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In mid-19th-century America, newspapers were the primary sources of information and opinion. Most newspaper publishers and editors were closely aligned with politicians and, with few exceptions, opinions were emphasized more than news and loyalty to political parties more than the public interest. It was a time of significant change for the newspaper industry with technological innovations such as steam-driven printing presses and, most importantly, the telegraph, making delivery of the news much faster.
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The baffling 1922 murder of director William Desmond Taylor gets true-crime treatment in Tinseltown, a compelling interweaving of star power, the machinations of power brokers and the desperation of the wannabes and the washed up. Together they provide the book’s apt subtitle: “Murder, Morphine, and Madness at the Dawn of Hollywood."

Celebrity biographer William J. Mann, whose subjects have included Barbra Streisand and Katharine Hepburn, delivers a stirring narrative set against the Roaring ’20s. Movies may have been silent, but they loudly generated big stars and big business. Did they also undermine moral decency? Religious leaders thought so. They further frowned at headlines about stars in trouble with drink and drugs. Taylor’s murder was one more scandal.

As president of the Motion Picture Directors Association, the handsome, urbane Taylor had been a soothing industry mouthpiece. Privately, he was a man of secrets. They began unraveling with the discovery of his body.

A former disgruntled valet was among the suspects. Others included: comedienne Mabel Normand, a close friend of Taylor’s and the last person to see him alive; the delicate actress Mary Miles Minter; and Mary’s protective mother, Charlotte Shelby. For many years Shelby was considered the prime suspect. Then came a strange 1964 deathbed confession from the actress Margaret Gibson (also known as Patricia Palmer, among other names). Mann digs deep into Gibson’s ties to Taylor and her dealings with a group of Hollywood lowlifes.  

He also reveals the lengths to which industry titan Paramount founder Adolph Zukor went to calm the public—and hide the truth. This happened in tandem with the rise of movie czar Will H. Hays, who became president of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, a post that found him working with community leaders and filmmakers to establish a decency code. Hays was going to clean up Hollywood.

As for that murder, Mann gives credit where credit is due—citing the work of other authors and scholars—before naming the killer. We won’t reveal the spoiler here. But, in the tradition of great mysteries, this tale is worthy of its own Hollywood movie.

The baffling 1922 murder of director William Desmond Taylor gets true-crime treatment in Tinseltown, a compelling interweaving of star power, the machinations of power brokers and the desperation of the wannabes and the washed up. Together they provide the book’s apt subtitle: “Murder, Morphine, and Madness at the Dawn of Hollywood."
Cleopatra, Nefertiti: These are the names that come to mind when thinking of the legendary female rulers of ancient Egypt. In her highly engrossing The Woman Who Would Be King, Egyptian scholar Kara Cooney shines a spotlight on Hatshepsut, Egypt’s largely overlooked, longest-ruling female pharaoh, who led her country through a period marked by peace, prosperity and architectural achievement.

Self-control. Whether it’s getting to the gym, sticking to that diet, quitting smoking or keeping our tempers under wraps at work, most of us wish we had more of it.  And certainly as parents we want our children to have the ability to practice self-control, set goals and be resilient in the face of failure.

Renowned psychologist Walter Mischel began studying this issue back in the 1960s in a series of experiments now famously known as “the marshmallow test.” Left alone in a room with three marshmallows, a child who rang a bell and asked the researcher to return would get to eat one marshmallow. But if the child waited on a chair until the researcher returned without being summoned, the reward was two marshmallows.

Mischel and his students later videotaped the children, and later still, tracked some of the original preschoolers, now in their 40s, in a follow-up study. The results, like Mischel’s new book, The Marshmallow Test: Mastering Self-Control, are fascinating and revealing. Those preschoolers who were able to delay gratification had attained higher educational levels, were less likely to be addicted and had lower body-mass indices as adults.

