Nonfiction Reviews: Week of 9/11/2006

by Staff -- Publishers Weekly, 9/11/2006

Justice for All: Earl Warren and the Nation He Made Jim Newton. Riverhead, $32 (595p) ISBN 1-59448-928-9 Los Angeles Times editor and reporter Newton delivers the definitive biography of Earl Warren (1891–1974) for this generation. Newton's masterful narrative synthesizes Warren in all his contradictory guises: the dynamic and outsized California prosecutor and attorney general whose own father's mysterious murder perhaps derived from that ambitious career; the man of great liberal instinct who (as a three-term Republican governor of California) insisted on the internment of Japanese-Americans following Pearl Harbor; and the hard-driving Supreme Court chief justice (1953–1969) who'd never sat on a bench anywhere, but nevertheless shepherded such historic decisions as that in Brown v. Board of Education. It was also under Warren that the Court articulated the constitutional right to privacy, abolished prayer in public schools, clarified and guaranteed voting rights for minorities and created a right to counsel in state criminal trials. As well, Warren served as head of the commission bearing his name and charged with examining the Kennedy assassination—an exercise Newton reveals as to have been part investigation, part experiment in public relations and damage control. In the course of his research, Newton has garnered extensive interviews with Warren's surviving colleagues and children, and uncovered significant new archival sources, all of which he marshals to great effect. For the first time, Newton portrays an intricately complex Warren who—though liberal in his interpretations of the Constitution and progressive in his agenda for America—remained far from radical in other respects. Using testimony of insiders who knew the man well, Newton brilliantly depicts the many-sided Warren as ferociously ambitious, smartly calculating in advancing his career, prickly and contrary when challenged and eminently attracted to both wealth and power. As Newton shows, the ardent judicial defender of the dispossessed summered at California's Bohemian Grove and made a point of dying a rich man. Warren, writes Newton, "was no Eldridge Cleaver," despite rhetoric by contemporary conservatives who routinely invoke him as the poster boy for "bad behavior" in the form of liberal judicial activism. (Oct. 5)

Surprisingly little is known about the domestic and professional life of the man many consider the greatest composer who ever lived, and even this monumental study by a German musicologist has to fall back on a great deal of supposition of the kind all too familiar from some Shakespearean biographies. If it is scant on personal details, it is brilliantly all-encompassing on the music and on the place of Bach in the musical pantheon, both in his own time and in the present. Geck devotes at least two-thirds of his book to an exhaustive examination of Bach's technique and accomplishment in all his major works, and their impact on the listener. This analysis is not overwhelmingly technical and can be readily appreciated by an educated enthusiast. In a final section called "Horizons," in which Geck meditates on Bach's art, religion and philosophy as displayed in the music, he offers some remarkable insights. Bach's "overwhelming density" in places can inspire "shock and awe," as well as "laughter over the infinity of creation, and tears at one's own insignificance." For Bach, he says, "every work of music has to be conceived as a perfect likeness of divine creation." (Dec.)

In this engaging but overlong biography, Peterson (The Deluge and the Ark) details the life of the woman who revolutionized primate studies. In 1960, at age 26, Goodall was sent by paleoanthropologist Louis Leakey to the Gombe Stream Chimpanzee Reserve in Tanganyika (now Tanzania) to study the chimps. With no scientific training and no precedents to follow, but with plenty of courage and the conviction that chimpanzees have individual personalities, she lived with the animals. Patiently observing them, she discovered that they eat meat, engage in warfare and use tools—a revelation that persuaded Leakey that it was necessary to redefine "man," because the use of tools had always been thought to be uniquely human. Peterson provides colorful descriptions of day-to-day life at Gombe and Goodall's interaction with the chimps, and ably portrays her relationship with Leakey, the National Geographic Society (which sponsored much of her work), her two marriages, her reaction to her celebrity and her ventures as an activist for the well-being of chimpanzees in captivity and the wild. However, exhaustive details of Goodall's childhood, her youthful loves, the activities of her infant son and the lives of her students and fellow researchers become wearisome. 16 pages of photos not seen by PW. (Nov. 15)

This intriguing series of conversations between like-minded peers about America in the Middle East pairs dissident intellectual Chomsky with Achcar, who is less well known for critiques of U.S. foreign policy (Clash of Barbarisms). Drawing on deep historical background, they deconstruct Western assumptions about international politics: "Every state you can think of is based on violence, repression... the state system itself has no inherent legitimacy." While refreshingly careful to note when their conclusions aren't backed by rigorous documentation, both make broad assumptions about human behavior, while easily disregarding contradictions. For example they rely on opinion polls to indicate the desires of a given people (as opposed to the ruling elite), but reject the once-broad Palestinian support of the Oslo Peace Accords, for instance, because, as Chomsky says, the Palestinians "were just totally deluded." Similarly, they give little weight to nonrational influences—religiosity, fear—where these almost certainly played a key role in forming public opinion, such as in Arab disillusionment with secular nationalism or Israeli presumptions of anti-Semitism. Particularly in Chomsky's case, this can extend to an unfortunate contempt for those with whom he disagrees. Both men raise vital questions, but some readers may be alienated by the authors' often dismissive manner. (Nov.)

