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All that Remains: A Renowned Forensic Scientist on Death, Mortality, and Solving Crimes
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
1
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
1
Review Date: 12/19/2019
Sue Black is a Scottish forensic anthropologist well-recognized for her work in the field, the dissecting room, and the classroom. She has done groundbreaking work in research on "reading" veins for identification purposes, written a textbook to provide investigators with information about the human body's growth at all stages of life, pushed for the adoption of official Disaster Victim Identification programs, and guided the implementation of the Thiel method of embalming (with its many benefits over earlier methods about which the reader will learn). She should also be lauded for her writing, as _All that Remains_ is a sort-of memoir-plus-intriguing examination of mortality and the, surprisingly, many offshoots of it.
Black begins with her family history, growing up in a butcher's shop and then dissecting cadaver "Henry" in the University of Aberdeen dissecting room. She also tells of her devotion to her Uncle Willie and the emotional impact of his demise and the deaths of her parents.
The book frequently segues from the story of Black's life into scientific, procedural, and criminal discussions related to death. For instance, the reader learns of the seven stages of "postmortem alteration" - an explanation of a human body's decay over time. Black writes of post-death options: burial, cremation, and donating one's body to science for education (her urging for others and her desire for her own corpse). The reader learns how investigators determine the age and gender of bodies from their skeletal remains. The author sprinkles the text with interesting facts, such as the following: tattoo dye eventually leaches into lymph nodes, so coloration in armpits can also be an identifying factor when human bones are found.
Black also tells the stories of famous cases with which she has been involved, some successful and some still unsolved. One involved digging up layers of coffins in the hunt for a missing person. No spoiler alert here! She describes the humanitarian efforts she has assisted with as a forensic anthropologist in the Kosovo genocide and after the recent Thailand tsunami. She even devotes a long passage to dismemberment: motivations for dismembering a body, how it's done, and the special challenges it poses for forensic anthropologists and investigators.
Near the end, Black explains how she is able to do a job that others view as deeply disturbing and also be a loving wife and mother; she describes these realms of her existence as "rooms" to which only she has the keys.
_All that Remains_ largely, and somewhat oddly, avoids contemplation of an afterlife. Black calmly and straightforwardly views death as female and as the end of a human's existence. A reader may wonder about the brevity of Black's conclusions and the reason for it.
(Quick note for American readers: The reader may have to look up various English and Scottish slang and phrases sprinkled throughout the book. The differences between American and British policies are a compelling aspect of _All that Remains_, too.)
A really interesting read about a really interesting woman in a field that few people talk about!
Black begins with her family history, growing up in a butcher's shop and then dissecting cadaver "Henry" in the University of Aberdeen dissecting room. She also tells of her devotion to her Uncle Willie and the emotional impact of his demise and the deaths of her parents.
The book frequently segues from the story of Black's life into scientific, procedural, and criminal discussions related to death. For instance, the reader learns of the seven stages of "postmortem alteration" - an explanation of a human body's decay over time. Black writes of post-death options: burial, cremation, and donating one's body to science for education (her urging for others and her desire for her own corpse). The reader learns how investigators determine the age and gender of bodies from their skeletal remains. The author sprinkles the text with interesting facts, such as the following: tattoo dye eventually leaches into lymph nodes, so coloration in armpits can also be an identifying factor when human bones are found.
Black also tells the stories of famous cases with which she has been involved, some successful and some still unsolved. One involved digging up layers of coffins in the hunt for a missing person. No spoiler alert here! She describes the humanitarian efforts she has assisted with as a forensic anthropologist in the Kosovo genocide and after the recent Thailand tsunami. She even devotes a long passage to dismemberment: motivations for dismembering a body, how it's done, and the special challenges it poses for forensic anthropologists and investigators.
Near the end, Black explains how she is able to do a job that others view as deeply disturbing and also be a loving wife and mother; she describes these realms of her existence as "rooms" to which only she has the keys.
_All that Remains_ largely, and somewhat oddly, avoids contemplation of an afterlife. Black calmly and straightforwardly views death as female and as the end of a human's existence. A reader may wonder about the brevity of Black's conclusions and the reason for it.
(Quick note for American readers: The reader may have to look up various English and Scottish slang and phrases sprinkled throughout the book. The differences between American and British policies are a compelling aspect of _All that Remains_, too.)
A really interesting read about a really interesting woman in a field that few people talk about!
Review Date: 6/9/2020
Reading Bryson's book, especially its latter chapter "When Things Go Wrong: Diseases" during the COVID-19 outbreak, was a window into the wonders of the human body and the limits of what we know and understand about it. The author quotes Michael Kinch of Washington University: "we are really no better prepared for a bad outbreak today than we were when Spanish flu killed tens of millions of people a hundred years ago. The reason we haven't had another experience like that isn't because we have been especially vigilant. It's because we have been lucky." I wonder how the chapter on disease would have changed had the book been published just a little later.
Bryson's book is a good starting point for exploration of the body's many intricacies beyond its diseases and limitations. But because it is a broad, and therefore limited, overview of the human body and its many systems, there were topics I expected that were merely touched on or completely overlooked, such as AIDS, menstruation, and conjoined twins, among many others. The book also constantly references evolution over millions of years as "fact" behind a variety of the body's systems.
However, The Body is Bryson's trademark mix of informational, wryly humorous, and quite readable. Presented primarily with each chapter focusing on one aspect of the body or a related topic, like "the heart and blood" or "food, glorious food," the book is full of interesting, often surprising facts and statistics. For example, the average human heart beats about 100,000 times daily. The body is constructed of seven billion billion billion atoms. The average human takes about 550 million breaths. A mother's body can detect missing antibodies in her baby and then produce them in her breast milk. The book is also populated with a horde of medical professionals (and not-so-professionals) who advanced science, often in shocking ways and/or while risking their own health and very lives. Werner Forssmann, for instance, inserted a catheter into an artery in his own arm until it reached his heart. Dr. John H. Gibbon swallowed a stomach tube and had ice water poured through it while a thermometer was inserted in his rectum; he was testing the ability of deep blood vessels to dilate and constrict. And William Harvey dissected his father and sister in attempts to learn about the body. These are just three of a multitude of tiny bios that fill Bryson's book.
Especially in the final chapters, Bryson presents, in straightforward fashion, many ethical and social concerns related to medicine to think about, such as the role of money in research decisions of pharmaceutical companies, the differences in standards of care in other countries, the limits of preventative testing, and the multitude of what we don't know.
Overall, the book made me think about the wonder of God's creation: the human body.
Bryson's book is a good starting point for exploration of the body's many intricacies beyond its diseases and limitations. But because it is a broad, and therefore limited, overview of the human body and its many systems, there were topics I expected that were merely touched on or completely overlooked, such as AIDS, menstruation, and conjoined twins, among many others. The book also constantly references evolution over millions of years as "fact" behind a variety of the body's systems.
However, The Body is Bryson's trademark mix of informational, wryly humorous, and quite readable. Presented primarily with each chapter focusing on one aspect of the body or a related topic, like "the heart and blood" or "food, glorious food," the book is full of interesting, often surprising facts and statistics. For example, the average human heart beats about 100,000 times daily. The body is constructed of seven billion billion billion atoms. The average human takes about 550 million breaths. A mother's body can detect missing antibodies in her baby and then produce them in her breast milk. The book is also populated with a horde of medical professionals (and not-so-professionals) who advanced science, often in shocking ways and/or while risking their own health and very lives. Werner Forssmann, for instance, inserted a catheter into an artery in his own arm until it reached his heart. Dr. John H. Gibbon swallowed a stomach tube and had ice water poured through it while a thermometer was inserted in his rectum; he was testing the ability of deep blood vessels to dilate and constrict. And William Harvey dissected his father and sister in attempts to learn about the body. These are just three of a multitude of tiny bios that fill Bryson's book.
Especially in the final chapters, Bryson presents, in straightforward fashion, many ethical and social concerns related to medicine to think about, such as the role of money in research decisions of pharmaceutical companies, the differences in standards of care in other countries, the limits of preventative testing, and the multitude of what we don't know.
Overall, the book made me think about the wonder of God's creation: the human body.
Review Date: 11/28/2020
Lately, I seem to be drawn to books with depictions of awkward mother-daughter relationships. Darling Rose Gold by Stephanie Wrobel has such a pair, though awkward is a bit...mild to describe it.
Rose Gold grows up sickly and friendless, in a wheelchair, too thin and with a shaved head and a multitude of illnesses and frailties. Her mother Patty homeschools her and shuttles her from doctor to doctor and hospital to hospital. Rose Gold is sheltered and grateful for her mother's care and protection. Until Rose Gold learns that her mother has been poisoning her--and her supposed illnesses are apparently her mother's design or fabrication. Or so she (and the rest of Deadwick, and the country) believes.
The chapters alternate in voice and time, from Rose Gold during the intervening five years when her mother was incarcerated for child abuse, to Patty when Rose Gold, now grown up and with a son Adam, takes Patty in after she is released from prison. All is apparently forgiven, on both sides (which is of course hard to believe). Or is it?
It's hard to know which woman to cheer for. Just as you feel sympathetic for mother or daughter, she does something that makes you recoil in dismay or horror, and your sympathy shifts. Until you turn the page. This constant shifting, and the complexity of the characters (including Rose Gold's half-siblings, frenemy Alex, and online boyfriend Phil) and the issues they deal with, make this a great book for discussion groups.
No "happy" ending is really possible, and the impending doom of a dark outcome for Patty or Rose Gold, if not both, pervades the book. But the conclusion is surprising and apt and plausible.
