist, and the love he feels for his homeland. The book is also a record of a country in a constant state of upheaval, as Marquez provides a survey of contemporary Colombian politics. A reading group guide is available in print and online at www.readinggroupcenter.com.

When Aaron Lansky began studying Yiddish as a college freshman in the early ’70s, it was hard to find books. Though once spoken by three-quarters of the world’s Jewish population, few Jews of his generation, or even of his parents’, knew how to speak, much less read, the language. When a professor sent him to scour New York’s Lower East Side for Yiddish texts, Lansky’s fate was sealed. At age 23 he set to the task of rescuing Yiddish books from oblivion.

At the time, scholars estimated there were some 70,000 Yiddish volumes gathering dust in private libraries and moldering in people’s attics and basements. Tracking them down would be quite an undertaking, Lansky imagined. He had no idea. A quarter of a century later Lansky and his National Yiddish Book Center have saved 1.5 million Yiddish books, books that have been put back into the hands of readers and preserved in some of the major libraries of the world. Outwitting History: The Amazing Adventures of a Man Who Rescued a Million Yiddish Books is his infectious account of this Sisyphean undertaking.

Armed with dilapidated rental trucks and a few obliging cohorts, Lansky started collecting books from elderly Yiddish-speakers who were moving from their homes or from heirs who had inherited whole libraries they could not read. The old Jews he meets in his travels are from a forgotten time, and they regale him with stories of labor unions, leftist politics and the once-vibrant Yiddish culture. Every book pick-up becomes a lesson in personal history, usually accompanied by an artery-clogging meal. Many of Lansky’s adventures among the aging Jewish immigrants are hilarious; a few bring a tear to the eye. All underscore the rich legacy of Yiddish, a legacy that has been preserved and is growing in popularity among a new generation of Jews in no small part thanks to the indefatigable Lansky. More than once in this inspiring chronicle, someone often an assimilated Jew asks Lansky what point he sees in saving books that so few can read. After reading Outwitting History there can be little doubt that this is more than just a mitzvah or good deed. Lansky and the National Yiddish Book Center have done more than outwitted history, they have reversed it.

For a six-year-old boy in 1950, says Sam Posey, the world was divided into two main categories: fort guys and train guys. Posey grew up as a train guy, a disciple of Lionel. And though he soon grew beyond boyhood, he found that being a train guy never left him.

Playing with Trains: A Passion Beyond Scale is part biography, part historical exploration and part homage to train guys. Written by Grand Prix driver and sports journalist Posey, the book is a ride through the life of a man, a trip taken by miniature train. Posey begins with memories of childhood hours idled away with his Lionel electric train set. Forgotten during adolescence as such things often are the memories return when Posey gives a train to his own son. Like a locomotive gathering speed, the gift grows from a simple layout to a 16-year juggernaut of modeling, building, painting and purchasing. By the end, Posey has created a 12- by 60-foot layout in his basement, with mountains soaring to the ceiling and trains disappearing around twists and curves of miniature track. The train guy in his past is alive and well.

What fueled this passionate journey? And what fuels the journey of thousands of others drawn to the magic of miniature locomotives? Posey himself is curious to know, so he takes fascinating excursions throughout the book, exploring the history of railroads, big and little, and meeting a cast of characters that only real life can produce. As the book chronicles this shared obsession, it becomes more than a profile of a hobby; it becomes an examination of a changing America and the loss of part of its past.

Posey has a knack for allowing the human side of his story to shine through. His writing contains poignancy and beauty that raises a simple pastime to an evocative expression of the human spirit. Whether you’ve ever found fascination in trains, or the inner sparks that make us human, Playing with Trains is a journey worth taking. Howard Shirley admits to being a fort guy though he also likes trains.

Following the ouster of Saddam Hussein, British diplomat Rory Stewart was asked to serve as the deputy governor of two southern Iraqi provinces. Stewart was already familiar with the Muslim way of life, having spent nearly two years walking across the Middle East, from Turkey to Nepal, including a hazardous solo trek across a desolate Afghanistan, recorded in his previous book The Places in Between. By comparison, his yearlong assignment in Iraq seemed simple: help the local people transition from dictatorship to democracy.