Faced with "a flying wedge of white toughs coming at him" as he interviewed a black woman after the 1955 Emmett Till lynching trial, NBC reporter John Chancellor thrust his microphone toward them, saying, "I don't care what you're going to do to me, but the whole world is going to know it." This gripping account of how America and the world found out about the Civil Rights movement is written by two veteran journalists of the "race beat" from 1954 to 1965. Building on an exhaustive base of interviews, oral histories and memoirs, news stories and editorials, they reveal how prescient Gunnar Myrdal was in asserting that "to get publicity is of the highest strategic importance to the Negro people." The New York Times and other major media take center stage, but the authors provide a fresh account of the black press's trajectory from a time when black reporters searched "for stories white reporters didn't even know about" through the loss of the black press's "eyewitness position on the story" in Little Rock to its recovery with the Freedom Rides. Although sometimes weighted by mundane detail and deadening statistics, the book is so enlivened with anecdotes that it remains a page-turner. (Nov. 21)

Mitchell, chair of the American Independent Business Alliance, has produced a compelling indictment of Wal-Mart and other "big box" stores, based on numerous national examples. Deep-pocketed chains like Home Depot flood the market to drive out competition, she points out, then advertise some products at or below cost, while most other products may offer no better value than at independent stores. Meanwhile, she argues, independent businesses not only return profits to local communities and remain more civic-minded and accountable, but offer resiliency rooted in diversity, in contrast to the big-box "monocrop." She even provides evidence that Wal-Mart lowers, rather than boosts community economic well-being, and that firms with fewer than 100 employees give twice as much in charity per employee as those with more than 500 workers. Mitchell challenges Chris Anderson's Long Tail theory, suggesting that an indie bookseller's passion about a product can be more critical to its sales than wide access via a Web retailer. Mitchell catalogues diverse ways indie-minded consumers can fight back, by campaigning against government subsidies to big-box stores, and advocating for sales tax collection on Internet sales and stronger antitrust enforcement. Visible citizens' coalitions can fight big-box expansion, especially if communities fine-tune their land use policies. The big-box trend, she suggests, can be countered by increasing public awareness. (Nov.)

In this paean to "one of the truly exceptional American success stories," Michelli convinces the reader that Starbucks is a great company, but he stumbles when trying to extract "precepts that can enhance your business and your personal life." He explores the various levels on which Starbucks succeeds, from its generous HR policies and lively work environment to its attention to detail and genuine concern for social causes—all of which highlight how singular a company it is. (Michelli throws in the word "unique" as often as twice a sentence.) But when it comes to advice for businesspeople, his "simple, yet not simplistic" tenets are too vague to be very helpful. Michelli notes that he has no personal stake in Starbucks: "I am not here to sell you on the company." But his enthused exclamations—"It is difficult to imagine all the great things that are yet to come for Starbucks"—give The Starbucks Experience the ring of an authorized book. Still, the company's practices are undeniably innovative and inspiring, and even if most of them aren't directly relevant, there's surely something in this book that's applicable to most businesses. (Nov.)

After a career in publishing (as executive editor of Playboy and TV Guide), Golson decided it was time to plan for retirement. With a modest nest egg and an urge for sunshine and adventure, he and his wife traveled Mexico researching American retirees for an AARP article that eventually won a Lowell Thomas award and became the seed for this funny and practical book. On impulse, Golson and his wife also bought land in their favorite spot, the Mexican seaside village of Sayulita. Returning to build their home, they realized their cliffside property was impractical; with the remainder of their savings, they bought more land and started their dream house. As with most home-building sagas, they faced obstacles (permit hassles, contractors who backed out) and made errors (the staircase didn't reach the roof) but, magically, the house was ready when the extended family arrived for Thanksgiving. In the end, the house-building process became their vehicle for cultural transplantation; by the time their home was finished, the Golsons knew a lot more about Mexican village life and felt totally comfortable with their new neighbors. (Nov.)

We never know what may happen when we pick up a book," writes Werris is her tragicomic memoir of life in the book trade, "... turning the page might actually change the course of our existence." As an unemployed college student, Werris began selling books in 1970 at the Pickwick Bookstore in Los Angeles and never stopped. Her evolutionary career began in bookstores, moved to publishers (like Rolling Stone's imprint, Straight Arrow), continued on to repping and culminated in escorting famous authors on tour. Daughter of Snag Werris, a longtime comedy writer for the likes of Milton Berle and Jackie Gleason, Werris has humor in her genes and a raconteur's flair for a good story, and her book bubbles with insider tales of authors and celebrities (like her one-night stand with Richard Brautigan and a magical dinner with Eric Idle and George Harrison). Sadness peppers Werris's story, however: failed relationships, the death of a beloved friend from kidney failure, a complicated relationship with her parents and a brutal rape whose perpetrator was never captured, despite Werris's own valiant efforts. The book details a richly textured world of small presses and now vanishing independent bookstores, and is a bittersweet tribute to the indefatigability of bibliophiles like Werris herself. (Nov.)

