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When I was a newspaper editor, I found it fascinating that stories about animals would often elicit greater emotional responses from readers than articles about humans. People are passionate about animals, whether considered pets, pests or protected by PETA. Hal Herzog adeptly explores this phenomenon in his new book, Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat, which asks: How can humans have such a range of feelings about animals, to the point where they want to domesticate some, destroy others and deep fry the rest?

Herzog is the perfect man for the job. A professor of psychology at Western Carolina University and a leading expert on human-animal relations, he has spent years studying the complex and sometimes conflicted relationships between man and animals, including research on animal rights activists, cattle ranchers, circus trainers, laboratory technicians and cockfighters. He writes about his own complicated relationship with animals: “I eat meat—but not as much as I used to, and not veal. I oppose testing the toxicity of oven cleaner and eye shadow on animals, but I would sacrifice a lot of mice to find a cure for cancer. And while I find some of the logic of animal liberation philosophers convincing, I also believe . . . humans [are] on a different moral plane than other animals.” Having identified his own psychological and moral dilemmas, Herzog spends the rest of his book examining how the rest of humankind relates to animals.

While Herzog is a university researcher, the book is thankfully not written like a scholarly article. He uses simple language and an engaging, conversational writing style, and the book is filled with wonderful anecdotes, from people who have had fatal encounters with crocodiles and sharks to those whose lives have been saved by their pet dogs. Herzog also offers answers to such pressing questions as “Do children who abuse animals become violent adults?” and “Why is dog meat a delicacy to some and disgusting to others?”

Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat is both educational and enjoyable, a page-turner that I dare say puts Herzog in the same class as Malcolm Gladwell and Michael Lewis. Read this book. You’ll learn some, you’ll laugh some, you’ll love some.

When I was a newspaper editor, I found it fascinating that stories about animals would often elicit greater emotional responses from readers than articles about humans. People are passionate about animals, whether considered pets, pests or protected by PETA. Hal Herzog adeptly explores this phenomenon in his new book, Some We Love, Some We Hate, […]
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<B>Talkin’ bout his Baby Boom generation</B> Because they grew up in an age in which media particularly network television connected them with a common diet of images and attitudes, members of the Baby Boom are more aware of themselves as a distinct group than any preceding generation. They are more self-absorbed, too, Steve Gillon contends in <B>Boomer Nation: The Largest and Richest Generation Ever, and How It Changed America</B> (Free Press, $27.50, 384 pages, ISBN 0743229479). A former Yale and Oxford professor and currently a professor of history at the University of Oklahoma, the author includes within this much-anatomized populace those who were born between 1946 and 1964 a horde that now accounts for 39 percent of Americans over the age of 18 and 29 percent of the total population.

Gillon, who also hosts the weekly public affairs show <I>History Center</I> on A&andE’s History Channel, weaves his study around representative Boomers. They are Bobby Muller, a severely wounded vet who helped found the Vietnam Veterans of America advocacy group; Fran Visco, a Philadelphia lawyer who turned her own battle with breast cancer into a national crusade; Elizabeth Platter-Zyberk, an architect with strong ideas of how communities should be designed for social good; Marshall Herskovitz, co-creator of the Boomer-based TV series, "thirtysomething"; Alberta Haile Wilson, a black activist turned religious fundamentalist turned teacher; and Donny Deutsch, whose advertising agency excelled at speaking the language of his generation. Raised amid rising national prosperity and the mood of self-confidence it nurtured, Boomers display certain common values, according to Gillon, among which are a sense of entitlement, willingness to experiment, distrust of authority, self-reliance, internal motivation, idealism and a preference for doing things their own way. When these values were brought to bear in the 1960s and ’70s, they helped achieve civil rights for minorities and women, create greater social and economic justice and end the Vietnam War. But, the author argues, these impulses were not always progressive. They also gave rise, in many instances, to religious fundamentalism and fiscal conservatism, both logical extensions of the group’s deeply entrenched go-your-own-way ethic. "The Boomer ascendancy," Gillon writes, "contributed to the shattering of the New Deal coalition, the end of the solid Democratic South, and the rise of ticket-splitting independents." As Gillon traces the six Boomers through their life trajectories, he examines how family, school, jobs and media converged to shape their outlook and how this outlook, in turn, has forced them to assess their own degree of worth and success. Predictably, some major contradictions emerge. "Baby Boomers want less government," he says, "but they also want Washington to find jobs for everyone who wants to work. They want government to do more for the poor, but not expand welfare. They want it all: new social programs, lower taxes, and a balanced budget. The gap between what they expect of government and what they are willing to pay for it mirrors what they expect of themselves compared to what they achieve." On June 13, A&andE will broadcast its documentary version of <B>Boomer Nation</B>, a program that also features Gillon’s six representative Boomers. The film will begin with the pivotal question, "Where were you on November 22, 1963," a reference, of course, to the day President Kennedy was assassinated. While many Boomers are close to retirement, they are still vital enough, rich enough and determined enough, Gillon shows, to affect the nation’s social policies for years to come. <I>Edward Morris reviews from Nashville.</I>