The author researched Munchausen by proxy, by which a child's biological parent, exaggerates or deliberately causes symptoms of illness in the child, due to mental illness. She specifically mentions famous Gypsy Rose Blanchard in the bibliography/notes, though a reader need not know any details of that case to be drawn to Wrobel's debut novel.
Rose Gold grows up sickly and friendless, in a wheelchair, too thin and with a shaved head and a multitude of illnesses and frailties. Her mother Patty homeschools her and shuttles her from doctor to doctor and hospital to hospital. Rose Gold is sheltered and grateful for her mother's care and protection. Until Rose Gold learns that her mother has been poisoning her--and her supposed illnesses are apparently her mother's design or fabrication. Or so she (and the rest of Deadwick, and the country) believes.
The chapters alternate in voice and time, from Rose Gold during the intervening five years when her mother was incarcerated for child abuse, to Patty when Rose Gold, now grown up and with a son Adam, takes Patty in after she is released from prison. All is apparently forgiven, on both sides (which is of course hard to believe). Or is it?
It's hard to know which woman to cheer for. Just as you feel sympathetic for mother or daughter, she does something that makes you recoil in dismay or horror, and your sympathy shifts. Until you turn the page. This constant shifting, and the complexity of the characters (including Rose Gold's half-siblings, frenemy Alex, and online boyfriend Phil) and the issues they deal with, make this a great book for discussion groups.
No "happy" ending is really possible, and the impending doom of a dark outcome for Patty or Rose Gold, if not both, pervades the book. But the conclusion is surprising and apt and plausible.
The author researched Munchausen by proxy, by which a child's biological parent, exaggerates or deliberately causes symptoms of illness in the child, due to mental illness. She specifically mentions famous Gypsy Rose Blanchard in the bibliography/notes, though a reader need not know any details of that case to be drawn to Wrobel's debut novel.
Review Date: 1/30/2020
Much of the story of 9/11 focuses on the many heroes and heroines whose bravery shone through a horrific tragedy against so many Americans. DeFede's book sheds light on other heroes: the townspeople of Gander, Newfoundland. Finding their airport the landing strip for an abundance of airplanes turned away from closed American airspace and their tiny town filled with stranded passengers, Gander's residents opened their hearts, wallets, and homes. Their warmth and kindness fill the pages of the book.
While it is very challenging to keep track of the many people--townspeople and travelers alike--it is their needs that are intriguing. Upon landing in Gander, the travelers are not immediately allowed off of their planes, without any idea of how long they will have to stay on the planes. When they are allowed to disembark, they have no idea when or how they will get to their respective homes. DeFede points out the special challenges of smokers, patients requiring prescriptions, animals in the planes' holds, and Jews requiring kosher food.
The book intersperses its chronological narrative with funny anecdotes, like that of a man slipping into his guest room bed, unaware that it's occupied by a stranger; the "Screeching-In" ceremony, which requires initiates to kiss a dead fish; and the tribulations of a Hugo Boss executive forced to wear lesser-quality underwear. There's a hint of romance; two stranded travelers find solace in each other during their brief stay in Gander. And there's tragedy, as a couple eventually learns that their son, a fireman, was killed in New York City on 9/11.
A short, informative read about unsung heroes.
While it is very challenging to keep track of the many people--townspeople and travelers alike--it is their needs that are intriguing. Upon landing in Gander, the travelers are not immediately allowed off of their planes, without any idea of how long they will have to stay on the planes. When they are allowed to disembark, they have no idea when or how they will get to their respective homes. DeFede points out the special challenges of smokers, patients requiring prescriptions, animals in the planes' holds, and Jews requiring kosher food.
The book intersperses its chronological narrative with funny anecdotes, like that of a man slipping into his guest room bed, unaware that it's occupied by a stranger; the "Screeching-In" ceremony, which requires initiates to kiss a dead fish; and the tribulations of a Hugo Boss executive forced to wear lesser-quality underwear. There's a hint of romance; two stranded travelers find solace in each other during their brief stay in Gander. And there's tragedy, as a couple eventually learns that their son, a fireman, was killed in New York City on 9/11.
A short, informative read about unsung heroes.
Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President (Audio CD) (Unabridged)
Author:
Book Type: Audio CD
9
Author:
Book Type: Audio CD
9
Review Date: 1/15/2020
I did not expect a work of nonfiction about a U.S. President who lived more than a century ago to make me cry. But it did.
Millard's book about James A. Garfield's unlikely rise to political power and catastrophic, slow death from a madman's bullet is a window into a different America--one with doctors disdaining instrument sterilization, very few telephones, a rat-infested White House, no Secret Service, and president-vice-president pairs at different ends of the political spectrum. It's also a peek at a man who captured America's heart, and rightly so.
Millard offers biographical background on Garfield before detailing a story of surprise: his completely out-of-the-blue Republican nomination for presidential candidacy. Garfield was at the convention in 1880 to nominate John Sherman. Somehow, Garfield emerged the victor--a burden he accepted with characteristic grace and humility. Millard vividly shows Garfield negotiating (and resisting) a host of other colorful political figures: James Blaine, Chester Arthur, and Roscoe Conkling, among others. However, more background on the infighting within the Republican party would have been helpful before the details of the convention itself.
Destiny of the Republic is also a story of insanity, that of perpetual job-seeker Charles Guiteau. In fact, the book opens with Guiteau surviving a crash between two ships and sensing a "divine mission." As Guiteau is turned away repeatedly from the White House, despite his belief that he will be installed as an ambassador, his frustration cements into a plan to shoot the newly elected President and, he mistakenly believes, thereby win the adoration of the American people. Millard paints him unsympathetically and explores the historical development of the "temporary insanity" defense in England and America to explain the outcome of United States v. Charles J. Guiteau.
Garfield's slow demise after the attempted assassination is also a story of contemporary shock and dismay, for, had the many doctors who treated Garfield cleaned their instruments and resisted sticking their fingers into his wound, he likely would have survived his injuries. All germaphobes will have difficulty reading the latter half of the book that describes their "care" of the President--especially Dr. D. Willard Bliss' short-sighted decisions to disregard the urgings of Dr. Joseph Lister about antisepsis and to limit Alexander Graham Bell's full access to Garfield with his "induction balance" (something I had never heard of).
Most of all, Millard's tale is a story of patriotic love. To allow Garfield to achieve his wish of seeing the sea before his inevitable death, two thousand people worked through the night to lay thousands of feet of railroad track so his ailing body could be carried right to the door of Franklyn Cottage. Two hundred men pushed his railroad coaches over the final hill when the engine wasn't enough. When Garfield passed, the country grieved collectively for him. Millard reports that there may have been a hundred thousand mourners near the Capitol when his body returned to Washington.
It was a different America then. One from which we can learn much.
Millard's book about James A. Garfield's unlikely rise to political power and catastrophic, slow death from a madman's bullet is a window into a different America--one with doctors disdaining instrument sterilization, very few telephones, a rat-infested White House, no Secret Service, and president-vice-president pairs at different ends of the political spectrum. It's also a peek at a man who captured America's heart, and rightly so.
Millard offers biographical background on Garfield before detailing a story of surprise: his completely out-of-the-blue Republican nomination for presidential candidacy. Garfield was at the convention in 1880 to nominate John Sherman. Somehow, Garfield emerged the victor--a burden he accepted with characteristic grace and humility. Millard vividly shows Garfield negotiating (and resisting) a host of other colorful political figures: James Blaine, Chester Arthur, and Roscoe Conkling, among others. However, more background on the infighting within the Republican party would have been helpful before the details of the convention itself.
Destiny of the Republic is also a story of insanity, that of perpetual job-seeker Charles Guiteau. In fact, the book opens with Guiteau surviving a crash between two ships and sensing a "divine mission." As Guiteau is turned away repeatedly from the White House, despite his belief that he will be installed as an ambassador, his frustration cements into a plan to shoot the newly elected President and, he mistakenly believes, thereby win the adoration of the American people. Millard paints him unsympathetically and explores the historical development of the "temporary insanity" defense in England and America to explain the outcome of United States v. Charles J. Guiteau.
Garfield's slow demise after the attempted assassination is also a story of contemporary shock and dismay, for, had the many doctors who treated Garfield cleaned their instruments and resisted sticking their fingers into his wound, he likely would have survived his injuries. All germaphobes will have difficulty reading the latter half of the book that describes their "care" of the President--especially Dr. D. Willard Bliss' short-sighted decisions to disregard the urgings of Dr. Joseph Lister about antisepsis and to limit Alexander Graham Bell's full access to Garfield with his "induction balance" (something I had never heard of).
Most of all, Millard's tale is a story of patriotic love. To allow Garfield to achieve his wish of seeing the sea before his inevitable death, two thousand people worked through the night to lay thousands of feet of railroad track so his ailing body could be carried right to the door of Franklyn Cottage. Two hundred men pushed his railroad coaches over the final hill when the engine wasn't enough. When Garfield passed, the country grieved collectively for him. Millard reports that there may have been a hundred thousand mourners near the Capitol when his body returned to Washington.
It was a different America then. One from which we can learn much.
Review Date: 9/4/2021
Helpful Score: 1
Tracey Enerson Wood's first published novel represents exactly what I like most and least about historical fiction.
It presents a wide-open window into history, uncovering overlooked women (of which there have been many in recent years - I think of Hidden Figures and the abundance of recent books, both fiction and nonfiction, about female scientists and female WWII spies, for example), shedding light on their importance. (The flyleaf proclaims, "She built a monument for all time. Then she was lost in its shadow.") The central woman here is Emily Warren Roebling, wife of the chief engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge and a woman whose name I had never heard of. I wonder if those who often use the Brooklyn Bridge know of her? Wood paints her vividly, as a complex figure: bold and passionate about her only son Johnny, the women's suffrage movement, and the bridge construction process, but tremendously nervous when required to give speeches and thoroughly unskilled as a seamstress. The novel also provides a window into American life in the 1860s and the two subsequent decades, especially that in New York along the river.