In this discursive and absorbing interdisciplinary work, Hampl (A Romantic Education) explores the artistic life from an impressively diverse number of perspectives. Her starting place is Matisse's Woman Before an Aquarium, a painting that, to her, represents the languid, inward-looking life of the mind that leads to great art. From this image, Hampl sets off on an intellectual journey that leads her from Matisse's odalisques to those of Delacroix and Ingres, then outward to the larger notions of orientalism and exoticism that pervade such works. The pleasure of reading this book comes from following Hampl as she skips swiftly from one subject to another while maintaining a perfect consistency of tone and theme. In one particularly illuminating sequence, Hampl discusses the career of Jerome Hill, a documentary filmmaker from her hometown of St. Paul, Minn., who chronicled the minutiae of his life in his final film; the hometown connection allows Hampl to explore aspects of her own life as well. Whether discussing the journals of Katherine Mansfield or the harems of the 18th century, Hampl proves to be an authoritative and beguiling guide to the joys of leisure and the intellect. (Nov.)

This journal captures the two years Carradine spent making the two-part feature film Kill Bill with director Quentin Tarantino. As he describes the pre-production, production and promoting of the film, Carradine, who is best known for TV's Kung Fu, gives readers a glimpse into the up-and-down life of a B-list actor. Excited about landing the role of Bill, once ticketed for Warren Beatty, Carradine is simultaneously nervous about canceling the autograph conventions on which he pretty much supports himself. Along with subtly pointing out that he has worked with Martin Scorsese and won a Golden Globe, Carradine also knows that a Tarantino movie is his best shot at stardom, and it's that eternal hope, not his résumé, that pervades the book and makes him a narrator for whom readers will feel genuine affection. Along with laying bare his personal deliberations, Carradine also provides an informative exploration of the world of filmmaking, from what it takes to shoot in China to how many (soon to be bloodied) shirts you need for a fight scene. It's apparent that one of Carradine's longest-running love affairs, however tempestuous it might be, is with Hollywood. And for those who share that feeling, this book will remind them why, for better or for worse, they feel that way. Photos. (Nov.)

Like a typical Broadway season, this collection of essays on the various crafts of the theater trade is intermittently brilliant, self-serving and tedious. The central conceit of having directors, performers and various backstage wizards discuss the fine art of professional collaboration is a clever one that would seem to promise a generous helping of diva sagas and in-house backbiting. Instead, too many contributors take the concept as an excuse to name-check a relatively small group of favorite artists to work with, giving the proceedings the air of an extremely long Tony Awards ceremony. Thankfully, this collection is stocked with contributions from so many luminaries that there is still a bounty of excellent material, such as Edward Albee's cranky-sounding statement, "No one collaborates with me on a play." Cy Colman, the legendary late composer, provides one of the longest and most entertaining segments, waxing candidly about his sometimes volatile songwriting partnerships and the often difficult realities of bringing a show to the stage. Despite the book's choppiness, old-timers like Colman lend a poignant consistency with their elegies for a more dynamic, less focus-tested Broadway that they agree, sadly, has probably passed for good. (Nov.)

If ever a man needed saving from the enthusiasm of his admirers," Crane begins, "it was Scott." But although this hefty biography strips away much of the legend and mystique surrounding the polar expeditions of Robert Falcon Scott, it's still infused with hero worship. In addition to his leadership skills, Crane claims Scott was the only polar explorer to possess significant literary talent, and his writings—especially the final message scrawled as he lay dying in the Antarctic wastelands—"extend our sense of what it is to be human." The twin centerpieces of Scott's story are, of course, his two expeditions to Antarctica, both of which are recreated here with meticulous detail. Crane understands, however, that Scott's accomplishments in the polar region were shaped by his earlier experiences in the Royal Navy; thus the narrative is equally strong in recounting how Scott was able to overcome fierce opposition to his leadership of the first trip and how the rivalry with former crewmate Ernest Shackleton spurred the second. "Personality and character went on playing a decisive role in polar exploration long after it had been relegated to the margins of other history," Crane writes, and for all the dramatic action, it is Scott the man who most captivates the author—and readers. 16 pages of photos, maps. (Nov. 15)

Robbins (1918–1998) was the choreographic genius behind the 1957 Broadway hit West Side Story and other musical classics, in addition to such great ballets as Fancy Free and Dances at a Gathering. Vaill (Everybody Was So Young: Gerald and Sara Murphy: A Lost Generation Love Story) was given unprecedented access to Robbins's personal papers after his death, and the result is a critically sophisticated biography that's as compulsively readable as a novel. As she traverses Robbins's growth as an artist, his ambivalence about his Jewish heritage, his bisexuality and his relationships with other artists from Balanchine, to Bernstein to Baryshnikov, she writes with both passion and compassion. More than Deborah Jowitt in her recent Robbins bio, Vaill delves into Robbins's personal life, quoting frequently from his diary and letters. But the result isn't salacious; rather, it allows a more vibrant and vital rendering of the man. Known for being very harsh on dancers, Robbins was called everything from "genius and difficult to tyrant and sadist," says Vaill, "yet the work... was marked by an ineffable sweetness and tenderness." In her balanced, sensitive portrait of an American theatrical genius, Vaill captures these contradictions elegantly. The book is essential reading for lovers of theater and dance. (Nov. 21)

