Book Log 2022 #27: The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury

When I was a kid one of the magazines we got at the house was Reader's Digest. I'm pretty sure we got a gift subscription every year, as I don't recall ever seeing my parents sending in the renewal.  And say what you will about America's favorite source of abridged stories, but it was the publication that introduced me to Ray Bradbury.

There may have been others, but I remember two chapters of his novels that I first read in the magazine. One was "The Sound of Summer Running" from Dandelion Wine, the other was "There Will Come Soft Rains" from this book. 

This was a re-read rather than my first time through, and this time through I found the similarities between 21st century Mars and 1950s America a bit distracting. I know this was more or less done intentionally as a way to depict how current thinking and values can have significant impacts in the future, but I don't think it's aged all that well. Still worth reading if you like Bradbury, though.

 Book Log 2022 #26: Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch

A part-time jazz drummer dies during a gig, and when London constable Peter Grant arrives to investigate he senses the tune of a jazz standard coming from the body, a sign that the death is not just unnatural, but likely supernatural.

Grant soon discovers this is just the latest unexpected death of someone in London's jazz scene. The broader scope of the investigation leads him to involve both his boss, the wizard Inspector Nightingale, and a music journalist with an understanding of the London jazz scene. The case quickly becomes personal for Grant, given that his dad is a jazz musician and that the relationship with the journalist starts heading in a romantic direction. 

This description probably doesn't do the book justice, as it's a highly imaginative (and often funny) mix of mystery and fantasy. I've come to like this series quite a bit over the first two novels, and am looking forward to continuing on.

 Book Log 2022 #25: Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell

A novel of the Shakespeare family rather than of the Bard himself, this book is named for William Shakespeare's son Hamnet, who (spoiler alert) died at the age of 11. O'Farrell uses his death to tell two different but related stories, one on how his illness and death affected Shakespeare's work and relationship with his wife, and the other going back to when the pair met and fell in love 15 years before Hamnet's death.

For all the talk of William and Hamnet, the main character of the book is Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's wife and Hamnet's mother. We know very little about her in real life, possibly not even her first name (at least one surviving document refers to her as Agnes). O'Farrell uses this largely blank canvas to depict Anne as an eccentric, with an interest in healing and falconry. We see how her marriage to Shakespeare leads to conflicts between her original self and her as a wife and mother, and how the loss of Hamnet causes grief, but also an opening through which to reclaim part of herself.

Most commercial reviews of the book were highly positive, while reader reviews seemed more split (a number of people complained about the pacing, as well as finding the characters flat). I did not find either of those to be issues, though as a parent (and as someone who lost a sibling at a relatively early age) I may have connected more with the issues of grief and loss and not noticed other shortcomings. 

 Book 2022 #24: Oh, Florida! by Craig Pittman

Pittman, a native Floridian (so a Florida man, but not Florida Man), brings his personal and journalistic experiences together in this book whose subtitle, "How America's Weirdest State Influences the Rest of the Country," fits both the state's general vibe and its cultural weight. 

More than just a compendium of stories involving men, alligators, and liquor stores, this book is an honest (and funny) attempt to explain why Florida is the way it is. Not surprisingly, Florida was kind of weird from the get go, and has only become weirder as time gave us more ways to be weird and more ways for that weirdness to be noticed outside of the state.

Pittman does a great job of balancing humor, history, and a kind of pride about living in Florida. He's also a good interview, as he's been on Rick Steves's radio show a number of times to talk about the state (this show has an interview about this book, but he's appeared on other episodes, too). 

 Book Log 2022 #22: Benjamin Franklin's Last Bet by Michael Meyer

Before Benjamin Franklin died, he added a bequest in his will to the cities of Boston and Philadelphia, leaving both 1000 pounds. But it wasn't a simple gift, as he also put specific conditions on the use of the money. For the first 100 years after his death, the funds would only be available to help fund apprenticeships, similar to the one that got him started in the printing business. Any money not loaned out would be invested to collect interest.

After than 100 years, 75 percent of the principal could be used for a public works project, with the remaining money staying invested and available for apprenticeship loans. After another 100 years, whatever money was left could be used as seen fit with no restrictions.