A reader learns so much about early bridge-building as well - its incredible challenges and the loss of life it involved (of 600+ workers, at least twenty died and many were injured). For much of the book, the Brooklyn Bridge's caissons are under construction. These bridge supports constructed under the water were very dangerous wood and concrete "boxes" to which workers (all men, except Emily) descended to chip and blast and build. Beyond fear of the caissons' collapse, these selfless employees faced fire and explosions and, due to the air pressure changes, "the bends" and "caisson disease," with its debilitating effects such as nausea, blood seepage from the ears, shaking limbs, and paralysis. Once the caissons were built, acrobats were hired to string the wires back and forth from the towers built on the caissons, also facing danger of falling from incredible heights to their death. Beyond the physical challenges, bridge-builders also faced uncertain financial backing, sabotage (involving shoddy wire, in this instance), and public backlash. How much we take for granted when crossing such bridges!
Against this backdrop of wire and wood, Emily, her husband "Wash," and P.T. Barnum play the three central roles. The whirlwind romance between Emily and Captain Washington Roebling cools when Emily's patriotic dreams are supplanted, of necessity, by a main role in the bridge construction after Wash suffers horrid injury on the job. As Wash deals with his physical wounds, the marital relationship suffers. The larger-than-life figure of Barnum and his "greatest show on earth" enters the picture, and Emily is drawn to him and he to her. Ironically, while the bridge's towers come together, they push the Roeblings apart.
The book's narrative, then, is spurred on by two central questions: will the bridge be finished? And will Emily leave Wash for "PT"?
The problem is that in Wood's book, as in so many other works of historical fiction, the facts get twisted up with the fictional events, and I walk away from the book with an impression of Emily that is likely wrong, probably significantly so. Barnum is central to Wood, but she acknowledges in the Afterword that his role in building the bridge and his relationship with Emily are entirely her imagination. Part of the reason for the tension between Emily and Wash is his sexual dysfunction after his accident, which may or may not have been one of his symptoms. Other key aspects of the narrative, such as the significant character of Benjamin Stone and Emily's fear of water due to the childhood loss of her sister Elizabeth to drowning, are not historically accurate.
My conclusion is that I feel like I know Emily, that I would recognize her if she somehow walked into the room more than a century after her death - but that such a person never existed. Certainly, Emily Roebling did - a strong-willed, fast-learning, confused, dedicated heroine did - just not the one I imagine.
It presents a wide-open window into history, uncovering overlooked women (of which there have been many in recent years - I think of Hidden Figures and the abundance of recent books, both fiction and nonfiction, about female scientists and female WWII spies, for example), shedding light on their importance. (The flyleaf proclaims, "She built a monument for all time. Then she was lost in its shadow.") The central woman here is Emily Warren Roebling, wife of the chief engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge and a woman whose name I had never heard of. I wonder if those who often use the Brooklyn Bridge know of her? Wood paints her vividly, as a complex figure: bold and passionate about her only son Johnny, the women's suffrage movement, and the bridge construction process, but tremendously nervous when required to give speeches and thoroughly unskilled as a seamstress. The novel also provides a window into American life in the 1860s and the two subsequent decades, especially that in New York along the river.
A reader learns so much about early bridge-building as well - its incredible challenges and the loss of life it involved (of 600+ workers, at least twenty died and many were injured). For much of the book, the Brooklyn Bridge's caissons are under construction. These bridge supports constructed under the water were very dangerous wood and concrete "boxes" to which workers (all men, except Emily) descended to chip and blast and build. Beyond fear of the caissons' collapse, these selfless employees faced fire and explosions and, due to the air pressure changes, "the bends" and "caisson disease," with its debilitating effects such as nausea, blood seepage from the ears, shaking limbs, and paralysis. Once the caissons were built, acrobats were hired to string the wires back and forth from the towers built on the caissons, also facing danger of falling from incredible heights to their death. Beyond the physical challenges, bridge-builders also faced uncertain financial backing, sabotage (involving shoddy wire, in this instance), and public backlash. How much we take for granted when crossing such bridges!
Against this backdrop of wire and wood, Emily, her husband "Wash," and P.T. Barnum play the three central roles. The whirlwind romance between Emily and Captain Washington Roebling cools when Emily's patriotic dreams are supplanted, of necessity, by a main role in the bridge construction after Wash suffers horrid injury on the job. As Wash deals with his physical wounds, the marital relationship suffers. The larger-than-life figure of Barnum and his "greatest show on earth" enters the picture, and Emily is drawn to him and he to her. Ironically, while the bridge's towers come together, they push the Roeblings apart.
The book's narrative, then, is spurred on by two central questions: will the bridge be finished? And will Emily leave Wash for "PT"?
The problem is that in Wood's book, as in so many other works of historical fiction, the facts get twisted up with the fictional events, and I walk away from the book with an impression of Emily that is likely wrong, probably significantly so. Barnum is central to Wood, but she acknowledges in the Afterword that his role in building the bridge and his relationship with Emily are entirely her imagination. Part of the reason for the tension between Emily and Wash is his sexual dysfunction after his accident, which may or may not have been one of his symptoms. Other key aspects of the narrative, such as the significant character of Benjamin Stone and Emily's fear of water due to the childhood loss of her sister Elizabeth to drowning, are not historically accurate.
My conclusion is that I feel like I know Emily, that I would recognize her if she somehow walked into the room more than a century after her death - but that such a person never existed. Certainly, Emily Roebling did - a strong-willed, fast-learning, confused, dedicated heroine did - just not the one I imagine.
Review Date: 5/29/2019
_The Farm_ by Joanne Ramos is not a new _Handmaid's Tale_, other than dealing with women and pregnancy. Nor is it the sci-fi thriller I was expecting, based on various reviews. It's not really that dystopian, at least in the eyes of someone who knows nearly nothing about contemporary surrogacy and the current legalities behind the business of "making babies."
After extensive screening, beautiful, young, economically needy Hosts are selected to carry the babies of extremely wealthy and successful Clients (who either can't or don't want to give birth themselves due to crazy schedules or the risk of marring their figures). After ejection from her current job as nanny, protagonist Jane is urged by her elderly cousin Ate to apply to be a Host at the titular farm, Golden Oaks.
The farm is a very high-end resort, in some ways. Hosts earn bonuses for successfully carrying their babies through each trimester while dining on organic food, getting massages, and having their cargo's health constantly monitored via WellBands. Golden Oaks, however, is also a prison: Jane is punished for lying by not being allowed to see her beloved daughter Amalia, Host Lisa has to ditch her WellBand and sneak onto a forest trail away from cameras to quickly have sex with her visiting boyfriend, Coca-Cola and Snickers bars are forbidden, and Golden Oaks' head Mae watches via the "Panopticon." Anything that might put a fetus at risk is strictly forbidden. At Golden Oaks, for nine months, you are a carefully protected womb. You can't leave, unless you have permission from Golden Oaks and your Client, which is rare.
Hence one of the novel's primary themes: the ethics of motherhood-for-hire. Does Golden Oaks exploit its Hosts or help them with its offer of nine months of sequestered security? Do Hosts contractually know what they're getting themselves into, or does Golden Oaks take too many liberties with their emotional health and physical freedom? Should Golden Oaks deliberately lie to a Host about her Client, for the perceived well-being of a Host? Is a baby a commodity? Should it be, ever?
The book is also necessarily about motherhood, specifically the obligations of a mother for her biological child. Jane, in need of money, becomes a Host but must leave her own daughter behind to do so. Much of the novel centers around Jane's love for Amalia and her growing concern that Amalia is being neglected. If she can't trust Golden Oaks, and she can't trust her cousin Ate, whom can she trust? What can she do? What should she do?
The novel includes vivid characters beyond Jane: Ramos gives rich backstories to fellow Hosts Lisa and Reagan, as well as Mae and Ate, that enrich the narrative.
Ramos crafts a pleasant, albeit far-fetched ending for Jane. In some ways, it also sets the author up for a sequel, as Golden Oaks spawns a second facility and Mae's brainchild (both puns intentional) for a "more financially accessible premium" level of surrogacy.
While there's no creepy governmental overseer or hatching alien babies within its pages, _The Farm_ is still a thought-provoking read.
After extensive screening, beautiful, young, economically needy Hosts are selected to carry the babies of extremely wealthy and successful Clients (who either can't or don't want to give birth themselves due to crazy schedules or the risk of marring their figures). After ejection from her current job as nanny, protagonist Jane is urged by her elderly cousin Ate to apply to be a Host at the titular farm, Golden Oaks.
The farm is a very high-end resort, in some ways. Hosts earn bonuses for successfully carrying their babies through each trimester while dining on organic food, getting massages, and having their cargo's health constantly monitored via WellBands. Golden Oaks, however, is also a prison: Jane is punished for lying by not being allowed to see her beloved daughter Amalia, Host Lisa has to ditch her WellBand and sneak onto a forest trail away from cameras to quickly have sex with her visiting boyfriend, Coca-Cola and Snickers bars are forbidden, and Golden Oaks' head Mae watches via the "Panopticon." Anything that might put a fetus at risk is strictly forbidden. At Golden Oaks, for nine months, you are a carefully protected womb. You can't leave, unless you have permission from Golden Oaks and your Client, which is rare.