Vaksberg (Stalin's Prosecutor) unsympathetically traces the fascinating life of the Russian writer who became the so-called father of Soviet literature but who died in 1936, at age 68, under suspicious circumstances. Drawing on new archival research and interviews, the author focuses on Gorky's activities as a cultural and political figure. Vaksberg starts with his subject's rise to literary prominence at the end of the 19th century and his imprisonment for anti-tsarist activities. Early on, Gorky opposed the Bolsheviks and spent several years in exile in Italy. But he began supporting the Stalinist regime after returning home in 1932. Eventually, Vaksberg writes, Gorky became "hostile toward any information from the West, while any propaganda from the east was the ultimate truth." Vaksberg's writing, and the able translation, show stylistic flair, and the author knows his subject well. However, he ends by arguing that Gorky died not of complications from tuberculosis but of a poisoning by Stalinist officials. The thesis has been offered before, and Vaksberg provides little new evidence to support his claim. 30 b&w photos. (Nov.)

Although Leonard Woolf (1880– 1969) was a seminal figure in the Bloomsbury set, he is known today primarily as the devoted caregiver of his wife, Virginia. That his life and career encompassed significant contributions to the literary, political and cultural events of his times will be evident to readers of this exemplary biography, the first to do justice to a complex man empowered by his intellect and the friends he made at Cambridge but professionally hobbled by British anti-Semitism and his decision to put aside his aspirations in deference to his wife's crushing needs and his belief in her genius. Glendinning, noted biographer of Vita Sackville-West, Trollope and others, brings her brilliant critical eye to an appraisal of Woolf's difficult personal life, which began with his father's premature death and the family's fall from middle-class comfort. Because the Woolves (as they were known) had a rich intellectual partnership, Leonard endured their celibate marriage and Virginia's lesbian affairs. Only after Virginia's death did he enjoy a sexually fulfilling relationship, with a married woman, which Glendinning documents through previously unreferenced material. This lucid biography is enhanced by Glendinning's humane and perceptive insight into Woolf's conflicted personality as well as by her assessment of his signal role in the literary flowering and political issues of the early 20th century. 16 pages of b&w photos. (Nov. 11)

Gubar and Sandra M. Gilbert revolutionized feminist literary criticism with their 1979 Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-century Literary Imagination. This memoir crossed with cultural criticism, written in the style of Virginia Woolf's foundational feminist manifesto, A Room of One's Own, is a valiant attempt to wed the personal and political with playful literary imitation. Using not only Woolf's structure but also her tone and language, Gubar guides the reader through an academic year (she teaches at Indiana University) as she reflects on the state of present-day feminist politics. She covers the expected topics—the place of postmodern theory in the academy, how race is now discussed in feminist literary criticism. But Gubar's slavish imitation of Woolf's style ("Imponderables that profound indubitably require dawdling, I mused, glancing out the window....") simply inhibits clear locution. A deeper problem is that Gubar's often smart insights are buried in the indirect, even rambling, style. For example, in an analysis of the dynamics at a fellowship-granting meeting, Gubar describes all of the participants as barnyard animals, but the whimsy fails, detracting from Gubar's important points. Gubar is a vital voice on academic feminist concerns, but most of this volume fails in both its literary conceit and as a coherent argument. (Nov.)

London-based photographer Crick's whimsical book consists of pastiches of famous writers having culinary adventures. John Steinbeck's Depression-era risotto is a parched affair: "The porcini lay dry and wrinkled, each slice twisted by thirst." The Marquis de Sade's heroine Justine offers a through-the-keyhole account of her captor's preparation of Boned, Stuffed Poussins: "I had no idea that a small bird could take so much stuffing, but he carried on, using language that my ears could barely suffer, until the poor bird could take no more." Crick easily evokes the serene wisdom of Jane Austen, in a recipe for Tarragon Eggs: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that eggs, kept for too long, go off." From Raymond Chandler's edgy account of cooking lamb to Gabriel García Márquez's epic Coq au Vin, from Harold Pinter's one-act Cheese on Toast to Chaucer's versified instructions for Onion Tart, Crick ranges easily throughout world literature, perfectly capturing the voice of each writer. Not content with this capricious achievement, Crick supplies his own color illustrations, likewise works of pastiche, gently mocking, among others, Andy Warhol, William Hogarth, Jean Cocteau, Vincent van Gogh and Henry Moore. This is a delight for literary foodies. (Nov.)

In a summer of panic and death in 1878, more than half the population of Memphis, Tenn., fled the raging yellow fever epidemic, which finally waned when cooler weather set in. The disease had been transmitted by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, which came in swarms on ships from the Caribbean or West Africa. This account has a narrower scope than James Dickerson's recent Yellow Fever, focusing on the Memphis tragedy, but journalist Crosby offers a forceful narrative of a disease's ravages and the quest to find its cause and cure. Crosby is particularly good at evoking the horrific conditions in Memphis, "a city of corpses" and rife with illness characterized by high fever, black vomit and hemorrhaging, treated by primitive methods. Crosby also relates arresting tales of heroism, such as how two nuns returned to the quarantined city from a vacation to nurse the victims. The author profiles scientists, some of whom died in their fight to identify the cause of this deadly disease. She also describes more recent outbreaks in Africa: yellow fever is making a frightening comeback despite the existence of a vaccine. Photos. Barnes & Noble Discover New Writers selection. (Nov. 7)