This book tells the story of how the money was spent over time, and the issues that came up along the way. Not surprisingly, there are stories of bad investments and politicians using the money for themselves. But there were also questions of how to manage a bequest as times changed. For example, as apprenticeships became less popular, what options do you have to loan money that would still meet the letter of the gift?

I did like the book, but I felt like there was probably more Franklin backstory than was strictly necessary.

 Book Log 2022 #23: Runnin' With the Devil by Noel Monk

Monk, who served as tour manager and then personal manager for Van Halen, tells the story of his time with the bank in this book, which roughly covers the band's beginnings to the departure of David Lee Roth. 

Most of the behind the scenes stuff is what you'd expect - they trashed a number of hotel rooms and had a fondness for cocaine - but there were some more revelatory aspects to the story as well.  Alex and Eddie Van Halen's home life when they were growing is presented as deeply dysfunctional, making it easy to draw a line to issues in their adulthood (Eddie is depicted as emotionally needy, while Alex is shown as having more issues with being part Indonesian). The Van Halens and Roth were also depicted as not treating bassist Michael Anthony as an equal member of the band, and he does kind of come off as being a bit apart from the others (though Monk always describes him positively).

I also hadn't really known what an overnight success the band was, probably as they became popular right when I first started noticing bands and listening to the radio. They're one of those bands that, to my mind, has always been there.

I did enjoy the book quite a bit, it's not the most penetrating analysis of the band but the stories are good and it fills in a lot of history for those of us who might not be aware. One suggestion I came across online was to read this and Van Halen Rising, as that book covers the period up to their signing with Warner, with this book adding on the history up to Roth's leaving. Seems like a good suggestion.

 Book Log 2022 #21: Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr

The story in this book runs in three timelines - one set during the 1453 siege of Constantinople, one in present day Idaho, and one in the future on a spaceship delivering colonists to an exoplanet.  What each timeline shares is an ancient Greek story of a person who wants to be turned into a bird so they can go to a utopia in the sky. We see how the story affects the characters in each timeline, and the influence it has on them and, in some sense, the other timelines.

The book gave off Cloud Atlas vibes for story and character, and how these connected over time. I don't know that I liked this book as much as that one, but I did like it quite a bit. The page linked above tries to tie this in with Doerr's previous book, All the Light We Cannot See, but I don't think there's much of a connection. That shouldn't dissuade you from reading either book.

 Book Log 2022 #20: Collusion by Stuart Neville

After a string of killings in Northern Ireland, Gerry Fegan has gone to New York and the ex-wife and daughter of Belfast police detective Jack Lennon have gone into hiding.  While Lennon presses to find his daughter (with resistance from official channels), Fegan has to return home and face a rival hitman, hired by a survivor of Fegan's violence to exact revenge. 

The book was fine, I was on the fence about the series after the first book and am no more convinced either way as to whether or not I should continue on with it.  

 Book Log 2022 #18: The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

The second book in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books series, this is actually set before the first book. 

Daniel Martin survived a difficult childhood (thanks in part to the Sempere and Sempere bookstore) to become a writer of books about Barcelona's underworld. He moves into a deserted house with a murky past, one that appears to be slowing shaping his present. It impacts not only his writing - primarily a commission by a shadowy Frenchman to write a religious-themed work - but in his personal relationships with his patron, the daughter of the patron's chauffeur, and a devoted fan.

This all leads to an atmospherically gothic ending that may put some readers off. I figure if you can accept a story where a house is imposing its history on its current resident, the ending isn't that unexpected.

I think if you liked the first book you'll like this one. 

Book Log 2022 #19: The Kill Artist by Daniel Silva

This is the first in a very long series of spy thrillers featuring Gabriel Allon, who is trying to put his past in Israeli intelligence behind him to return to his real passion: art and art restoration. That doesn't quite work out, as he is drawn back into service after the Israeli ambassador to France is assassinated. The killing is the work of the same terrorist who killed Allon's son and caused permanent mental damage to Allon's wife, so Allon's return to spy work is part professional experience with the terrorist and a chance at revenge.

I'd been thinking about starting this series for a while, unsure if I wanted to start a new series. In the end it turned out to be a perfectly serviceable example of the genre, firmly in the airport read zone if a little better than what I think of as the average book of that type.  I think the involvement of the art world gave it just that small difference to separate it from standard spy fare. I'll probably keep reading these, they move pretty quickly and do scratch that genre itch.