Hence one of the novel's primary themes: the ethics of motherhood-for-hire. Does Golden Oaks exploit its Hosts or help them with its offer of nine months of sequestered security? Do Hosts contractually know what they're getting themselves into, or does Golden Oaks take too many liberties with their emotional health and physical freedom? Should Golden Oaks deliberately lie to a Host about her Client, for the perceived well-being of a Host? Is a baby a commodity? Should it be, ever?
The book is also necessarily about motherhood, specifically the obligations of a mother for her biological child. Jane, in need of money, becomes a Host but must leave her own daughter behind to do so. Much of the novel centers around Jane's love for Amalia and her growing concern that Amalia is being neglected. If she can't trust Golden Oaks, and she can't trust her cousin Ate, whom can she trust? What can she do? What should she do?
The novel includes vivid characters beyond Jane: Ramos gives rich backstories to fellow Hosts Lisa and Reagan, as well as Mae and Ate, that enrich the narrative.
Ramos crafts a pleasant, albeit far-fetched ending for Jane. In some ways, it also sets the author up for a sequel, as Golden Oaks spawns a second facility and Mae's brainchild (both puns intentional) for a "more financially accessible premium" level of surrogacy.
While there's no creepy governmental overseer or hatching alien babies within its pages, _The Farm_ is still a thought-provoking read.
Review Date: 11/28/2020
I'm not typically drawn to ghost stories or stories about the supernatural; if there's a mystery supposedly caused by some kind of creepy, otherworldly element, I want a human, tangible explanation for it.
Home Before Dark by Riley Sager meets that requirement...mostly.
Home renovator and interior decorator Maggie Holt has returned to Baneberry Hall, a huge, overgrown mansion that was her childhood home, though only for a few weeks before her parents fled in terror. Her father found fame in subsequently writing the tale of that short tenure in House of Horrors, chapters from which are interspersed with Maggie's account in the present day. The reader flips back and forth between Mr. Ewan Holt's account, as it unspools day by day, and Maggie's in the wake of her father's death decades later. (And both parts are compelling, which often isn't the case in books with two narratives threaded together). Despite his warning to never return to Baneberry Hall, Maggie's father also never sold the sprawling house, and he never told Maggie the truth of what happened before the family abandoned it when she was young. He has always claimed that his account is true (which is full of ghosts, mysteriously ringing bells, ancient record players and chandeliers that turn on in the night, armoire doors flying open, etc.) Maggie doesn't believe it, but she can't remember much, either.
Many characters populate the pages, and sometimes they are challenging to keep track of, as the house has spawned generational tragedies involving fathers and daughters.
The book contains many scary scenes (it would make a great movie, with so many scares just outside of the screen's frame jumping out), but its most memorable involves a horde of writhing snakes, vividly described.
I did NOT figure out the ending - and Sager presents one plausible ending, which is supplanted by two subsequent endings that upend the previous conclusions. Are ghosts the culprits? Or someone or something else? I can't say more!
The book contains a lot of the "f word," though far less than the average thriller you might flip through today.
Home Before Dark by Riley Sager meets that requirement...mostly.
Home renovator and interior decorator Maggie Holt has returned to Baneberry Hall, a huge, overgrown mansion that was her childhood home, though only for a few weeks before her parents fled in terror. Her father found fame in subsequently writing the tale of that short tenure in House of Horrors, chapters from which are interspersed with Maggie's account in the present day. The reader flips back and forth between Mr. Ewan Holt's account, as it unspools day by day, and Maggie's in the wake of her father's death decades later. (And both parts are compelling, which often isn't the case in books with two narratives threaded together). Despite his warning to never return to Baneberry Hall, Maggie's father also never sold the sprawling house, and he never told Maggie the truth of what happened before the family abandoned it when she was young. He has always claimed that his account is true (which is full of ghosts, mysteriously ringing bells, ancient record players and chandeliers that turn on in the night, armoire doors flying open, etc.) Maggie doesn't believe it, but she can't remember much, either.
Many characters populate the pages, and sometimes they are challenging to keep track of, as the house has spawned generational tragedies involving fathers and daughters.
The book contains many scary scenes (it would make a great movie, with so many scares just outside of the screen's frame jumping out), but its most memorable involves a horde of writhing snakes, vividly described.
I did NOT figure out the ending - and Sager presents one plausible ending, which is supplanted by two subsequent endings that upend the previous conclusions. Are ghosts the culprits? Or someone or something else? I can't say more!
The book contains a lot of the "f word," though far less than the average thriller you might flip through today.
Review Date: 4/28/2020
While I love fiction, I also read anything and everything, which is why I picked up this nonfiction book with its intriguing cover of a bike with square wheels. Human fallibility intersecting with mathematics, engineering, and technology are on full display in this tome with page numbers going backward and math mistakes inserted deliberately.
Parker describes math problems - or, rather, problems that have occurred due to mess-ups humans made with numbers - across a gamut of society and history, with engineering tests, financial problems, measuring units that don't match, predictions, rounding numbers, and random number generating, among many others. He does this best with the many true narratives throughout. Some of the most powerful include airplanes that almost went down (or did), shaky bridges (or collapsed ones), the Challenger disaster, and deaths from radiation machines. The stories are supplemented with many images of mathematical mistakes: UK soccer stadium signs with improbable shapes, incorrectly mounted latches on doors, gridlocked cogs on inspirational educational posters, the Hubble mirror incorrectly shaped, etc.
A lot of the book explains limits of and problems with computer programming numbers. While the results of the problems are clear (like malfunctions), the jargon and mathematical language for those sections and others about probability (such as terms like "standard deviation" and computer coding languages) are too obscure for the average reader - though I imagine that professional mathematicians and computer programmers will understand. As I read, if I "got stuck" in those sections, I forged ahead to get to Parker's next true narrative, which is usually sprinkled with wry humor. (It should be noted that Parker is also a stand-up comedian).
I closed the book having been confused, tantalized, shocked, and forewarned. According to Parker, on Jan. 19, 2038, computers will stop working, due to complications of binary numbers and Unix time. Thankfully, we have eighteen years to solve that problem. We also have his "Swiss cheese model," which he adapts into the "fondue pot of disaster" model, which may mitigate in the meantime. You'll have to read to discover those details!
Parker describes math problems - or, rather, problems that have occurred due to mess-ups humans made with numbers - across a gamut of society and history, with engineering tests, financial problems, measuring units that don't match, predictions, rounding numbers, and random number generating, among many others. He does this best with the many true narratives throughout. Some of the most powerful include airplanes that almost went down (or did), shaky bridges (or collapsed ones), the Challenger disaster, and deaths from radiation machines. The stories are supplemented with many images of mathematical mistakes: UK soccer stadium signs with improbable shapes, incorrectly mounted latches on doors, gridlocked cogs on inspirational educational posters, the Hubble mirror incorrectly shaped, etc.
A lot of the book explains limits of and problems with computer programming numbers. While the results of the problems are clear (like malfunctions), the jargon and mathematical language for those sections and others about probability (such as terms like "standard deviation" and computer coding languages) are too obscure for the average reader - though I imagine that professional mathematicians and computer programmers will understand. As I read, if I "got stuck" in those sections, I forged ahead to get to Parker's next true narrative, which is usually sprinkled with wry humor. (It should be noted that Parker is also a stand-up comedian).
I closed the book having been confused, tantalized, shocked, and forewarned. According to Parker, on Jan. 19, 2038, computers will stop working, due to complications of binary numbers and Unix time. Thankfully, we have eighteen years to solve that problem. We also have his "Swiss cheese model," which he adapts into the "fondue pot of disaster" model, which may mitigate in the meantime. You'll have to read to discover those details!
The Immortal Irishman: The Irish Revolutionary Who Became an American Hero
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
3
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
3
Review Date: 6/9/2020
Reading The Immortal Irishman is like reading a well-written history book: full of interesting facts and names but requiring continual concentration. It's not light reading, and you can't let your mind wander. Luckily, the story of Thomas Francis Meagher is larger-than-life, and an active reader will be rewarded with tales of courage and patriotism.
The book hints of its title character's mysterious death, then flashes back to Meagher's birth and youth in Ireland and his rise, to his wealthy father's dismay, as a fiery public speaker against English oppression. It traces his critiques of England's horrific treatment of the Irish (think of laws forbidding cultural expression, land ownership, etc.), especially during the "Great Hunger" when potato crops failed for years, to his farcical trial and exile to Tasmania. Meagher eventually escapes and travels to the U.S., where he becomes embroiled in the Civil War, then travels west to Montana and attempts to govern in a lawless territory before dying under mysterious circumstances.
Here is the story of a true Renaissance man with a silver tongue, a willingness to brazenly fight for his Irish heritage and country, and persistence in horrid circumstances. It is also the story of a shackled Ireland struggling against her bonds and the story of young America defining itself, with brother fighting brother in its search for unification and the eradication of slavery.
The most vivid portions of the book, and those hardest to read, are those from the battlefield, which Egan paints with sensory descriptions and stylistic sentence fragments.
Early in the book, Egan explains the historical origins of the phrase "beyond the pale." You'll have to read the book to find out what they are!
While Meagher was truly an Irish and American hero, I had never heard of him before reading Egan's book. While Meagher gave a voice to so many of those who yearned for independence, Egan gives Meagher a voice: thoughtful, sympathetic, and rich in spirit.
The book hints of its title character's mysterious death, then flashes back to Meagher's birth and youth in Ireland and his rise, to his wealthy father's dismay, as a fiery public speaker against English oppression. It traces his critiques of England's horrific treatment of the Irish (think of laws forbidding cultural expression, land ownership, etc.), especially during the "Great Hunger" when potato crops failed for years, to his farcical trial and exile to Tasmania. Meagher eventually escapes and travels to the U.S., where he becomes embroiled in the Civil War, then travels west to Montana and attempts to govern in a lawless territory before dying under mysterious circumstances.