Twenty years after The Society of Mind, where he introduced the concept that "minds are what brains do," Minsky probes deeper into the question of natural intelligence. Don't look for simple explanations: he believes "we need to find more complicated ways to explain our most familiar mental events"; we need to break our thought processes down into the most precise steps possible. In fact, in order to truly understand the human mind, Minsky suggests, we'll probably need to reverse-engineer a machine that can replicate those functions so we can study it. Thus, he rejects the idea of consciousness as a unitary "Self" in favor of "a decentralized cloud" of more than 20 distinct mental processes. In this view, emotional states like love and shame are not the opposite of rational cogitation; both, Minsky says, are ways of thinking. This is not a book to be read casually; Minsky builds his argument with constant reference to earlier and later sections, imagining objections from a variety of philosophical positions and refuting them. A steady stream of diagrams helps clarify matters, but readers will be forced to dig for the "aha!" moments: they're worth the effort. 100 b&w illus. (Nov. 7)

As Fermi Lab astrophysicist Hooper tells readers, the mass in any solid object, like a chair or a table, makes up only about 4% of the universe. The other 96% of the cosmos consists of invisible "dark matter" and "dark energy." Scientists have known about dark matter for a long time; some minigalaxies are composed almost entirely of the stuff. Dark energy is a more recent discovery: it's what seems to be pushing the universe apart faster and faster. Hooper explains why he and his colleagues have ruled out many leading candidates for the constituent particles of dark matter, like neutrinos. Today they are betting on particles called superpartners that bear Seussian names like sneutrinos, zinos and Higgsinos. Some researchers believe the missing mass may just be ordinary matter moving through the extra dimensions posited by string theory. Dark energy, which accounts for two-thirds of the energy in the universe, presents even more of a mystery. According to the author, some scientists have theorized that multiple universes may play a role. Hooper's clear presentation in very simple, jargon-free prose should appeal especially to young people just starting to get excited about the mysteries that still await them in science. (Nov. 1)

These previously published vignettes find former Texas Observer contributing editor Bode (Texas Sketchbook) watching the regulars of a downtown El Paso plaza in "their social club beneath the mulberry trees"; fondly studying skateboarders who loiter outside a 7-Eleven like "urbanized Huck Finns"; and speculating on what the future holds for a Hispanic and Anglo "Romeo and Juliet" whom he observes in a barbecue restaurant. Bode meditates appreciatively on the natural wonder of shade and on the ubiquitous hackberry tree that represents "everything that was graceless and shabby and down-at-the-heels in the hot Texas summertime." Epiphanies of his own 1940s central Texas boyhood mingle with memories of his son as a boy as he recounts, with courageous forthrightness, the painful story of his troubled son's suicide. Essays that reflect on his 48 years of teaching public high school in El Paso, including his award-winning "Requiem for a WASP School," capture the rise of Chicano counterculture and his own rebelliously liberal antiwar stance. Bode's deep feeling for unsung places will endear him to anyone familiar with the Texan townscapes and landscapes he evokes. (Nov.)

Hirsch, a type 1 diabetic, agonized when his three-year-old son began exhibiting the symptoms of diabetes. More, he was prompted to take a look at diabetes and how it is treated in this country and the possibility of finding a cure for this ravaging disease. What he finds isn't always encouraging. Skillfully combining journalistic expertise with his personal story, Hirsch, a former reporter for the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal (Hurricane: Riot and Remembrance) asks the editor of a hugely popular Web site about the quality of care for diabetes in this country. The response: "It stinks." Hirsch details the physical complications that arise for insulin-dependent type 1 diabetics and health insurers' reluctance to fully reimburse relatively low-cost education for diabetics, resulting in their need for high-cost diagnostic testing and hospital care. Some of Hirsch's reporting uncovers a common blame-the-patient attitude in doctors. The author also covers the controversial studies of Denise Faustman, whose groundbreaking research has produced promising results in mice, and the stem-cell research of Douglas Melton. Overall, this is an informative and moving analysis of a disease with a death rate that, high as it is, the author says is underreported. 16 pages of b&w photos. (Nov. 8)

The news from Iraq keeps getting grimmer, but Iraq veteran Kopelman and journalist Roth (The Man Who Talks to Dogs) tell a tale of radiant joy about Kopelman's efforts to safely transport Lava, the stray dog his Marine unit found in the wreckage of Fallujah, back to the U.S. Though the premise sounds cloying, Kopelman and Roth eschew sentimentality. They don't hesitate to detail the corruption of the Coalition Provisional Authority and the U.S. military bureaucracy or the extreme hardships of the Iraqi people. Kopelman's nagging qualms about keeping the dog in violation of military orders throw into relief his efforts to repress his guilt over working so hard to save a dog amid so much human suffering. Most bracing are the frank descriptions of the war's moral vacuum, where terrified men and women—like the dogs that Iraqi insurgents strap with bombs and send charging into the enemy—are driven to commit unspeakable acts they cannot possibly understand. The story of Lava's journey out of Iraq is exciting, but it's to Kopelman and Roth's credit that it's not nearly as harrowing as the story of what the dog left behind. 8 pages of b&w photos. (Oct.)

