Nonfiction Reviews

The first six pages of this wrenchingly honest memoir of Hood's daughter's death and its aftermath read like a tightly controlled scream. All the platitudes, the dozens of words of comfort that people offer—“time heals,” “she is in a better place”—are interspersed with Hood's silent, furious responses to these “lies,” with special scorn for those who say, “Are you writing this down?” The death of her five-year-old Grace in 2002 was completely unexpected: an ordinary strep throat somehow ravaged the organs of her small body. Hood (The Knitting Circle) takes readers through the slow, jagged steps of dealing with grief. Unable to write, she first took refuge in endless knitting, then got a tattoo on Grace's sixth birthday. Hiding from the Beatles' songs her daughter had loved, she found them so ubiquitous that she could finally listen only to talk radio. Grace's little shoes stood sentinel at the top of the stairs and three years passed before Hood could bear to clean her room. But there is redemption at the end of this short, anguished book. Hood and her husband have a new daughter, Annabelle, adopted from China, and at last, Hood can celebrate Mother's Day, albeit with a “strange mixture of grief and joy.” (May)

How do we know what others are thinking and feeling? Why do we weep at movies? UCLA neuroscientist Iacoboni introduces readers to the world of mirror neurons and what they imply about human empathy, which, the author says, underlies morality. Mirror neurons allow us to interpret facial expressions of pain or joy and respond appropriately. “Thanks to these neurons,” Jacoboni writes, “[w]e have empathy for... fictional characters—we know how they're feeling” because the feeling is reproduced in us. Mirror neurons also help us learn by imitating, from newborns who instinctively copy facial gestures to adults learning a new skill. The author cites studies suggesting that when mirror neurons don't work properly, as in autism, encouraging imitative behavior, or “social mirroring,” can help. More ominously, Jacoboni sees mirror neurons as implicated in addiction and finds possible implications for how we react to consumer and even political ads. Iacoboni's expansive style and clear descriptions make for a solid introduction to cutting-edge neurobiology. (May 21)

The French existentialist literary lion's belief that one writes as one lives suffuses these journals covering his last decade. Especially in the earlier years, these are very much working notebooks, full of undigested, fragmentary, sometimes cryptic raw material for later writings. Smoothly translated by Bloom, who teaches at the University of Maryland–Baltimore, the entries include thoughts on passages from Tolstoy, Dostoyevski, Emerson and Nietzsche; philosophical pensées (“Naturalness is not a virtue that one has: it is acquired”); jotted ideas for novels and plays (“Play: A happy man. And nobody can put up with him”); and crumbs of surreal whimsy (“A courageous cravat” reads one entry in its entirety). Later entries become more diaristic, expansive and self-revealing. They include Camus's agonized ruminations on France's war with his native Algeria, letters attacking French intellectuals' Stalinist sympathies, observations on his wife's depression, an affecting homage to his ailing mother and elaborations on his project of rescuing humanism from ideology. The notebooks' atmospherics, like a Gaulois-hazed room, are serious and tinged with thoughts of suicide. But there are extended breaks in the angst—including luminous travelogues from sojourns in Greece—that reinforce Camus's stubborn determination to lead a meaningful life in an indifferent universe. (May 18)

In seven incisive essays, novelist and Peruvian political aspirant Vargas Llosa reflects on literature and history, the crucial role of fiction in human society and the link between totalitarianism and nationalism. Lucidly and elegantly, he explores the sources of inspiration for his literary oeuvre, analyzing the significance for Latin American writers of Borges, whose works served to dispel “a kind of inferiority complex... that kept us imprisoned in a provincial outlook.” His social consciousness protests the suppression of the Catalans and the Basques in modern Spain, as well as the treatment of indigenous Indians in Latin America. He conjectures that it's the uneasy blend of two cultures, “one Western and modern, the other aboriginal and archaic,” that accounts for the prevalence of surrealism in Latin American fiction. Among the greatest influences on his intellectual development he cites his mentor, Porras Barrenechea, a professor of history who illuminated the myths and legends that underlie Peruvian fiction, and the political theorist Ortega y Gasset. Although most of these pieces originated as public lectures, the themes form a unity. The relationship between history and fiction is convincingly explained: “[t]he most fertile moments for fiction are those when collective certainties... break down,” because then people “look to the order and coherence of the fictional world.” (May)