The Prince of the Marshes is Stewart’s account of that year, trying to mold a place of modern order out of a culture caught in medieval chaos. The book is not a record of accomplishments, nor a criticism of excesses. It is simply one man’s story of a struggle to have a lasting effect in a land where a single day of violence could turn months of success into ashes. In the midst of this, Stewart was forced to find allies among political parties led by militant clerics, agents of the Iranian secret police and a local warlord (the man for whom the book is named). Unfortunately, any of these allies might treat him as a best friend in the morning, and lob mortar rounds on his roof that night. Whether Stewart’s actions as governor were always the wisest might be subject to debate. But then, Stewart’s book shows clearly how any choice he made became a matter of damned if you do, damned if you don’t. His riveting account of a desperate three-day stand against a militia attack on his office in Nasiriyah is a harrowing reminder of just how fragile and dangerous each decision could be.

Stewart shares his experiences without gloss or self-praise. His writing is careful and spartan, and all the better for it. Rather than glorify, politicize or rant, Stewart simply describes what he experienced and the local leaders he encountered the good, the bad, and the in-between. Regardless of how you feel about the war and the efforts to recast a fractured nation, The Prince of the Marshes offers insight into a turbulent land whose troubles have yet to end. Howard Shirley is a writer in Franklin, Tennessee.

Gantos is an award-winning children’s author, but his compelling autobiography will appeal to readers of all ages. In the early 1970s, the future didn’t look very bright for the 20-year-old Gantos, who was arrested for his involvement in a drug smuggling scheme and sent to a medium security federal prison. Frightened and lonely, Gantos spent a grim 15 months behind bars, his only salvation a copy of The Brothers Karamazov, which he used as a journal, filling in the spaces between lines with his own writing. Ironically, it was during his time in prison that Gantos developed the discipline required to become a writer. Hole in My Life is a gripping account of his incarceration, written with unsparing honesty. It’s also a hopeful narrative of one man’s ability to overcome early obstacles and achieve success despite the odds.

Cute British girl snags nice British boy. Girl’s not sure she wants boy; she yearns to be a Big City Journalist. Girl leaves London for New York and eventually loses boy, but covers news stories about baby muggings, amorphous blobs in ponds, the odd decapitation and the scary singles scene. To get the full scoop and a voyeuristically entertaining look at life inside an outrageous American tabloid pick up Bridget Harrison’s Tabloid Love: Looking for Mr. Right in All the Wrong Places.

This memoir is a reality chick-lit lark following 29-year-old Harrison (and her ticking biological clock) from the London Times to a four-month exchange assignment (eventually stretching to five years) as a reporter for the New York Post. Our neophyte, but intrepid, newswoman roams the back alleys, boroughs and bars of Gotham in search of stories and her elusive Prince Charming. Wrong turns, insecurity attacks and dating mishaps ensue as she learns the ropes: just because a New York guy has expressed interest in you on one occasion, don’t assume he will the next. When the Sunday Post editor hears of her latest lackluster social encounter, he proposes she pen a weekly column about single life in the Big Apple.

This dream assignment becomes a nightmare as Harrison romances one of her editors and writes about it. Though names are changed to protect the innocent, her co-workers aren’t fooled, the affair goes blooey and our heroine is in the dumps. Readers won’t be, however, because Harrison’s zippy storytelling style is endearing, gossipy and wicked, with just the right dashes of ironic self-deprecation and poignant longing. This book is pure if sometimes improbable fun as she romps through London, Manhattan, the Hamptons and back. On the plane en route to a friend’s nuptials, Harrison is temporarily blue, but soon bucks up: I was going to be the single girl in a sexy red dress . . . fresh from New York at my best friend’s wedding. What could be more exciting than that? The sequel, perhaps! Alison Hood is a writer in San Rafael, California.