It has become almost a cliché for biographers to speculate about their subjects' psychosexual oddities. But speculation is not necessary when the subject is Allen Ginsberg, because the legendary beat poet and countercultural figure proudly proclaimed his psychosexual oddities, from his youthful incestuous impulses toward his father and brother to his little-requited infatuations with beat golden boys like Neal Cassady and his later eye for young male acolytes. Indeed, Ginsberg meticulously documented all his doings and feelings, and Morgan, his archivist and bibliographer, relies on that trove. Morgan does little to shape the material; each chapter, bluntly titled with the calendar year, simply recounts 365 days' worth of parties, debauches, quarrels and breakups, drug experimentation, all-night debates about literature and philosophy, dead-end jobs, knock-about travels, psychoanalysis, ecstatic Blakean visions, depressed funks, homicides committed by friends, jazz, poetry readings and Ginsberg's contemporary ruminations on all the above. The disorganized, onrushing flow of experience is occasionally eye-glazing, and Morgan offers disappointingly little interpretation of Ginsberg's poems. But Ginsberg and his gang—Kerouac, Burroughs, Cassady et al.—are such vibrant, compelling characters that this mere straightforward chronicle of their lives approaches, as they intended, a fair imitation of art. Photos. (Oct. 9)

Adding to the slew of books calling for authentic, untamed Christian faith, Foster, the founder and pastor of the megachurch Belleville Community Church in Nashville, wants people to look to Jesus ("the J-life") rather than to religion. His passion permeates the pages as he calls for "the creation of a renegade nation where love is the ethic and freedom is the goal." Peppering his book with jazzy sound bites, acronyms and clichés ("Only Jesus can fill the God-sized hole in the center of your heart"), he is sometimes repetitive. Yet his arguments are often compelling, including his view that "one of our greatest threats is not hedonism, but moralism." Unfortunately, dissonance creeps in. Renegades, he exhorts, "don't like labels," yet the book encourages readers to become an "R4G"—Renegade for God. He cites the growth and size of his own megachurch, but points to organized churches as part of religion's problem. While Foster's desire to differentiate followers of Jesus from legalism is laudable, he seems to dismiss the importance of rigorous study. A better section explores savoring the sacred, in which he reminds readers to "see everything as a gift for which to be grateful." Those disillusioned with traditional Christianity will find an enthusiastic, if sometimes uneven, voice for change in these pages. (Nov. 15)

McManus's collection of essays reads like a series of lively late-night college bull sessions about the meaning of life, with enough transitions and common threads to pull reader-participants along. "We are all on the same quest," he writes. "And our soul craving is to find something we can believe in." McManus wants readers to come to know themselves and meet God on the journey. "This thing that haunts you, that never seems satisfied, the cravings in your soul that you are unable to satiate through all the success that the world can bring—this is your soul screaming for God." He spends many pages on love and its implications and emphasizes grace while eschewing legalism and shaming. McManus also muses on ambition, the power of hope, the uniqueness of each person, the search for meaning and purpose, the need for trust, and death and the problem of evil. McManus (The Barbarian Way), the lead pastor of the Mosaic community in Los Angeles, has an unusually un-self-conscious voice. Throughout, he seamlessly incorporates personal anecdotes, music lyrics and movie snippets. Although the content isn't particularly new and the book might have benefited from some tightening, McManus's fresh presentation will do much to woo spiritual seekers and disenchanted Christians to a more authentic Christianity. (Nov. 14)

If a mature religion is one that can laugh at itself, then Mormonism is growing up. The ranks of the heretofore slim world of LDS satirists (dominated by cartoonists Pat Bagley and Calvin Grondahl and columnist Robert Kirby) have been swelled by the next generation: this compilation of ruthlessly funny articles is as irreverent as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir is decorous. The book is edited by Bigelow, coauthor of Mormonism for Dummies and cofounder of the Sugar Beet (an LDS version of the satirical publication the Onion). Bigelow and his staff of Sugar Beet writers, whose identities are hidden behind ultra-Mormon pseudonyms, ferret out the delicious humor tucked away in Mormonism's quirkiest doctrines and cultural extremes in articles like "Gay polygamists make bid for legitimacy"; "Zions Bank offers financing for scrapbookers"; and "Elvis Presley accepts posthumous baptism." The humor grows mostly out of the rich soil of Wasatch Front culture, so some of it may go over the heads of converts to the faith, and many stalwart Mormons would declare the writing dangerously "light-minded." But a solid core of LDS (and LDS-raised) readers will find The Enquirer a tie-loosening, glue-gun melting pleasure—and an excellent Christmas gift for friends and family. (Nov. 6)