When President Eisenhower famously warned against the military-industrial complex, he largely meant the Department of Defense–funded programs of the RAND Corporation. Abella (coauthor, Shadow Enemies: Hitler's Secret Terrorist Plot Against the United States) presents a sometimes dry but thorough account of this think-tank, which he asserts not only played a key role in the U.S.'s biggest foreign misadventures in Vietnam and Iraq but also, through its development of “rational choice theory,” has affected every aspect of our lives, not necessarily for the better. Abella, working with the cooperation of the usually secretive organization, details RAND'S history, from analyst Herman Kahn's energetic support of a virtually unrestrained nuclear arms buildup to the organization's role in sparking America's involvement in Vietnam and the current war in Iraq. But even more, Abella says, RAND theorists' notion that self-interest, rather than collective interests like religion, governs human behavior has influenced every aspect of our society, from health care to tax policy. The RAND Corporation continues today—as brilliant, controversial and, in Abella's view, amoral as ever—with the complicity of all Americans. “If we look in the mirror,” Abella concludes, “we will see that RAND is every one of us. The question is, what are we going to do about it?” 8 pages of b&w photos. (May)

Orgill unleashes verve and rhythmic riffs to capture the mood of the pre-WWII years, when “the radio was always on.” An ASCAP–Deems Taylor Award winner, Orgill, who has written about music for young readers (Mahalia), recalls radio programs. big band music, comedians, art, sports, the struggle for racial equality and a nod to the Depression and Europe's gathering storm. To recreate radio, she listened to recordings rather than using transcripts because she “needed to hear the voices and the music” herself. The format is chronological, covering 48 eventful days framed by Joe Louis's loss to Max Schmeling on June 19, 1936, and the June 22, 1938, rematch, which Louis won. In between, we hear Rudy Vallee introducing Edgar Bergen to radio listeners and Count Basie at Roseland, and Amelia Earhart soaring. Langston Hughes opens his theater, Orson Welles is The Shadow and FDR watches Disney cartoons. Orgill concludes this rhapsodic time-travel tour guide with a “Suggested Listening” list, cueing readers to play Basie as a background for her lilting language. (May)

Goldhill, professor of Greek at Cambridge (The Temple of Jerusalem), provides an illuminating archeological, architectural and historical guide to Jerusalem's most important holy and secular sites from biblical times to the present. He loves the city, but doesn't romanticize either its past or its present, and a theme throughout is that the “city of peace” has always been a place of contention. Judaism, Christianity and Islam all vie for supremacy in the city, but many claims to authenticity are false, says Goldhill. He debunks, for example, Israeli archeologist Eilat Mazar's claim to have discovered King David's palace. Ironies abound in a city where the Abrahamic faiths are not only embattled but also intermingled; the key to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre has long been held by a Muslim family. As Goldhill explores Jerusalem during the Victorian period, which he claims laid the groundwork for much of the modern city, the impact of British mandatory rule, and the city today, he faces head-on the difficulty of telling the history of a place where every fact is contested by conflicting nationalist narratives. This is a highly knowledgeable and beautifully written look at both the “heavenly” and the “earthly” Jerusalem. (May)

As Israel's prime minister from 1969 to 1974, Golda Meir (1898–1978) was recognized by her wrinkled face and gray bun. But, Burkett (Another Planet: A Year in the Life of a Suburban High School) says in this sympathetic but balanced biography, the young Meir was so strikingly attractive that detractors grumbled she had slept her way up the political hierarchy. The rise of the Russian-born, Milwaukee-bred Golda Mabovitz, however, was due to her enormous popularity in the U.S. as a fund-raiser for a struggling Jewish settlement in pre-statehood Palestine. Meir was politicized by memories of poverty and anti-Semitism in czarist Russia and by a feisty, older sister who introduced her to socialist Zionism. A Zionist pioneer, Meir secretly negotiated with Jordan's King Abdullah before the U.N. vote to partition Palestine; became a fervent supporter of Soviet Jewry after her reluctant stint as Israel's first ambassador to Moscow; and hesitantly approved the assassination of Palestinian terrorists responsible for the massacre of Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics. Burkett says the price of Meir's nonstop political life was rocky relationships with her children and estranged husband. This is a solidly researched, highly readable portrait of a mesmerizing but, according to Burkett, ultimately lonely woman, though much of the material is familiar. 8 pages of b&w photos. (May)