<B>Talkin’ bout his Baby Boom generation</B> Because they grew up in an age in which media particularly network television connected them with a common diet of images and attitudes, members of the Baby Boom are more aware of themselves as a distinct group than any preceding generation. They are more self-absorbed, too, Steve Gillon contends […]
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“American Woman Weds Man She Shot” is an irresistible newspaper headline from 1932 about Alice de Janzé, the Chicago heiress who married second husband Raymund de Trafford after previously shooting him in a crime of passion. A member of the decadent Happy Valley crowd in Kenya, de Janzé lived a life of privilege and bad behavior. But was she capable of murder?

Paul Spicer’s The Temptress seeks to answer this question by reopening the case of Joss Hay, Lord Erroll, whose 1941 murder in Kenya has never been solved. Readers may remember Erroll as Lady Idina Sackville’s third husband from Frances Osborne’s The Bolter, the dramatic story of Sackville’s louche life in Happy Valley. While unhappy husbands, spurned mistresses and even Britain’s secret MI6 service are all potential candidates for Erroll’s murder, Spicer builds a case against the mentally unstable de Janzé, one of Erroll’s former lovers.

Spicer is uniquely situated to tell this story, as his mother had been a friend of de Janzé’s in Kenya in the 1920s. The book, however, works better as true-crime than it does as biography. Spicer’s case against de Janzé, while compelling, is hardly airtight: The narrative doesn’t tell us much about the actual relationship between de Janzé and Erroll, and Spicer relies too often on speculation. The second half of The Temptress is much more exciting than the first, as Spicer dives into the court records surrounding Erroll’s murder.

Nonetheless, it’s hard to get Alice de Janzé wrong: Any woman who travels to Paris from Kenya accompanied by a lion and a baboon offers a delectable subject for biography. Readers of The Bolter will happily snap this book up for more of the same scandalous behavior.

“American Woman Weds Man She Shot” is an irresistible newspaper headline from 1932 about Alice de Janzé, the Chicago heiress who married second husband Raymund de Trafford after previously shooting him in a crime of passion. A member of the decadent Happy Valley crowd in Kenya, de Janzé lived a life of privilege and bad […]
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It can’t be easy to be the daughter of a legend, with all the pressure and scrutiny that entails. On the other hand, you can gain a certain kind of instant cred if you enter the music business and your dad is Johnny Cash. All things considered, Rosanne Cash seems to have managed a balancing act that allowed for a legitimate singing career and also an interesting, sophisticated and full personal life.

In Composed, Cash recounts her life, which (at 55) is hardly near its end, though in pop music today she is considered something of an elder stateswoman—a respected artist who in her day carved out a comfortable niche in country crossover and continued to keep the Cash name front and center even as her dad was in decline.

As Cash makes clear, she was really a child of the Beatles, and growing up mainly in California, she was shaped by her parents’ divorce. Later, she claimed her birthright as the writing/performing daughter of the iconic Cash, though one gets the feeling here that Rosanne was more seduced by the biz and available opportunity than driven by the inspiration of a committed artist. She wrote and sang hits, recorded good albums, got married and divorced, had children, and in later years assumed a matriarchal presence as kith and kin died off, especially her father and his wife, June Carter Cash.

Cash includes the text of her eulogies for both here, and she proves to be a sensitive and more than competent prose stylist in the general coverage of her privileged life. She also indulges a strange predilection for describing her clothing, invoking such names as Prada and Yohji Yamamoto. That kind of attention to superficial detail seems out of place for a woman who appears so intent on being taken seriously, but perhaps fashionistas will relate.