 Book Log 2022 #17: Gillespie and I by Jane Harris

Harriet Baxter, now an old woman living in London, is taking upon herself to chronicle the life of Ned Gillespie, an artist who she believes never gained the acclaim he deserved. She considers herself to be the best suited person for the job as she knew Gillespie quite well, having met him and his family by accident when she was visiting Glasgow for the 1888 International Exhibition.

That meeting involves Harriet saving the life of Gillespie's mother, and from that act she becomes quite close with the family, becoming a sort of surrogate member by helping with day to day tasks and patronizing their work as artists. It's clear that the family has its troubles, and when they eventually lead to tragedy and a criminal trial, Harriet winds up in the middle of things.

Where the book is told from Harriet's point of view and several decades removed from the events she's recalling, there is plenty of room to question the reliability of the narrator. It's also not clear what her motives are in telling the story - is she really trying to give Gillespie a boost in popularity, or is she trying to clear her own name?

I liked this book quite a bit, though in reading a couple of reviews Harris' previous book, The Observations, was noted as being along similar lines but better. I've not read it, but maybe it would make sense to read that one first.

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 40: The first spring forward

Americans who hate Daylight Savings Time should rue the day March 31, 1918, as that was when DST became an official practice in the US. 

For most of history there was no organized approach to best using the increased daylight that comes with summer. In Roman times, when the day was split into 12 equal hours of day and night, they just changed the number of minutes in each hour to suit prevailing conditions. When fixed-length hours became the norm, businesses and other institutions would shift opening and closing times as needed, but that was a voluntary practice.

The idea of actually shifting the clock ahead was suggested by a few individuals, but didn't catch on (outside of a handful of localities) until World War I, when Germany and Austria-Hungary shifted their clocks ahead in 1916 in order to conserve coal. Most of Europe followed over the course of the next year, with the US (as with their entry into the war) coming later. And like much of Europe, the US wound up dropping DST after the war (though Congress had to override President Wilson's veto to do so).

DST would pop up in the US again during World War II (though it was called War Time rather than Daylight Time), and was repealed again after the war. Localities were allowed to observe DST, and many states did, creating a patchwork of local times. Complaints by several industries (most notably transportation) led to the Uniform Time Act of 1966, which required states to observe DST unless they passed a state law exempting the entire state from the practice.

And that's pretty much where things have stayed until recently, with a renewed push for year-round DST (most notably in the Sunshine Protection Act). Proponents tend to forget the mid-1970s experiment with this that was prompted by the 1973 energy crisis, which saw problems with late sunrise times in the winter months that had kids going to school in the dark.

So there you have it, 40 days of things that happened on Easter. Tune in next year when we'll have 40 days of things that happened on Holy Saturday (if I take this to its logical extension I can run out most of the 2020s with things that happened during Holy Week).

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 39: On the march

The Panic of 1893 caused an economic depression in the US that lasted for four years, and was the most significant economic downturn (non-Civil War division) experienced by Americans in their lifetimes. This led people to some drastic measures, such as the decision by Ohio businessman Jacob Coxey to lead a march to Washington, DC, to demand the government intervene by creating jobs and putting more money into the economy.

Coxey and about 100 other men left Massillon, Ohio on Easter Sunday, March 25, 1894. Other marchers met up with Coxey (now leading what became popularly known as Coxey's Army), and about 6000 men made an encampment just outside of the capital. The day after making camp, Coxey and some of the other march leaders were arrested for walking on the grass at the Capitol building. Not long after that the marchers lost interest and the protest largely broke up.

While it wasn't successful, Coxey's march is notable for being the first planned protest march on Washington. It also saw one of its main goals, a government works program to provide jobs during a depression, adopted for the New Deal. 

 Book Log 2022 #16: American Fire by Monica Hesse

Accomack County in Virginia was once one of, if not the richest, rural counties in all of the US. But over time, as agriculture shifted to other places and took money and people with it, it became more isolated and poorer, with plenty of fallow fields and abandoned buildings.

Which wound up being a pretty good environment for a serial arsonist. As buildings burned and the locals tried - and failed - to catch the arsonist, the spate of fires drew national attention. Once a suspect was arrested, the author went to Virginia to cover the hearing, and as the case unfolded it not only reflected the history of the county,  but took an unexpected detour into a love story.