In 1996 the brutal civil war in Rwanda spilled into neighboring Congo, triggering a conflict that has seethed for 12 long years, claimed more lives than any since WWII and received little acknowledgment or aid from the international community. AP correspondent Mealer spent three years in this shattered land, and his book is a perceptive, empathetic, stomach-twisting presentation of the human condition during chaos. Mealer depicts war and peace as “the mighty arms of a hurricane”; war hurtles thousands of terrified people into the bush; intermittent peace lures the “lost ones” home. Individuals and institutions, indigenous and Western alike, are overwhelmed by the confluence of political collapse, economic disintegration, international indifference and a generalized military ineffectiveness that prevents resolution of the conflict on any terms. The vivid vignettes of combat and its aftermath portend a “forever war,” and the author highlights the impotence of grassroots solutions that render any “deliverance” ephemeral at best. Mealer's book is a quiet paean to the courage he has witnessed, and its final salute to “the many proud people of Congo” is as much eulogy as affirmation. (May)

Former British energy secretary and chancellor of the exchequer Lawson succinctly lambastes global warming “hysteria” in this slim book. To Lawson, “save the planet” is “the most ludicrous slogan ever coined”; Al Gore's “tendentious” documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, is a fanciful “cherry-picking of phenomena illustrating a predetermined alarmist narrative;” and the “new religion” of environmentalism “contains a grain of truth—and a mountain of nonsense.” Lawson's tone is occasionally shrill, but his insights are keen and refreshingly iconoclastic. He argues that “green protectionism,” the movement to restrict importing produce because of the incurred “food miles,” damages the global economy more than global warming ever could, and “the would-be saviours of the planet are, in practice, the enemies of poverty reduction in the developing world.” Lawson reserves his deepest contempt for the U.N.'s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, co-winner with Gore of the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize, which he dubs an unethical, politically correct pressure group whose most recent report misrepresents the reality of man-made greenhouse gas emissions and fails to embrace the potential of humans to adapt to climate change. The conservative (and Conservative) author's contrarian synthesis of political thinking and economic analysis is notably well argued and well written—and sure to raise the hackles of those on the other side of the issue. (May)

In these 49 elaborately staged photographs, Crewdson (Twilight) reveals his vision of America in lush and brooding images of dusk, each one bristling with atmosphere: a young boy stares at a naked woman standing in the open door of her trailer; a woman, observed through a motel window, looks at a baby sleeping on the bed; a man stands in a deserted intersection in the rain, his car door open behind him. Although Crewdson's work is frequently interpreted cinematically, and stylistic comparisons are drawn between him and David Lynch and Wes Anderson, in the book's preface, writer Banks argues that analogies to the movies do the photographer a disservice. According to Banks, looking at Crewdson's photographs resembles reading fiction more than anything else; it is not a passive experience (such as watching a movie) but an invitation to actively imagine alongside the artist. Crewdson's sets do boast the budgets and crew normally associated with movies, however, and this collection includes 23 extra pages of set drawings, location shots and images of the actors and props used to create the photographs—perfectly in keeping with a body of work that, as Banks states, “tests the limits of realism while making no effort to disguise its artificiality.” (May)

When a book proclaims that it is not about the decline of America but “the rise of everyone else,” readers might expect another diatribe about our dismal post-9/11 world. They are in for a pleasant surprise as Newsweek editor and popular pundit Zakaria (The Future of Freedom) delivers a stimulating, largely optimistic forecast of where the 21st century is heading. We are living in a peaceful era, he maintains; world violence peaked around 1990 and has plummeted to a record low. Burgeoning prosperity has spread to the developing world, raising standards of living in Brazil, India, China and Indonesia. Twenty years ago China discarded Soviet economics but not its politics, leading to a wildly effective, top-down, scorched-earth boom. Its political antithesis, India, also prospers while remaining a chaotic, inefficient democracy, as Indian elected officials are (generally) loathe to use the brutally efficient tactics that are the staple of Chinese governance. Paradoxically, India's greatest asset is its relative stability in the region; its officials take an unruly population for granted, while dissent produces paranoia in Chinese leaders. Zakaria predicts that despite its record of recent blunders at home and abroad, America will stay strong, buoyed by a stellar educational system and the influx of young immigrants, who give the U.S. a more youthful demographic than Europe and much of Asia whose workers support an increasing population of unproductive elderly. A lucid, thought-provoking appraisal of world affairs, this book will engage readers on both sides of the political spectrum. (May)