Cash doesn’t hang her hat in laid-back Nashville. Both Los Angeles and New York City have been her most comfortable stomping grounds for years, and her current life in Gotham is more textured and intellectual than Music City could probably offer her. She has had some recent physical travails (including brain surgery in 2007) but is ever rebounding, and Composed serves as testament to a thoughtful lady who traveled country roads to arrive at big-city peace of mind.

 

It can’t be easy to be the daughter of a legend, with all the pressure and scrutiny that entails. On the other hand, you can gain a certain kind of instant cred if you enter the music business and your dad is Johnny Cash. All things considered, Rosanne Cash seems to have managed a balancing […]
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In the United States, we say that someone is “as rich as Rockefeller.” Cubans, even today, say someone is “as rich as Julio Lobo.” It’s their folk memory of a sugar-industry magnate who died in sad exile in Madrid in 1983, but endures as a symbol of his country’s pre-Castro highs and lows.

Lobo, who was worth $200 million in 1960 currency before he lost almost everything to the Revolution’s confiscation, dominated the sugar market. Che Guevara asked Lobo, known for his honesty in a corrupt culture, to stay in Cuba to run the sugar industry as a top bureaucrat; Lobo, a loner and a natural risk-taker, fled the country the next day with a single suitcase rather than comply.

British journalist John Paul Rathbone is ideally suited to write The Sugar King of Havana, a colorful, even-handed account of Lobo and his Cuba. Rathbone’s mother is a Cuban exile who grew up in Lobo’s upper-class Havana circle and was a friend of his younger daughter. His book is really a dual biography, of Lobo and of his own interesting, lively Cuban family.

Rathbone is able to see with both sympathy and detachment the two sides in the never-ending conflict between those Cubans who believe Castro’s dictatorship destroyed a paradise and those who believe the Revolution brought education, health care and independence to a country strangled by American economic imperialism. He argues that both views are distortions of real-life complexities.

On one point, Rathbone is unflinching: Today’s Havana is dismal and repressed compared to the vibrant, sophisticated city that was Lobo’s home, and that still lives in the pages of The Sugar King of Havana.
 

In the United States, we say that someone is “as rich as Rockefeller.” Cubans, even today, say someone is “as rich as Julio Lobo.” It’s their folk memory of a sugar-industry magnate who died in sad exile in Madrid in 1983, but endures as a symbol of his country’s pre-Castro highs and lows. Lobo, who […]
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Murder-mystery fans would kill for entry to the Vidocq Society, the Philadelphia-based crime-probing organization Michael Capuzzo describes in The Murder Room. Imagine the thrill of being in the same room with some of the world’s most resourceful detectives, coroners, profilers, polygraph experts and forensic artists when they’re presented details of a particularly perplexing homicide and challenged to put their formidable minds to solving it.

The society, which takes its name from pioneering French detective Eugene Francois Vidocq, was established in 1990 by former Philadelphia cop and FBI agent William Fleisher, self-taught forensic artist Frank Bender and psychologist/profiler Richard Walter. Strictly an advisory group to law enforcement agencies, the society had consulted on more than 300 cases by 2009, Capuzzo reports, and solved 90 percent of them.

Rather than present a dry chronological narrative, Capuzzo tells his story on three interlocking and time-shifting levels—the murders at issue, the society as both a professional and a social organization and its three colorful founders. Fleisher emerges as the genial but relentless father figure who holds the society together; Bender is the intuitive (he might say psychic), bohemian artist; Walter is the chain-smoking cynic who anatomizes the criminal mind but never romanticizes it.

The murders cited are truly horrifying. Among the grisliest is the “boy in the box” murder from 1957 that united and still haunts the three principals. Capuzzo recounts several such crimes and their resolutions with panache, always seeming to be at the investigators’ elbows as they slog through to victory. But what he fails to clarify is which details he’s actually witnessed, which he’s been told about and which he merely surmises.

As the book went to press, Bender was suffering from a terminal case of pleural mesothelioma, which, the acerbic Walter observed, might just be another of his flamboyant friend’s bids for attention. If there’s not a movie in the works about this charmed circle of cold-casers, someone is missing the boat.

 

Murder-mystery fans would kill for entry to the Vidocq Society, the Philadelphia-based crime-probing organization Michael Capuzzo describes in The Murder Room. Imagine the thrill of being in the same room with some of the world’s most resourceful detectives, coroners, profilers, polygraph experts and forensic artists when they’re presented details of a particularly perplexing homicide and […]

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