I don't remember many specifics about the book, but I gave it four stars on Goodreads, which suggests I liked it. So sure, give it a read.

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 38: Marian Anderson sings

In 1939, contralto Marian Anderson was trying to plan a concert for Washington, DC. Only problem was that Anderson, an African-American, couldn't find a venue. The Daughters of the American Revolution denied her the use of Constitution Hall, which when the DAR wasn't hosting their national convention was often used for concerts. Turns out the DAR had a whites-only performer policy in place at the time, and the building also lacked segregated bathrooms (as required by DC law). Anderson then tried to book the auditorium at a whites-only high school, but was similarly denied by the city's board of education.

An ad hoc group of supporters, drawn mainly from civil rights and labor groups, formed the Marian Anderson Citizens Committee, which then put pressure on the DC Board of Education to change their decision. In addition, the DAR saw a slew of resignations after their decision, most notably by First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt.

As pressure mounted to let Anderson sing, Roosevelt was able to lean on her husband, who then got Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes to let Anderson perform an open air concert at the Lincoln Memorial. And so it was that Anderson, on April 9, 1939, performed for an assembled crowd of 75,000 (and millions more at home over the NBC radio network).

This landmark concert opened up further opportunities for Anderson to perform in integrated settings, most notably a 1943 concert at the now-integrated Constitution Hall (though the DC Board of Education still banned her from using public high schools). Anderson would later go on to become the first African-American to perform with the Metropolitan Opera, sang at the inaugurations of Presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy, and was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her work promoting civil and human rights before retiring from singing in 1965.

 Book Log 2022 #15: Termination Shock by Neal Stephenson

This climate novel brings together a feral pig hunter, an oil billionaire, and the Queen of the Netherlands in a scheme to address global warming through a rogue geoengineering project. While the project isn't sanctioned by any government, it does draw the attention of both China and India, which undertake their own responses aimed at promoting their own interests in relation to the project.

This book reminded me a little bit of both Zodiac and Cryptonomicon in how non-governmental actors can influence policy through technology (though this book is much more focused on the aftermath). It also had one of the more entertaining romantic subplots, which was unexpected.

It's not his best book, but I did enjoy it, and think it compares favorably against other climate fiction.

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 37: A planter gets planted

The Harrison family has roots in Virginia going back to around 1630, when Benjamin Harrison arrived and quickly established himself. Within three years he was made clerk of the state's Governor's Council, setting a course in public service that future Harrisons - many also named Benjamin - would follow.

Notable among them is Benjamin Harrison V, who by the age of 20 was managing several plantations covering thousands of acres (which included a manor house, a grist mill, a fishery, and a number of slaves). This all was due to the untimely death of Benjamin Harrison IV, who also left other plantations to others of his 10 children.

Harrison flourished, and followed in his father's footsteps by being elected to Virginia's House of Burgesses (although he was too young to serve when first elected, which makes you wonder how he got elected in the first place). Harrison quickly fell in with those opposed to direct British rule, and served on several bodies which argued that colonists should have a voice in the laws (and taxes) applied to them.

Not surprisingly, Harrison was voted to be a delegate to the First and Second Continental Congresses (one of his roomates at the latter was George Washington), and would be one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. He spent most of the Revolutionary War in Virginia, serving in the new House of Delegates and working with the fledgling government to secure military aid for the southern states.

Just a month after the American victory at Yorktown, Harrison became the fifth governor of Virginia, and focused mainly on maintaining peace and improving the local economy, which the war had damaged greatly. After his term he returned to the legislature, where he served until his death on April 24, 1791, of unknown causes (though he was often in ill health thanks to what one source calls his "persistent corpulence").

For all that, Harrison's greatest legacy may be that he fathered one president - William Henry Harrison - who then fathered another - Benjamin Harrison. Who, as you might have noted, was not one of the line of Benjamin Harrisons. Benjamin Harrison V's oldest son was Benjamin Harrison VI, who like his dad was a planter and state politician. He would father Benjamin Harrison VII (with his first wife after the death of his second wife), and he would beget Benjamin Harrison VIII, and after that I can't bother to look. One other notable detail of the Harrisons is that they are also related to Abraham Lincoln through Thomas Harrison, who established a branch of the Harrison family in the Shenandoah valley.