Here is the story of a true Renaissance man with a silver tongue, a willingness to brazenly fight for his Irish heritage and country, and persistence in horrid circumstances. It is also the story of a shackled Ireland struggling against her bonds and the story of young America defining itself, with brother fighting brother in its search for unification and the eradication of slavery.
The most vivid portions of the book, and those hardest to read, are those from the battlefield, which Egan paints with sensory descriptions and stylistic sentence fragments.
Early in the book, Egan explains the historical origins of the phrase "beyond the pale." You'll have to read the book to find out what they are!
While Meagher was truly an Irish and American hero, I had never heard of him before reading Egan's book. While Meagher gave a voice to so many of those who yearned for independence, Egan gives Meagher a voice: thoughtful, sympathetic, and rich in spirit.
Review Date: 5/19/2020
Helpful Score: 1
There are many, many nonfiction "rags to riches" tales that inspire, and true stories of abused and/or neglected individuals who find success (think The Glass Castle and Educated and Hillbilly Elegy), but Schroff's memoir is a bit different, a bit more; it's an account of both. Her book is as much her own story as that of a young boy, Maurice Mazyck. Schroff details growing up with a kind father who turned angry, irrational, and physically abusive when drunk, which he was often as a bar owner. She weaves her family's story with that of her unusual and ongoing friendship with Maurice, whom she met on a New York City street corner when he was a panhandling child and she was a successful ad executive. He wanted change for food, she passed him by but reconsidered, she took him to McDonald's, and a friendship that continues until today was born.
The loosely chronological memoir is easy to read, with painful and heartfelt episodes throughout. Schroff reveals Maurice's troubled family life (a drug-addicted mother, absent father, ten or more people squeezed into a room or two, incarcerated uncles) as she describes their weekly gatherings and her many gifts to Maurice (outings at her sister's home, a new bicycle, cookie-baking). Along the way, she tells how their changing relationship, and others' skepticism about it, change her emotions, relationships with others, and ways of thinking.
At the end of the book, Maurice is still relatively young, so a reader will want to Google for updated information about him (which is available at the time of this review-writing).
A heart-warming, motivational, eye-opening read!
The loosely chronological memoir is easy to read, with painful and heartfelt episodes throughout. Schroff reveals Maurice's troubled family life (a drug-addicted mother, absent father, ten or more people squeezed into a room or two, incarcerated uncles) as she describes their weekly gatherings and her many gifts to Maurice (outings at her sister's home, a new bicycle, cookie-baking). Along the way, she tells how their changing relationship, and others' skepticism about it, change her emotions, relationships with others, and ways of thinking.
At the end of the book, Maurice is still relatively young, so a reader will want to Google for updated information about him (which is available at the time of this review-writing).
A heart-warming, motivational, eye-opening read!
Review Date: 7/19/2019
I have no desire to see the film version of Let the Right One In, though that is not a condemnation of the novel, and the story certainly lends itself to such expression. Rather, the imaginative, horrific scenes that Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist paints, though oft touched with poignancy and pain, are graphic enough without cinematic representation.
Oskar, on the brink of adolescence in Blackeberg, Sweden, suffers at the hands of classmate bullies and struggles with strained relationships with his separated parents. The book opens with him obsessed with a nearby murder; a teenage boy's body has been found, drained of blood. Oskar dreams of carrying out such violence on the bullies who plague him.
Lindqvist composes short sections within each chapter, often opening with "he" or "him," leaving the pronoun antecedents unclear (at least initially). Thus he quickly reels in the reader: Is Oskar the murderer? And if he is, is he justified in killing? Are we rooting for a main character with a bloodthirst for revenge?
Meanwhile, a new girl, Eli, moves in next door to Oskar. Eli is a mystery. She ages (in both directions) and loses and gains weight in strange ways. She lives with a middle-aged man, but Oskar doesn't know what their relationship is. But her kindness, her skill with a Rubik's cube, and her interest in Oskar compel him to try to get to know her better, which is no easy task despite his ease at disappearing from his mother and his own house and their use of Morse code to communicate between a shared wall.
The reader will quickly discover who, or what, is the killer in Blackeberg. Certainly it is the hunt for that killer that drives the narrative. But it is also the awkward, tender relationship between Oskar and Eli and the host of well-drawn characters that will keep the reader turning the pages: Gosta, owner of prolific, genetically thwarted cats; Virginia, who becomes a vampire; Jonny, Oskar's sadistic tormentor; Hakan, Eli's...what, exactly?
Lindqvist uses the narrative to ask a host of unnerving questions: Who, or what, is Eli? Vampire? Boy? Girl? Both? And what if you have to kill to survive, if you have to drink blood to live? When is vengeance acceptable?
The novel is not for the faint-hearted. Here is bullying, acid voluntarily poured on a man's face, visions of castration, pedophilia, discovery of a severed head frozen in ice, a bathtub of blood, cats viciously attacking a woman...
Some sense of moral equilibrium, albeit bloody, is reached at the end, though I still had questions about several of the characters. I discovered that Lindqvist has written a short story, "Let the Old Dreams Die," that explores the further "adventures" of Oskar and Eli. I may have to read it. With all of the lights on.
Oskar, on the brink of adolescence in Blackeberg, Sweden, suffers at the hands of classmate bullies and struggles with strained relationships with his separated parents. The book opens with him obsessed with a nearby murder; a teenage boy's body has been found, drained of blood. Oskar dreams of carrying out such violence on the bullies who plague him.
Lindqvist composes short sections within each chapter, often opening with "he" or "him," leaving the pronoun antecedents unclear (at least initially). Thus he quickly reels in the reader: Is Oskar the murderer? And if he is, is he justified in killing? Are we rooting for a main character with a bloodthirst for revenge?
Meanwhile, a new girl, Eli, moves in next door to Oskar. Eli is a mystery. She ages (in both directions) and loses and gains weight in strange ways. She lives with a middle-aged man, but Oskar doesn't know what their relationship is. But her kindness, her skill with a Rubik's cube, and her interest in Oskar compel him to try to get to know her better, which is no easy task despite his ease at disappearing from his mother and his own house and their use of Morse code to communicate between a shared wall.
The reader will quickly discover who, or what, is the killer in Blackeberg. Certainly it is the hunt for that killer that drives the narrative. But it is also the awkward, tender relationship between Oskar and Eli and the host of well-drawn characters that will keep the reader turning the pages: Gosta, owner of prolific, genetically thwarted cats; Virginia, who becomes a vampire; Jonny, Oskar's sadistic tormentor; Hakan, Eli's...what, exactly?
Lindqvist uses the narrative to ask a host of unnerving questions: Who, or what, is Eli? Vampire? Boy? Girl? Both? And what if you have to kill to survive, if you have to drink blood to live? When is vengeance acceptable?
The novel is not for the faint-hearted. Here is bullying, acid voluntarily poured on a man's face, visions of castration, pedophilia, discovery of a severed head frozen in ice, a bathtub of blood, cats viciously attacking a woman...
Some sense of moral equilibrium, albeit bloody, is reached at the end, though I still had questions about several of the characters. I discovered that Lindqvist has written a short story, "Let the Old Dreams Die," that explores the further "adventures" of Oskar and Eli. I may have to read it. With all of the lights on.
Review Date: 2/6/2021
Helpful Score: 1
The Only Woman in the Room
Marie Benedict's historical fiction centers on a compelling main character: Hedwig Kiesler. Never heard of her? Neither had I. Otherwise known as Hedy Lamarr? I had heard that name, although I didn't know anything about the famous actress of the mid-twentieth century until I read Benedict's novel, which gave me insight into one decade of the life of the sultry screen star - and scientist.
The narrative unspools chronologically in two parts, divided by time, geography, and most importantly, Hedy's main "role." The first, 1933-1937, takes place primarily in Austria, where Hedy, a non-practicing Jew embarking on an illustrious career as an actress, has to decide between the stage or the home; Friedrich "Fritz" Mandl makes her choose between being an actress or a wife. Despite Hedy's lauded skill at portraying other characters and the gossip swirling around her wealthy suitor (the "Merchant of Death" due to his suspicious political connections and munitions contracts, with arms sometimes simultaneously issued for opposing sides of conflict), she agrees to join her life to the man who overwhelms her with flower bouquets and lavish praise. Hedy, as "trophy wife" in three palatial homes, slowly sees the emergence of a dark, controlling side to Mandl, who eventually locks her away behind a front door with seven locks, guarded by obedient servants. The second part, 1937-1942, finds Hedy having escaped her abusive husband to California, meeting the famous MGM head Mr. Louis B. Mayer and her second husband, screenwriter Gene Markey, and returning to the stage and screen even as she continues to struggle with her reputation as an apt, silent movie siren, just a glamorous "pretty face" with nothing behind it. However, this second marriage also sours, while Hedy joins forces with unlikely confidante and avant-garde musician George Antheil to develop submarine technology in her spare time. Throughout it all, the clouds of WWII hang ever darker and more ponderous.
The ending is abrupt, in the sense that although Hedy finds a way to raise incredible funding for the American war effort, her greatest scientific achievement (a torpedo system with unjammable frequency-hopping, based on player piano technology, with subsequent discoveries upon which our contemporary wi-fi is reliant) is summarily dismissed by the Navy because she is a woman and all of the characters are now deeply embroiled in worldwide conflict with Hitler at the helm. (And Hedy's looks, rather than her intelligence, create her pecuniary triumph in the last chapter). Many questions remain unanswered, either by the narrative or the author's all-too-brief notes at the end. For instance, what happens to Hedy's adopted and adored son Jamesie? Or her first husband Fritz? Or even herself? Quick research reveals that Hedy continued to leave a tempestuous and complex life, with six marriages and divorces. (According to the New York Post, apparently Jamesie may not have been adopted at all but rather was Hedy's out-of-wedlock son with her later-husband John Loder, according to the birth certificate). The point is that, for such a famous person, Hedy Lamarr's life still remains mysterious.