Now, before you begin panicking that your child who can’t wait a moment for a cookie is doomed to lifelong failure, take heart. How our brains work, as Mischel clearly demonstrates, is not so simple.

What makes The Marshmallow Test so remarkable is not simply this great psychologist’s ability to mine years of complex research to provide simple strategies anyone can use (such as setting up and practicing IF/THEN scenarios: IF the alarm goes off at 7 a.m., THEN I will exercise). More, it is Mischel’s compassion and commitment to making life better for individuals and society which shine through. Reading The Marshmallow Test is a little like sitting in a lecture hall listening to a brilliant researcher, and leaving inspired to lead a better life. Or at least to get to the gym the next morning.

Self-control. Whether it’s getting to the gym, sticking to that diet, quitting smoking or keeping our tempers under wraps at work, most of us wish we had more of it. And certainly as parents we want our children to have the ability to practice self-control, set goals and be resilient in the face of failure.
If you've ever seen a story about food stamps or poverty and wondered how people end up there, you need to read Hand to Mouth: Living in Bootstrap America. Author Linda Tirado wrote a post about why the poor make such “terrible decisions,” it went viral, and she offers an expanded take on the subject here.
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In 2010, the world watched the dramatic rescue of 33 Chilean miners who had endured 69 days buried a half-mile underground. The men, who agreed in advance that they would only tell their story collectively, talked to Héctor Tobar, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist who had exclusive access to the miners. They were generous and unsparing as they shared their experiences with him, resulting in a narrative that’s both harrowing and deeply moving.

Tobar makes it clear that each man's experience is unique. Even from the beginning, as he traces their journeys that fateful morning from their scattered homes to the San José mine in the Atacama desert region of Chile, we encounter the men as individuals. How they manage to work together to endure—even before they are found—is fascinating and inspiring.

Deep Down Dark describes the cave-in, the day-to-day struggle to survive below, the search above and the triumphant discovery that the men had lived, as well as the complicated and risky rescue operation. I know I'm in the hands of a skillful writer when I know the end of the story, but I still cannot stop reading because I'm riveted by the suspenseful account. Because the miners were willing to reveal their personal, emotional and spiritual struggles, as well as family issues, Tobar is able to illuminate how their experiences made leaders and spokesmen of some, followers and rebels of others, and left a permanent impression on their lives.

In 2010, the world watched the dramatic rescue of 33 Chilean miners who had endured 69 days buried a half-mile underground. The men, who agreed in advance that they would only tell their story collectively, talked to Héctor Tobar, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist who had exclusive access to the miners. They were generous and unsparing as they shared their experiences with him, resulting in a narrative that’s both harrowing and deeply moving.
When we think about technology and innovation, the names that come to mind immediately are Bill Gates and Steve Jobs—maybe Steve Wozniak or Paul Allen for the more hard-core geeks among us.
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In one of the world’s most famous television commercials, hundreds of teenagers of diverse backgrounds dance and sway on a sunny hillside as they belt out a ballad about teaching the world to sing in peace and harmony. Each young person is holding a bottle of Coke, the “real thing,” promising in his or her earnest way that if only everyone in the world would drink Coke, violence would cease and peace would prevail. Ever since 1886, when John Pemberton stumbled upon the secret formula for the soft drink that would become known as Coca-Cola, the company that eventually grew out of his success has obscured the shady medicinal origins of the drink and zealously designed ads that focus not on its ingredients but on what the customer thinks it represents. Coke has spent billions of dollars to present an image of wholesomeness and harmony cherished by millions of people around the world.

Yet, as award-winning magazine writer Michael Blanding points out in his provocative and far-reaching investigative book, The Coke Machine, all is not well in the House of Coke. The pristine images of peace and harmony promoted by the company have been shattered by accusations that the company has depleted water supplies in India, made schoolchildren fat in the U.S., supported murder as it sought to destroy unions in Guatemala and deceived consumers around the world by marketing tap water as purified water under its Dasani brand. For example, in the Kerala region in India, Coke not only used up fresh water supplies in its production process, it also produced solid waste that it distributed to local farmers as fertilizer. When the fields treated by this fertilizer began to lie fallow, and when farm animals that drank water polluted by this waste began to die, Indian scientists discovered that Coke’s solid waste contained four times the tolerable limit of cadmium, which can cause prostate and kidney cancer.