This slender volume is something of a sequel to Wills's blockbuster What Jesus Meant; here, Wills defends Paul from detractors who insist that the apostle corrupted Jesus' radical message. Beginning with a reminder that Paul's letters are older than the gospels and therefore may represent the most authentic approximation of Jesus' teachings, Wills argues that Paul was right in line with Jesus. Both men stressed love of God and love of one's neighbor as the two principal commandments. Wills highlights the differences between the Pauline epistles and Luke's later writing about Paul, arguing that the famous story of Paul's road-to-Damascus conversion, which comes from Luke's account in Acts, is flawed, and that Paul himself did not consider his convictions about Jesus a "conversion," but part of his ongoing life as a Jew. Through a reading of Romans, Wills attempts to acquit Paul of the charges of anti-Semitism. And though Paul is often tarred as a misogynist, Wills shows that he "believed in women's basic equality with men." (Since Wills focuses only on the seven letters that most scholars agree were written by Paul himself, the egalitarian Paul becomes credible; some of the most overtly sexist passages come from letters written later and ascribed to Paul.) Provocative yet helpful, this book is sure to create a buzz. (Nov. 6)

In India death is perceived very differently than in the West, "as a brief stopping point on an endless soul journey," says Chopra in this introduction to life beyond bodily existence. Chopra, a medical doctor and world leader in mind-body medicine as well as author of more than 45 books, now ventures to answer: what happens after we die? For Chopra, death deserves to be called miraculous, a "doorway to a far more important event—the beginning of the afterlife" and a mode of being that "can be as creative as living." Chopra effectively uses the classic Vedanta story of Savitri—a woman who comes home to find death, Lord Yama, waiting to take her husband, and who seeks the monk Ramana's advice to outwit death—to frame each chapter. Chopra grounds each topic in the long arc of this singular story, which is the perfect springboard for Chopra to introduce concepts such as Akasha (the highest stage a soul can attain) and Eternity within the Indian tradition (where we are beyond death, life, maleness, femaleness, and the experience of time). Chopra presents a fascinating account of life after death for Westerners that will certainly please his avid fans and draw in new readers as well. (Nov.)

The history of the ancient nation of Israel is marked by conflict and compromise, rebellion and repentance. Often at war with surrounding nations as well as with the God who brought Israel into existence, the people needed strong, authoritative voices calling them back to lives of holiness. In this clear and eminently readable account, Rubenstein studies two of those prophetic voices and demonstrates their unique place in history. Describing them as "influential political advisers as well as recipients of divine messages about history's inner meaning and direction," the author puts flesh on the stories of Isaiah and Jeremiah, who emerge as remarkable messengers of God. Rubenstein depicts their faults as well as their assets: Isaiah, bold and decisive, and Jeremiah, sometimes petulant but deeply committed and finally hopeful in the ultimate triumph of God's providence and plan for the chosen nation. A professor of conflict resolution and public affairs at George Mason University, Rubenstein is the author of two previous works, including the popular When Jesus Became God. As with that previous volume, this is beautifully written, offering the general reader as well as the scholar a compelling account of a turbulent time in Israel's history. (Nov.)

Taxonomists rejoice: for all who have wondered about the difference between a roshi and a sensei, this book sorts these two kinds of Zen Buddhist teachers and offers lots more information about Zen schools and influences. A longtime Zen student and Unitarian minister, Ford is a sympathetic insider who knows much of his history firsthand, yet sees clearly enough to acknowledge the distortions and even abuses in the history of Zen as it came to this country. His delineations form a road map to persons and places in Zen in America. His eye is especially keen in appreciating the early teachers who brought Zen from Japan and adapted it to an audience growing in numbers and receptivity to Asian religious wisdom. End matter, including a guide to finding a teacher, is helpful; missing, however, is some graphic representation—a family tree, perhaps?—that could have summarized paragraphs of prose about lineages and who taught whom. The very existence of the book is evidence of the growth and maturation of a small but culturally significant group of what Ford rightly characterizes as religious believers. Beyond the obvious niche audience, this book holds interest for all curious about American Zen Buddhism and contemporary expressions of American spirituality. (Nov.)

Can religion answer any of the questions raised by science? Can science answer the questions posed by religion? Smith, an observant Jew who is a senior scientist at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, brings us a work that is "deliberately not... scholarly." It aims to educate and enlighten readers while attempting to fuse an entry-level explanation of the vast and fascinating subject of cosmology with the elusive elements of the Kabbalah. Despite a fluid and uncomplicated organization, Smith fails to communicate with his target audience—those either unfamiliar with or uninterested in science and religion. His unwieldy prose, riddled with parenthetical allusions to former or pending chapters, and littered with qualifications, makes the science hard to follow for even the most avid fans of popular science magazines. Admittedly, his discussion of the Kabbalah is "a modest extraction of a few relevant ideas," but his cursory extrapolations confuse rather than clarify. If enthusiasm could make this an accessible read, Smith could well have succeeded. Unfortunately, readers may feel left in the dark after wrestling their way through his lecture. (Nov.)

In a time when cynicism seems to reign, a book about finding hope is refreshing. Ford, a religion writer (The Sacred Art of Forgiveness), PW freelancer, and hospice worker, has hope to spare. Writing in the midst of a chronic illness and the aftermath of an electrical fire that damaged her home, Ford manages to communicate the essence of hope with intelligence, humor and grace. Her premise is that "when your ultimate hope is in God, your underlying philosophy of hope is based on the unshakeable belief that no matter what happens, God will see you through it." She illustrates this with stories from her own life, popular culture, history and the Bible. At the end of each chapter, Ford offers short questions to ponder along with simple practices to restore hope. She suggests some typical things, like journaling, meditating and decluttering, but also ventures into unusual recommendations, like blogging. Ford's gift is not only her accessible writing style, but also her life experience as a Christian. She has obviously spent time with different facets of Christianity and possesses an understanding of other spiritual paths. What results is an inspiring, broad-based look at sound theological, spiritual and practical principles to cultivate hope. (Nov.)