Other aspects of the narrative are lacking, as Benedict jumps from significant moment in Hedy's life to another, sometimes months apart (precise dates begin each chapter), for example, details of the process of Hedy negotiating her mother's escape from Austria to London, then Canada, then America.
As with all historical fiction, several questions are raised. Is Hedy's mother's attitude realistic; was she truly dismissive of Hedy's exceptional beauty? Was Hedy's struggle to invent and be validated for doing so a manifestation of self-imposed "penance" for not warning others of secrets and Hitler's plans that she overheard at Fritz's lavish dinner parties with political figures? Did anyone discover that she was a Jew - a fact she tried to hide while launching her Hollywood career?
Overall, The Only Woman in the Room is a compelling fictional introduction to Hedy Lamarr. Then, the reader has to do his or her own research to learn more.
Marie Benedict's historical fiction centers on a compelling main character: Hedwig Kiesler. Never heard of her? Neither had I. Otherwise known as Hedy Lamarr? I had heard that name, although I didn't know anything about the famous actress of the mid-twentieth century until I read Benedict's novel, which gave me insight into one decade of the life of the sultry screen star - and scientist.
The narrative unspools chronologically in two parts, divided by time, geography, and most importantly, Hedy's main "role." The first, 1933-1937, takes place primarily in Austria, where Hedy, a non-practicing Jew embarking on an illustrious career as an actress, has to decide between the stage or the home; Friedrich "Fritz" Mandl makes her choose between being an actress or a wife. Despite Hedy's lauded skill at portraying other characters and the gossip swirling around her wealthy suitor (the "Merchant of Death" due to his suspicious political connections and munitions contracts, with arms sometimes simultaneously issued for opposing sides of conflict), she agrees to join her life to the man who overwhelms her with flower bouquets and lavish praise. Hedy, as "trophy wife" in three palatial homes, slowly sees the emergence of a dark, controlling side to Mandl, who eventually locks her away behind a front door with seven locks, guarded by obedient servants. The second part, 1937-1942, finds Hedy having escaped her abusive husband to California, meeting the famous MGM head Mr. Louis B. Mayer and her second husband, screenwriter Gene Markey, and returning to the stage and screen even as she continues to struggle with her reputation as an apt, silent movie siren, just a glamorous "pretty face" with nothing behind it. However, this second marriage also sours, while Hedy joins forces with unlikely confidante and avant-garde musician George Antheil to develop submarine technology in her spare time. Throughout it all, the clouds of WWII hang ever darker and more ponderous.
The ending is abrupt, in the sense that although Hedy finds a way to raise incredible funding for the American war effort, her greatest scientific achievement (a torpedo system with unjammable frequency-hopping, based on player piano technology, with subsequent discoveries upon which our contemporary wi-fi is reliant) is summarily dismissed by the Navy because she is a woman and all of the characters are now deeply embroiled in worldwide conflict with Hitler at the helm. (And Hedy's looks, rather than her intelligence, create her pecuniary triumph in the last chapter). Many questions remain unanswered, either by the narrative or the author's all-too-brief notes at the end. For instance, what happens to Hedy's adopted and adored son Jamesie? Or her first husband Fritz? Or even herself? Quick research reveals that Hedy continued to leave a tempestuous and complex life, with six marriages and divorces. (According to the New York Post, apparently Jamesie may not have been adopted at all but rather was Hedy's out-of-wedlock son with her later-husband John Loder, according to the birth certificate). The point is that, for such a famous person, Hedy Lamarr's life still remains mysterious.
Other aspects of the narrative are lacking, as Benedict jumps from significant moment in Hedy's life to another, sometimes months apart (precise dates begin each chapter), for example, details of the process of Hedy negotiating her mother's escape from Austria to London, then Canada, then America.
As with all historical fiction, several questions are raised. Is Hedy's mother's attitude realistic; was she truly dismissive of Hedy's exceptional beauty? Was Hedy's struggle to invent and be validated for doing so a manifestation of self-imposed "penance" for not warning others of secrets and Hitler's plans that she overheard at Fritz's lavish dinner parties with political figures? Did anyone discover that she was a Jew - a fact she tried to hide while launching her Hollywood career?
Overall, The Only Woman in the Room is a compelling fictional introduction to Hedy Lamarr. Then, the reader has to do his or her own research to learn more.
Review Date: 6/3/2019
Author Cain has said that contemporary introverts are in a position similar to that of women in the 1950's and 1960's. Sometimes it feels exactly that way, with people not understanding that for so many of us, social situations, while fun, can be exhausting. That I'm personally not afraid of speaking my mind or talking in front of people, but there is nothing better than a quiet afternoon with a book. So bring on the comparative language! Quiet is a like a breath of fresh air - like unexpectedly encountering an amiable, very agreeable old friend. To an introvert, in a job requiring pseudo-extroversion, surrounded by book discussion group members who summarily critique interesting introverted characters as just "shy" and "antisocial," Quiet is a comforting revelation.
Cain begins by describing the many variations of introversion and extroversion, pointing out that there is no one definition that scientists and psychologists agree on. She also offers a helpful self-quiz, inviting readers to determine just how introverted or extroverted (or ambiverted) they are.
Most of the remaining chapters are organized similarly: introducing a personality, developing one topic related to introversion (such as "reward sensitivity" and investing money), and including many statistics and data from studies as support. For instance, in chapter two, Cain writes of attending a conference presented by self-help guru Tony Robbins, then uses her experience there and at Saddleback Church to describe a societal shift from a "Culture of Character" to a "Culture of Personality." Throughout the book, the reader thus meets Harvard Business School Don, computer entrepreneur Steve Wozniak, First Lady and activist Eleanor Roosevelt, and married couple Greg and Emily. He/she ponders cooperative learning and open office plans, "rubber band theory" ("We are elastic and can stretch ourselves, but only so much"), optimal levels of arousal, the trade-off theory of evolution, Free Trait Theory, and introversion in the classroom. This balance of jargon with biography with statistics yields a pleasing blend of insight. True introverts will rejoice throughout, as Cain points out that their emotions are normal, their reactions are valid, and their potential is unlimited.
Cain urges readers, armed with all of this research, to now critique and ultimately reject the "Extrovert Ideal." She provides plenty of interesting and accessible evidence to do so.
(Cain is an honors graduate of Princeton and Harvard Law School. She is well-published in a variety of publications, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, and The Wall Street Journal. She has won many awards and speaks often as the head of the "Quiet Revolution.")
Cain begins by describing the many variations of introversion and extroversion, pointing out that there is no one definition that scientists and psychologists agree on. She also offers a helpful self-quiz, inviting readers to determine just how introverted or extroverted (or ambiverted) they are.
Most of the remaining chapters are organized similarly: introducing a personality, developing one topic related to introversion (such as "reward sensitivity" and investing money), and including many statistics and data from studies as support. For instance, in chapter two, Cain writes of attending a conference presented by self-help guru Tony Robbins, then uses her experience there and at Saddleback Church to describe a societal shift from a "Culture of Character" to a "Culture of Personality." Throughout the book, the reader thus meets Harvard Business School Don, computer entrepreneur Steve Wozniak, First Lady and activist Eleanor Roosevelt, and married couple Greg and Emily. He/she ponders cooperative learning and open office plans, "rubber band theory" ("We are elastic and can stretch ourselves, but only so much"), optimal levels of arousal, the trade-off theory of evolution, Free Trait Theory, and introversion in the classroom. This balance of jargon with biography with statistics yields a pleasing blend of insight. True introverts will rejoice throughout, as Cain points out that their emotions are normal, their reactions are valid, and their potential is unlimited.
Cain urges readers, armed with all of this research, to now critique and ultimately reject the "Extrovert Ideal." She provides plenty of interesting and accessible evidence to do so.
(Cain is an honors graduate of Princeton and Harvard Law School. She is well-published in a variety of publications, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, and The Wall Street Journal. She has won many awards and speaks often as the head of the "Quiet Revolution.")
Review Date: 5/29/2019
What is it, exactly? Subtitled a memoir, _Sounds Like Titanic_ jumps back and forth between Hindman's youth in rural West Virginia and her role as a violinist for the God Bless America Tour 2004.
What is so unusual about the Tour is that Hindman, and the other musicians, are instructed to play as quietly as possible in front of dead microphones - while music blasts from a CD player purchased from Walmart by the Composer (who remains anonymous throughout because the book is not about calling him out, according to Hindman, but whose identity can be fairly easily Googled). At each show, at a craft fair or at the Mall of America or on stage, the "fake" musicians (don't) play, while crowds flock to purchase CDs of music that sounds, well, like the soundtrack to Titanic.
These two chronologies are interspersed with other reflections ("How to Become a Famous Violinist," "The Geography of a Lead-Up to a War," "One Night, Everyone in the RV Watches _Master and Commander_," "But Why Is Playing the Violin the Cultural Equivalent of Growing a Penis?", etc.) In them, Hindman shares her struggles with various cultural conundrums and preoccupations, primarily her distaste for "ignorant America's" reaction to September 11th and her childhood notion of "life in the body" which leads to social anxiety and simultaneously feeling the fear of impending death and the need to pee on-stage. Underscoring all of this (pun intended) is Hindman's shifting sense of identity: if she's a good-but-not-great violinist, if onlookers believe she's a great world-famous violinist, if she knows she's not playing what listeners are hearing...what kind of musician is she?