In shocking detail, Blanding uncovers Coke’s numerous transgressions against humanity and nature. Although many groups have protested Coke’s presence in their countries and various legal actions have been brought against Coke, the company has managed to slither out of the grip of any legal injunctions. It’s very unlikely that Coke will ever change its practices until its bottom line is threatened by binding legal consequences and there is a sustained public campaign that threatens its brand images. Blanding’s thoroughly detailed, stimulating and challenging study will have many readers saying, “Give me a Pepsi.”
 

In one of the world’s most famous television commercials, hundreds of teenagers of diverse backgrounds dance and sway on a sunny hillside as they belt out a ballad about teaching the world to sing in peace and harmony. Each young person is holding a bottle of Coke, the “real thing,” promising in his or her […]
On April 4, 1967, Martin Luther King Jr., stepped into the pulpit of Riverside Church in New York City and delivered a thunderous sermon opposing the war in Vietnam. In that now-famous moment, King denounced the strident militarism of the American government—describing it as "the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today"— and outlined what he saw as the connections between the war effort, racism and poverty.
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As host of “The Thistle & Shamrock” on National Public Radio (NPR), Fiona Ritchie has bewitched many a listener with carefully curated playlists of traditional Celtic tunes, stories of her native Scotland, and, of course, that accent—mellifluous with a bit of a burr. No one is better qualified to take stock of Scots-Irish music than the NPR host, and in Wayfaring Strangers: The Musical Voyage from Scotland and Ulster to Appalachia, she does just that. Ritchie co-authored the book with Doug Orr, a longtime advocate of folk music who is president emeritus of Warren Wilson College in Swannanoa, North Carolina. Although their backgrounds are different—Orr is a North Carolina native—the two music lovers achieve perfect harmony on the page, offering in-depth perspectives on a migratory and enduring art form.

Bascom Lamar Lunsford, known as the Minstrel of the Appalachians, performing at “Singing on the Mountain” at Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina, ca. 1940. 

Beginning with medieval-era ballads, Wayfaring Strangers traces the history of Celtic music from its European roots to its arrival in America via Scots-Irish immigrants during the 18th and 29th centuries. Many of the new arrivals from the Old Country settled in the southern Appalachians, where their lonesome ballads and sprightly fiddle tunes became part of a rich mix of regional sounds. Meeting and melding with English, German, and African-American styles, their music became part of a blend that would provide the underpinning for bluegrass and modern folk. 

Naturally enough, Wayfaring Strangers lingers in the misty glens of Ireland and Scotland. Paying tribute to Celtic culture, the book provides plenty of background on the instruments, themes and song styles prevalent in those countries. Special sidebars spotlight the fiddle, the harp, and the bagpipes, as well as ballad types and traditions. The authors move smoothly through 400 years of history and arrive in contemporary times to consider the Scots-Irish-influenced music of Doc Watson, the Carter Family, Bob Dylan and Bill Monroe. Interviews with musicologists further clarify the musical ties between Scotland and Ireland, which are symbolized, respectively, by the thistle and the shamrock.

Acclaimed singer-songwriter Doc Watson playing guitar in 1987.