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 36: The phone lines reopen

Much like recent innovations in communication, the telephone was adopted quickly after Alexander Graham Bell's successful demonstration in 1876. It allowed anyone to talk to any other person - as long as there was an operator to connect the call.

By 1919, thousands of women were working as telephone operators in New England. While the job wasn't as dangerous as mill work and in a more professional setting than domestic occupations, the work wasn't easy. Operators were expected to work at quick pace throughout their shift, and were often disciplined harshly for minor mistakes. The pay was also much lower than that given women in other occupations.

Julia O'Connor had tried to change that. While working as an operator she had a little success trying to organize operators into a union, and that combined with the poor working conditions led O'Connor to leave her job to start organizing full time. The operators went to the Postmaster General (who was given oversight of the telephone industry during World War I), who refused to bargain with them for a new contract, or allow the telephone company to negotiate. So on April 15, 1919, the New England operators went on strike.

The effect of the strike was immediate, and several attempts were made to bring in replacement workers, from college students to recently-returned war veterans. But they were often stymied by members of other unions - cab drivers refused to take them to work, and the police refused to break the strike. This was critical for the operators, as women didn't generally have the support of largely male unions.

With the phone outage crippling business, the Postmaster General relented and allowed New England Telephone to negotiate with the union. And so on April 20, 1919, the operators returned to work, with a new deal in hand.

Their victory was somewhat short-lived, however, as the phone companies made an even harder push to develop a telephone system that would automatically connect calls. Within 20 years, the operators union was gone, replaced by technology. Also something we're getting used to with recent innovations in communications.

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 35: It's good to be the Chhatrapati... sometimes

After the death of Shijavi I, ruler of the Maratha Empire, his widow, Soyarabai, maneuvered to get her son, Rajaram, made emperor. Rajaram, at all of 10 years old, was installed on the throne on April 21, 1680 (I'm guessing he was unaware that it was Easter Sunday). 

The only problem is that his older half-brother, Sambhaji, was still around and aiming to be emperor. He was a prison at the time that Rajaram was elevated, but upon hearing about this Sambhaji made plans to escape. He did so, taking control of a couple of forts along the way, and on July 20, 1680, he replcaed Rajaram on the throne. Sambhaji would survive a coup attempt not long after becoming emperor, and to make sure that didn't happen again he executed a number of people involved, including Soyarabai. 

Rajaram was spared, and finally became emperor when Sambhaji was captured by the Mughals (with whom the Marathas were having a series of wars) and executed. Rajaram would serve until his death in 1700 due to lung disease (someone liked his bidis a little too much), which fittingly kicked off another succession crisis between his various wives and children. On the plus side, his family still holds the throne of what has become Kolhapur state.

 Lentorama 2022: It Happened on Easter

Day 34: The Post-Raphaelite Brotherhood

Dante Gabriel Rossetti was a poet and painter, and was a co-founder of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a group of British painters who wanted to revive the style and look of painting from 15th century Italy and Flanders. His paintings were usually of classical, mythological, or religious subjects; his only attempt at a modern painting as part of the Brotherhood went unfinished.

Rossetti was also a translator, and his work on titles like Dante's La Vita Nuova and Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur also influenced his painting (art inspired by literature was common among the Brotherhood). 

Rossetti's personal life also had a strong influence on his work, and vice versa. He had several relationships with his models, including a two year marriage to Elizabeth Siddal, which ended when she overdosed on laudanum (possibly on purpose, as the overdose happened not long after she gave birth to a stillborn child). Rossetti buried the bulk of his unpublished poems with Siddal, though friends would later convince him to dig them up for publication.

Unfortunately, the public reaction to his first volume of poetry was quite negative, finding the poems too erotic or sensual. Rossetti suffered a nervous breakdown as a result of the bad reviews, and it took him a couple of years to recover to the point where he could paint again. That period was short lived, and his mental state went back into decline. His physical health wasn't much better, between a dependence on chloral hydrate and heavy drinking to mask the drug's bitter taste. Rossetti died on April 9, 1882, of Bright's disease (a form of nephritis).