One unusual aspect of _Sounds Like Titanic_ is Hindman's frequent use of second-person point-of-view, which places "you" as reader directly in her concert heels. A bit distracting initially, Hindman's narrative choice becomes less intrusive, except when her opinion disagrees with "your" own.
What is so unusual about the Tour is that Hindman, and the other musicians, are instructed to play as quietly as possible in front of dead microphones - while music blasts from a CD player purchased from Walmart by the Composer (who remains anonymous throughout because the book is not about calling him out, according to Hindman, but whose identity can be fairly easily Googled). At each show, at a craft fair or at the Mall of America or on stage, the "fake" musicians (don't) play, while crowds flock to purchase CDs of music that sounds, well, like the soundtrack to Titanic.
These two chronologies are interspersed with other reflections ("How to Become a Famous Violinist," "The Geography of a Lead-Up to a War," "One Night, Everyone in the RV Watches _Master and Commander_," "But Why Is Playing the Violin the Cultural Equivalent of Growing a Penis?", etc.) In them, Hindman shares her struggles with various cultural conundrums and preoccupations, primarily her distaste for "ignorant America's" reaction to September 11th and her childhood notion of "life in the body" which leads to social anxiety and simultaneously feeling the fear of impending death and the need to pee on-stage. Underscoring all of this (pun intended) is Hindman's shifting sense of identity: if she's a good-but-not-great violinist, if onlookers believe she's a great world-famous violinist, if she knows she's not playing what listeners are hearing...what kind of musician is she?
One unusual aspect of _Sounds Like Titanic_ is Hindman's frequent use of second-person point-of-view, which places "you" as reader directly in her concert heels. A bit distracting initially, Hindman's narrative choice becomes less intrusive, except when her opinion disagrees with "your" own.
Review Date: 1/1/2020
I have read and studied and written about a lot of Holocaust literature, especially when I was a graduate student. To write about the Holocaust is to have to tread carefully, with great respect, and to acknowledge the depth of pain and trauma that a contemporary reader can never fully comprehend and a writer can never fully convey--in short, to hold Theodor Adorno's famous quote about writing poetry after Auschwitz constantly in mind (even when reading other genres).
Having heard the buzz about Morris' book, I finally read it when a book group to which I belong added it to their upcoming list. (I'm curious what the fellow members will think). The story is powerful, and fast-moving, and its protagonist Lale Sokolov, the "Tatowierer" of the title, is a hero the reader will root for.
Unfortunately, I feel like I still don't "know" Lale. Or his beloved Gita, the prisoner who captures his heart as he inks numbers into her arm. Or his fellow tattooist Leon who suffers horribly at the hands of Dr. Mengele. Or, indeed, any of the characters. Despite the horrific background of crematoriums and bunkers and barbed wire, the figures remain flat, their longings and motivations and backgrounds shadowy. Perhaps this is due to Lale's story's original form: Morris' biography indicates that her background is in screenplays and that Lale's story was originally conveyed in such a format. The details the viewers would see onscreen if the dialogue was a script are too sparse and sections of the narrative too "glossed over" in the novel format. Initially, I was confused that this work of fiction's cover proclaims, "Based on the powerful true story of Lale Sokolov" and was further perplexed post-narrative when Morris writes, "There was no parting of memory and history for this beautiful old man--they waltzed perfectly in step." Were there just too many missing details that Sokolov either didn't remember or didn't offer that Morris knew she would have to construct--hence the (perceived) "missing" details and "fictionalizing"?
Lale is a valiant fighter, but the story here simply lacks the taut simplicity and emotional power of Wiesel's _Night_, for instance, or _The Diary of Dawid Sierakowiak_, or _This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen_. Perhaps if the same story was told, just in ten times as many words...
Having heard the buzz about Morris' book, I finally read it when a book group to which I belong added it to their upcoming list. (I'm curious what the fellow members will think). The story is powerful, and fast-moving, and its protagonist Lale Sokolov, the "Tatowierer" of the title, is a hero the reader will root for.
Unfortunately, I feel like I still don't "know" Lale. Or his beloved Gita, the prisoner who captures his heart as he inks numbers into her arm. Or his fellow tattooist Leon who suffers horribly at the hands of Dr. Mengele. Or, indeed, any of the characters. Despite the horrific background of crematoriums and bunkers and barbed wire, the figures remain flat, their longings and motivations and backgrounds shadowy. Perhaps this is due to Lale's story's original form: Morris' biography indicates that her background is in screenplays and that Lale's story was originally conveyed in such a format. The details the viewers would see onscreen if the dialogue was a script are too sparse and sections of the narrative too "glossed over" in the novel format. Initially, I was confused that this work of fiction's cover proclaims, "Based on the powerful true story of Lale Sokolov" and was further perplexed post-narrative when Morris writes, "There was no parting of memory and history for this beautiful old man--they waltzed perfectly in step." Were there just too many missing details that Sokolov either didn't remember or didn't offer that Morris knew she would have to construct--hence the (perceived) "missing" details and "fictionalizing"?
Lale is a valiant fighter, but the story here simply lacks the taut simplicity and emotional power of Wiesel's _Night_, for instance, or _The Diary of Dawid Sierakowiak_, or _This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen_. Perhaps if the same story was told, just in ten times as many words...
Review Date: 5/16/2020
Voices from Chernobyl: The Oral History of a Nuclear Disaster by Svetlana Alexievich received a 2015 Nobel Prize. It was a weird experience reading it in May 2020, especially with a global pandemic as a background; lines like "You feel how some completely unseen thing can enter and then destroy the whole world, can crawl in and enter you" take on a new meaning, a new impact.
Rather than tell the story of those most affected by that "unseen thing," radiation and its horrific aftermath from the Chernobyl disaster, Alexievich lets the survivors speak for themselves.
Some voices are more compelling than others, and the ones that are most disturbing and memorable are those of the widows of the "first responders," the men pressed into action, without any adequate protection, to shovel the roof of the reactor or blast a tunnel underneath it or turn the soil under or shoot pets left in the Zone. One woman sneaks into the hospital to see and help her newlywed husband, despite everything being "hot." A young woman ponders her friend's post-disaster baby with a smile stretched from ear to ear but no ears. One Chernobylite describes his little son wearing the cap he wore when volunteering at Chernobyl - and that son developing a brain tumor. Many of these voices discuss the lack of information they were ever given about the meltdown or radiation, and the need to do whatever their government asked of them.
A longer preface would be helpful, to give more context about the Chernobyl disaster and the chain of events that led to it. Also, many of the voices are not so much about the Chernobyl disaster but rather about the town of Chernobyl and the many who have flocked to it, despite its contamination. So many desperate Russian refugees, having nowhere else to go, have sought refuge in the beauty, albeit deadly, of the area surrounding the nuclear plant. How could an apparently idyllic life, although tough and economically depressed, compare to war in Chechnya? Elderly women till the soil and harvest potatoes and drink milk that is "hot" without understanding that what they can't see or taste or smell can kill them. The forest grows, lush and green, so how could it be dangerous?
The voices range from re-settlers to liquidators to university instructors to doctors to engineers to scientists. They form a chorus of witness and a chorus of warning. Hopefully we will take heed.
Rather than tell the story of those most affected by that "unseen thing," radiation and its horrific aftermath from the Chernobyl disaster, Alexievich lets the survivors speak for themselves.
Some voices are more compelling than others, and the ones that are most disturbing and memorable are those of the widows of the "first responders," the men pressed into action, without any adequate protection, to shovel the roof of the reactor or blast a tunnel underneath it or turn the soil under or shoot pets left in the Zone. One woman sneaks into the hospital to see and help her newlywed husband, despite everything being "hot." A young woman ponders her friend's post-disaster baby with a smile stretched from ear to ear but no ears. One Chernobylite describes his little son wearing the cap he wore when volunteering at Chernobyl - and that son developing a brain tumor. Many of these voices discuss the lack of information they were ever given about the meltdown or radiation, and the need to do whatever their government asked of them.
A longer preface would be helpful, to give more context about the Chernobyl disaster and the chain of events that led to it. Also, many of the voices are not so much about the Chernobyl disaster but rather about the town of Chernobyl and the many who have flocked to it, despite its contamination. So many desperate Russian refugees, having nowhere else to go, have sought refuge in the beauty, albeit deadly, of the area surrounding the nuclear plant. How could an apparently idyllic life, although tough and economically depressed, compare to war in Chechnya? Elderly women till the soil and harvest potatoes and drink milk that is "hot" without understanding that what they can't see or taste or smell can kill them. The forest grows, lush and green, so how could it be dangerous?
The voices range from re-settlers to liquidators to university instructors to doctors to engineers to scientists. They form a chorus of witness and a chorus of warning. Hopefully we will take heed.
Review Date: 6/3/2019
Everyone knows the basics of Titanic: its maiden voyage, its so-called unsinkability, the iceberg, the 1912 tragedy. Many could even list some of her most famous passengers.
I experienced Wolf's novel-in-verse as an audiobook, which brought several of those Titanic personalities to life.
Included are the expected voices from an account of the doomed liner: sassy socialite Margaret Brown (otherwise known as the "Unsinkable Molly Brown," millionaire John Jacob Astor, and captain Edward J. "EJ" Smith. But other creative voices are heard, too, including a hungry rat's ("Follow the food," he repeats frenetically), the iceberg's (ironically, a calm, grandmotherly tone), young Frankie Goldsmith the Dragon-hunter's (with refreshing optimism and childish glee), and the undertaker's post-sinking. Taking turns, they describe their experience on the grandest ship in the world.