Prothero, author of the critically acclaimed American Jesus: How the Son of God Became a National Icon, edits this uncoordinated exploration of how various religions outside the Judeo-Christian umbrella have been affected by the American political process. Chapters focus on how Sikhs, Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims are becoming more politically involved, seeking recognition of their holidays and espousing their values in the public square. Although American Muslims appear to be the most politically involved of the surveyed groups, the chapters on them are weak, citing outdated statistics. The other chapters on Buddhists and religious-themed legal challenges are accurate but sometimes densely academic. Although the essays are uneven, Prothero is to be admired for tackling this topic, as members of these religions are sometimes wrongly regarded as politically invisible. The brightest light is the edifying section on Hindus and Sikhs: Syracuse University professor Prema Kurien explains how the American Hindu community envies the attention American Muslims have received since 9/11, and UC–Santa Barbara professor Gurinder Singh Mann writes a fascinating capsule history of Sikhs in America. (Oct. 30)

Despite its visually interesting layout and 100 color photographs, this book, by a veteran meditator and author, adds nothing distinctive to the crowded meditation bookshelf. Aimed at beginners, it's long on the promises of meditation. Meditators will become calm, clear, compassionate, sensitive, patient and aware. What's not to want about these admirable qualities? Yet Feldman is not very specific about how to get there from here. In posture instruction, for example, which is square one for beginners, the direction "Let your hands rest on your legs or together" is neither specific nor elaborate enough. Feldman's vague language doesn't translate well to paper; such statements as "Awareness is the cultivation of intimacy in each moment" exemplify meditation buzzwords. This gift book relies heavily on evocative generic pictures, showing thin, attractive people between the ages of 20 and 30, a majority of them females sporting funky jewelry and yoga wear and looking tranquil by idyllic rocks and water. Meditation is antithetical to instant results, but it also requires more depth than this to motivate a beginner. (Oct. 28)

In this dense, learned study, Perry, a professor of theology at Manitoba's Providence College, attempts to bridge the different accounts of Mary that have long divided Catholics and evangelicals. The book was born of Protestant Perry's nagging sense that his tradition did not give the mother of Jesus her due. He insists, in good Protestant fashion, on grounding his evangelical Mariology in scripture, not in "postbiblical legends." Perry first examines how Mary figures in the New Testament. The major New Testament writers, according to Perry, had wildly different views of Mary, with Luke seeing her as a prophet and Paul viewing her as "no more than an anonymous mother." Perry then turns to the church fathers, arguing that medieval doctrines about Mary were not new inventions, but elaborations and clarifications of doctrines that were articulated in the patristic era. He concludes with a constructive (but too brief) Protestant theology of Mary, including the controversial claim that, in some senses, it is appropriate to consider Mary a "mediator." Thanks to Dan Brown and Elaine Pagels, many readers are interested in the women in Jesus' life. Although this book is too scholarly to attract a large following, Perry makes an important contribution to Catholic-evangelical dialogue. (Nov.)

Diet and nutrition books probably number in the thousands, and they all preach more or less the same message: control your portions, don't eat processed foods and drink lots of water. The nutrition message in this book, by a writer with a Buddhist studies background, is similar, but there's a twist to distinguish this guide from its eat-better kin. Looking at eating in a Buddhist light makes it possible to slow down, become aware and make better food choices. The book rests on the mindfulness teachings of Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh and demonstrates the practical applications of his Buddhist teachings. Much of the material is helpful. Two appendixes summarize core mindfulness teachings, and short portraits of four "mindful eaters" show the book's approach in action. Strategies abound, although some are more realistic than others. For example, asking local farmers for advice seems geographically limited or simply romantic. The author does acknowledge that organic means more expensive. This book will work best for people who are tired of diet books and ready to be more thoughtful about food. For those who constantly struggle with eating, making a connection between eating and the noble Buddhist truth of suffering may be revelatory. (Nov.)

Taking a page from 18th-century economic theorist Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations, the authors (all economists) provocatively develop an economic theory of religion, especially Christianity. In the Middle Ages, the Catholic Church had established a monopoly and controlled the market of belief, not allowing for competition to fulfill the demand of disparate believers. The Protestant Reformation introduced competition to the religion market, so Christians for the first time could determine which "product" (Catholicism or Protestantism) was most beneficial to them. The Catholic Counter-Reformation, in turn, introduced "product differentiation" as manifested in the development of doctrinal differences. For example, from the rituals of the Eucharist sacrament, Christians could choose either the real blood and body of Christ (Catholic) or the symbolic blood and body of Christ (Lutheran). The advent of denominationalism in the 19th century simply opened the free market of religion even more. Although the book requires some familiarity with economics, the authors supply a helpful glossary that briefly explains the more difficult terms. The authors' controversial ideas are sure to arouse some debate about the nature of the Christian religion. (Nov.)