“’Connection:’ how often we use this word,” Ritchie writes. “It holds the promise of tangled textures below the surface, of stories to be told, of discoveries to be made.” As it happens, she shares a special connection with her co-author. During her inaugural trip to the United States in 1980, Ritchie studied for a semester at UNC-Charlotte, where Orr, coincidentally, was a vice chancellor. Impressed with the city and its dynamic music scene, she settled there the following year. She found an early supporter in Orr, who was instrumental in establishing Charlotte’s NPR affiliate, WFAE-FM. Ritchie started out at the station as a volunteer and made her debut, at Orr’s urging, as a radio host in 1981 with “The Thistle & Shamrock.” Two years later, the show was launched nationally by Public Radio International. It’s now one of NPR’s most popular offerings.

No doubt it’ll be Ritchie’s voice fans hear in their heads as they read Wayfaring Strangers. Filled with maps, woodcuts, paintings, and photographs of impossibly picturesque Scottish and Irish locales, the book is a treasure trove of imagery and information. A companion CD with 20 tunes by folk favorites like Dougie McClean, Pete Seeger, Jean Ritchie and Dolly Parton, who contributed the book’s foreword, is bound to inspire a bit of impromptu string-band jamming. Music lovers, prepare to be transported.

 

Photographs by Hugh Morton; © North Carolina Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

As host of “The Thistle & Shamrock” on National Public Radio (NPR), Fiona Ritchie has bewitched many a listener with carefully curated playlists of traditional Celtic tunes, stories of her native Scotland, and, of course, that accent—mellifluous with a bit of a burr. No one is better qualified to take stock of Scots-Irish music than the NPR host, and in Wayfaring Strangers: The Musical Voyage from Scotland and Ulster to Appalachia, she does just that.

At the age of 85, Edward O. Wilson, one of our foremost evolutionary biologists (and a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner), has written a provocative book that is so fascinating it nearly lives up to the stunning ambition of its title.

In 1985, Alice Hobson, 77, lived independently, still mowing her own yard, fixing her own plumbing and driving her big Chevrolet Impala, often delivering meals-on-wheels to others. Seven years later, at age 84, Hobson still lived on her own, doing her shopping, going to the gym and taking care of her house. Later that year, though, she fell several times and began to experience mental lapses. Her children then faced an increasingly common dilemma: to move Hobson to a facility that could take care of her physical needs but rob her of her autonomy, or allow her to live on her own, or with them, where she would retain autonomy but face physical challenges.

Hobson’s story is one of many that New Yorker writer and surgeon Atul Gawande relates in Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End, a compelling account of modern medicine’s failures to deal humanely and wisely with aging and dying. As he points out, “the waning days of our lives are given over to treatments that addle our brains and sap our bodies for a sliver’s chance of benefit. They are spent in institutions—nursing home and intensive care units—where regimented, anonymous routines cut us off from all the things that matter to us in life.”

Gawande interviews geriatricians, hospice workers and innovators in the assisted living movement and discovers that while a growing number of individuals and institutions provide places where the aging can live out a life filled with meaning, change comes slowly. In the end, he says, we must “recognize that the aging have priorities beyond merely living longer and that giving them the chance to shape their story is essential to sustaining meaning in life.”

Nothing short of a manifesto, Gawande’s book should be on the shelf of every health care professional as well as required reading for anyone—which is to say, most of us—facing the prospect of providing for an aging family member.

 

This article was originally published in the October 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In 1985, Alice Hobson, 77, lived independently, still mowing her own yard, fixing her own plumbing and driving her big Chevrolet Impala, often delivering meals-on-wheels to others. Seven years later, at age 84, Hobson still lived on her own, doing her shopping, going to the gym and taking care of her house. Later that year, though, she fell several times and began to experience mental lapses. Her children then faced an increasingly common dilemma: to move Hobson to a facility that could take care of her physical needs but rob her of her autonomy, or allow her to live on her own, or with them, where she would retain autonomy but face physical challenges.
Most non-poetry-reading Americans first encountered Richard Blanco in 2013, when he was the presidential inauguration poet. On that occasion, his moving poem “One Today” made passing reference to his Spanish-speaking mother who rang up groceries for 20 years and his father who cut sugarcane so Richard could move ahead in the family’s new country.

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