The story ends with Wolf describing his researching and writing processes, comparing all to creating a soup; he asks that readers/listeners and especially "Titaniacs" enjoy it without being distracted by missing "ingredients"; (facts lost to history or slightly altered research). Then Wolf provides biographical details and fates of many of the Titanic voices, a nice touch with any piece of historical fiction.
While targeted to young adults, Wolf's vision is entrancing for anyone interested in pondering what it must have been like to be aboard, then ejected from, that luxurious liner into the bitterly cold Atlantic waters.
I experienced Wolf's novel-in-verse as an audiobook, which brought several of those Titanic personalities to life.
Included are the expected voices from an account of the doomed liner: sassy socialite Margaret Brown (otherwise known as the "Unsinkable Molly Brown," millionaire John Jacob Astor, and captain Edward J. "EJ" Smith. But other creative voices are heard, too, including a hungry rat's ("Follow the food," he repeats frenetically), the iceberg's (ironically, a calm, grandmotherly tone), young Frankie Goldsmith the Dragon-hunter's (with refreshing optimism and childish glee), and the undertaker's post-sinking. Taking turns, they describe their experience on the grandest ship in the world.
The story ends with Wolf describing his researching and writing processes, comparing all to creating a soup; he asks that readers/listeners and especially "Titaniacs" enjoy it without being distracted by missing "ingredients"; (facts lost to history or slightly altered research). Then Wolf provides biographical details and fates of many of the Titanic voices, a nice touch with any piece of historical fiction.
While targeted to young adults, Wolf's vision is entrancing for anyone interested in pondering what it must have been like to be aboard, then ejected from, that luxurious liner into the bitterly cold Atlantic waters.
The White Cascade: The Great Northern Railway Disaster and America's Deadliest Avalanche
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
6
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
6
Review Date: 7/2/2019
I began reading Krist's book on the hottest day of the year, which is perhaps one of the reasons I enjoyed it so much; it does an admirable job creating the cold, endlessly-snowy atmosphere of late February 1910 deep in the Pacific Northwest. There, a passenger train and a mail train are trapped, awaiting passable conditions during a many-day blizzard.
Much of the book describes the day-to-day changes along the railroad line, especially the workers' struggles to keep the line clear after numerous and very dangerous "snow slides." Krist describes the understandable growing sense of frustration of the passengers. The most compelling aspect of the book is its description of the countless decisions the railroad engineers have to make as problems mount. As one rotary (a huge "snowblower") breaks down, another must be located. Then a snow slide stops it. Then there isn't enough coal. Then another snow slide occurs ahead on the line. Underpaid shovelers quit. Food supplies dwindle. Etc. etc. etc. So should the passengers attempt to risk their lives and hike out, despite treacherous conditions? What would I have done, had I been a passenger?
The book also contains a wealth of information about the economy and state of transportation in the early 1900s, as well as much biographical information about the Great Northern's founder and chairman James J. Hill and especially superintendent of the GN's Cascade Division James H. O'Neill. Krist presents an unbiased view of both men weighing safety, family, and financial concerns while they guess about meteorological probability. O'Neill is an especially fascinating character.
Most readers know the outcome: an avalanche will toss both trains off the mountain, and nearly a hundred people will die in the disaster. Many of those people are mentioned specifically, but I found it challenging to keep track of more than a few. I recommend that a reader makes a list along the way.
I also wanted more of the science of the compounding storms, but, as Krist notes, "Avalanche science was barely in its infancy in 1910..." (249).
The book includes information about the inquest and legalities following the tragedy, as well as some information about the Great Northern's upgrades and an extensive list of research notes.
The Wellington avalanche remains one of the worst railway disasters in American history. In fact, wreckage is still being discovered.
Much of the book describes the day-to-day changes along the railroad line, especially the workers' struggles to keep the line clear after numerous and very dangerous "snow slides." Krist describes the understandable growing sense of frustration of the passengers. The most compelling aspect of the book is its description of the countless decisions the railroad engineers have to make as problems mount. As one rotary (a huge "snowblower") breaks down, another must be located. Then a snow slide stops it. Then there isn't enough coal. Then another snow slide occurs ahead on the line. Underpaid shovelers quit. Food supplies dwindle. Etc. etc. etc. So should the passengers attempt to risk their lives and hike out, despite treacherous conditions? What would I have done, had I been a passenger?
The book also contains a wealth of information about the economy and state of transportation in the early 1900s, as well as much biographical information about the Great Northern's founder and chairman James J. Hill and especially superintendent of the GN's Cascade Division James H. O'Neill. Krist presents an unbiased view of both men weighing safety, family, and financial concerns while they guess about meteorological probability. O'Neill is an especially fascinating character.
Most readers know the outcome: an avalanche will toss both trains off the mountain, and nearly a hundred people will die in the disaster. Many of those people are mentioned specifically, but I found it challenging to keep track of more than a few. I recommend that a reader makes a list along the way.
I also wanted more of the science of the compounding storms, but, as Krist notes, "Avalanche science was barely in its infancy in 1910..." (249).
The book includes information about the inquest and legalities following the tragedy, as well as some information about the Great Northern's upgrades and an extensive list of research notes.
The Wellington avalanche remains one of the worst railway disasters in American history. In fact, wreckage is still being discovered.
The Woman Who Smashed Codes: A True Story of Love, Spies, and the Unlikely Heroine Who Outwitted America's Enemies
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
4
Author:
Book Type: Hardcover
4
Review Date: 5/16/2020
Like so much of her work, the woman at the center of Fagone's book remains shadowy, despite voluminous research on Fagone's part. But could it be any other way?
Elizebeth Friedman's tale is told in three parts. The first is the most interesting, and the reader gets to know Friedman quite well as a young woman who stumbles from a library into a fascinating code-breaking job in the employ of the enigmatic George Fabyan of Riverbank. Did Francis Bacon actually write Shakespeare's plays? Friedman is hired to explore the supposed biliteral cypher encoded in the type. Her masterful efforts, and her questions, launch her into the arms of her fellow-codebreaker husband William and into history but away from the clutches of the wealthy Renaissance (con?) man Fabyan.
Friedman begins to fade a bit in the next two parts of the book, perhaps of simple historical necessity. Her codebreaking prowess attracts government attention, and the latter of the book describes her skill breaking codes of drug- and alcohol-dealers, then Nazis engaged in the "Invisible War" in South American in WWII. Because what she does is so secretive, the story moves away from her and into political intrigue. It seems that Fagone was caught up in the details of the spy intrigue between Germany and South America, but the abundance of information about those historical figures overwhelms Friedman herself. She becomes almost a flat character, one very different from the lively, tempestuous, brilliant woman at Riverbank. She certainly remained brilliant, breaking thousands of complicated codes along with the coast guard, but how she did that remains "under wraps." Perhaps this is yet another sacrifice she made for her country: she couldn't tell her husband what she was doing (and he couldn't divulge the codebreaking headway he was making, either, with devices like Enigma), and she couldn't reveal how integral she was to the ending of WWII, even after the war. After her husband's death, she painstakingly organized his papers while neglecting her own, due to humility? Resignation? Misunderstanding of her importance to peace and history? We will likely never know.
The codebreaking processes themselves remain difficult to understand. Some of the earlier examples in the book, simple transposition of one alphabet for another, or reading down one column and up the next, are fairly simple, but the later deciphering processes which involve multiple steps and, occasionally, numbers or other languages, are challenging to comprehend.
As I so often think when I read true stories about women like Friedman, I asked myself, "Why did I never hear of her before reading this book?" No matter its perhaps unavoidable shortcomings, Fagone's book has done Friedman, and us all, a great service.
Elizebeth Friedman's tale is told in three parts. The first is the most interesting, and the reader gets to know Friedman quite well as a young woman who stumbles from a library into a fascinating code-breaking job in the employ of the enigmatic George Fabyan of Riverbank. Did Francis Bacon actually write Shakespeare's plays? Friedman is hired to explore the supposed biliteral cypher encoded in the type. Her masterful efforts, and her questions, launch her into the arms of her fellow-codebreaker husband William and into history but away from the clutches of the wealthy Renaissance (con?) man Fabyan.
Friedman begins to fade a bit in the next two parts of the book, perhaps of simple historical necessity. Her codebreaking prowess attracts government attention, and the latter of the book describes her skill breaking codes of drug- and alcohol-dealers, then Nazis engaged in the "Invisible War" in South American in WWII. Because what she does is so secretive, the story moves away from her and into political intrigue. It seems that Fagone was caught up in the details of the spy intrigue between Germany and South America, but the abundance of information about those historical figures overwhelms Friedman herself. She becomes almost a flat character, one very different from the lively, tempestuous, brilliant woman at Riverbank. She certainly remained brilliant, breaking thousands of complicated codes along with the coast guard, but how she did that remains "under wraps." Perhaps this is yet another sacrifice she made for her country: she couldn't tell her husband what she was doing (and he couldn't divulge the codebreaking headway he was making, either, with devices like Enigma), and she couldn't reveal how integral she was to the ending of WWII, even after the war. After her husband's death, she painstakingly organized his papers while neglecting her own, due to humility? Resignation? Misunderstanding of her importance to peace and history? We will likely never know.
The codebreaking processes themselves remain difficult to understand. Some of the earlier examples in the book, simple transposition of one alphabet for another, or reading down one column and up the next, are fairly simple, but the later deciphering processes which involve multiple steps and, occasionally, numbers or other languages, are challenging to comprehend.
As I so often think when I read true stories about women like Friedman, I asked myself, "Why did I never hear of her before reading this book?" No matter its perhaps unavoidable shortcomings, Fagone's book has done Friedman, and us all, a great service.
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