Terry Gross’ collection is a conversation piece de resistance After more than 30 years in radio, Terry Gross has come to terms with the surprised look of listeners who meet her face to face. While her voice may loom large, the whisper-thin, 5’1" Brooklyn native is in her own words literally smaller than life. The host of NPR’s Fresh Air, a weekday newsmagazine of contemporary arts and issues beamed to more than 4 million listeners on 400-plus stations nationwide, Gross allows new acquaintances a moment to process the fact that she is, indeed, the woman behind the microphone. They just have this look of total confusion, like, This can’t be possible. Some terrible mistake has been made!’ But there’s no mistaking Gross’ credentials. In 1994, Fresh Air received the prestigious Peabody Award for its probing questions, revelatory interviews and unusual insights. Gross began her radio career in 1973, after an unsuccessful stint teaching eighth grade. She first hosted a feminist radio program at Buffalo’s WBFO-FM ( before anyone even knew what public radio was ), then two years later joined Fresh Air, a local show at Philadelphia’s WHYY-FM that became nationally syndicated in 1987. Although Fresh Air frequently focuses on current affairs, in her first collection of interviews, All I Did Was Ask, Gross shines the light on artists writers, actors, musicians, comics and visual artists. Timely interviews can become dated very quickly, she writes in the book’s introduction. The pleasure we gain from the finest books and movies stays with us. So does our interest in the people who create them. Culling the thousands of interviews (including those before 1997, which hadn’t been transcribed), she realized that what makes for good radio doesn’t always make a good read. I wanted to be respectful of the writing medium, says Gross, who whittled away at her list until some three dozen selections remained. Among those who made the cut: Nicolas Cage (who describes eating a cockroach, in excruciating detail), legendary acting teacher Uta Hagen (who scolded Gross for daring to discuss the craft ), bass player Charlie Haden (who resumed his singing career at Gross’ encouragement), and KISS rock star Gene Simmons, whose reprehensible on-air conduct earned him Entertainment Weekly’s Crackpot of the Year award. Absent, of course, is escape artist Bill O’Reilly, who stormed out on Gross in October 2003 when asked if he used his Fox News program to settle scores with detractors. (O’Reilly provided an answer on his own show later that night, featuring Gross’ interview on his regular segment, The Most Ridiculous Item of the Day. ) In the course of her career, Gross has logged more than 10,000 interviews with authors, artists, journalists and politicians. Since the show is produced in Philadelphia, nearly 95 percent of her guests are hundreds or thousands of miles away, at a local NPR affiliate station. That’s fine with her. All you are on radio is a mind and a disembodied voice, says Gross. I’ve always felt physically unassuming, so radio works really well for me. I like being invisible. Gross works at a frenetic pace, prepping for and conducting seven interviews per week. It’s an exciting life, says the self-deprecating host, whose crammed schedule leaves little time for extracurriculars or even chats with close friends. Phone calls from confidantes must be cut short Monday through Thursday night, when she pores over the reams of materials gathered by her hard-working research staff. Sometimes I feel like the worst friend in the world, says Gross, who is married to The Atlantic music critic Francis Davis.

In every interview, Gross displays the ability to elicit from guests the weaknesses or shortcomings that so often shape their lives. But she also takes pains to respect their privacy. When I interview a painter or a writer, I don’t feel like they owe me anything, she says. Clearly, I want an interesting interview, I want my listeners to walk away feeling that they’ve learned something about this person’s writing, their life, their inspiration, she says. But if something’s too personal, that’s their prerogative. I might be frustrated, I might be disappointed, but that’s really my problem. When Gross interviews politicians, however, any question is fair game. Let’s say a politician is anti-abortion, but I’ve learned that they had a girlfriend, and they funded her abortion, she says. While that may be very personal to them, Gross feels it’s worthy of being made public. They’re trying to force us to behave in one way, yet they’re behaving differently, she says. Gross encourages artists and performers to take advantage of the fact that her interviews are recorded and edited for broadcast. It’s very reassuring to know the shows are taped, and we can go back and edit. I take advantage of that, and I encourage my guests to take advantage of it. Politicians, alas, aren’t allowed a Take 2. Politicians are so in control when they do interviews, she says. I don’t want to give them any more tools to be more in control. Hosting a show about contemporary culture can be all-consuming, says Gross, whose journalistic radar remains attuned even on her days off. Whether she’s listening to a legendary jazz musician or watching an actor’s onscreen debut, the same burning question runs laps around her brain: Do I want to talk to this person? Should the artist make Gross’ revered roster, legions of Fresh Air listeners will be hanging on every word. Allison Block tunes into Fresh Air on KPBS-FM in San Diego.