Pulitzer Prize–finalist Bishop offers a one-idea grab bag with a thesis more provocative than its elaboration. Bishop contends that “as Americans have moved over the past three decades, they have clustered in communities of sameness, among people with similar ways of life, beliefs, and in the end, politics.” There are endless variations of this clustering—what Bishop dubs the Big Sort—as like-minded Americans self-segregate in states, cities—even neighborhoods. Consequences of the Big Sort are dire: “balkanized communities whose inhabitants find other Americans to be culturally incomprehensible; a growing intolerance for political differences that has made national consensus impossible; and politics so polarized that Congress is stymied and elections are no longer just contests over policies, but bitter choices between ways of life.” Bishop's argument is meticulously researched—surveys and polls proliferate—and his reach is broad. He splices statistics with snippets of sociological theory and case studies of specific towns to illustrate that while the Big Sort enervates government, it has been a boon to advertisers and churches, to anyone catering to and targeting taste. Bishop's portrait of our “post materialistic” society will probably generate chatter; the idea is catchy, but demonstrating that “like does attract like” becomes an exercise in redundancy. (May)

Ramsey's best friend in high school was the beautiful Ali MacGraw, who “hopscotched right over the gawky stage” of adolescence. With such a friend, Ramsay says, “you couldn't help but feel insecure.” Readers might be tempted to feel the same as Ramsey describes hopscotching over her own gawky, aging stage. Beautiful and accomplished, she has gone from happy stay-at-home mom of six (of whom coauthor Hummel is one) to older career woman and runway model in her 60s. But while few women have her genes, or her success, they may benefit from Ramsey's frank advice and beauty tips. She includes such useful information as how to pose for a photograph, strategic uses for Botox, what to eat, how to exercise, what makeup to use, the advantages of meditation and how to stay sexual in a long-term marriage. None of it is particularly original, but it is heartfelt and admirably health conscious (except perhaps for the Botox). Not everything has been roses for Ramsey. She's a survivor of uterine cancer and was diagnosed with a weak heart. How, then, does she do it? Ramsey attributes much of her success to the power of positive thinking. And then, of course, there are those genes. (May)

In this incisive and timely essay compilation, Blumenthal, a former adviser to both Bill and Hillary Clinton, charts the fatal radicalization of the Republican Party, its imminent “great unraveling” and the consequences for the 2008 election. Blumenthal argues that the presidency of George W. Bush heralds the decline of the Republican Party after 30 years of political dominance, moderating his otherwise passionate indictment of the GOP by acknowledging that power ebbs and flows between the two parties over time. He likens the current shift to the implosion of the Johnson presidency and subsequent weakening of the Democratic Party, saying, “Vietnam ended a Democratic era as definitively as Iraq is closing a Republican one.” The consummate Washington insider, Blumenthal has a host of high-ranking (albeit often anonymous) sources, and surprising portraits of power pepper the book: of Bush as “a classic insecure authoritarian” given to imposing “humiliating tests of obedience” on his staff (such as locking Colin Powell out of a cabinet meeting for being late), Laura Bush as deeply disdainful of Rove (allegedly dubbing him “Pigpen”), former Majority Leader Tom DeLay as the “Republican Stalin, the ruthless consolidator and centralizer.” Authoritative, meticulously researched, these previously published pieces evade many of the clichés that ensnare partisan political writing and is instead a lively—if deeply sobering—panorama of political life during the Bush presidency. (Apr. 1)

These short meditations on the world in 50 years are overwhelmingly devoted to developments in human health, climate change and technology, with a disappointing scarcity of speculation about any social or spiritual transformations. Scientists, who make up more than half of the contributors, predict that genetic engineering will be commonplace and AIDS obsolete, although infectious diseases will adapt and prosper. Marriages will be arranged by compatible genotype; the oceans will rise; cats will no longer be kept as pets—they will have been identified (along with hamsters and birds) as transmitters of everything from Parkinson's to schizophrenia. China and India will be the new superpowers, and the U.S. will finally adopt the metric system. Although many writers note that certain species of plants and animals will be extinct in 50 years, only one laments that several languages will also be dead. This privileging of the scientific viewpoint makes the contributions from immunologist Peter Doherty and writer Michael Shermer all the more welcome as they attempt to focus on humanity rather than technology, imagination more than data. Perhaps it is easier to chart the course of climate change than social change—still the inhabitants of the planet and the future of their governments, beliefs and values deserve as much attention as the planet itself. (Apr .15)

In this series of stunning photographs, British photographer Zammit-Lucia celebrates the successes of the environmental movement and draws attention to the conservation work that remains. Zammit-Lucia is allergic to rhetoric, and his text, devoid of stridency, neutrally delivers extinction statistics and energy-saving tips. The images are what matter and best highlight our responsibility to imperiled habitats and species. The chapter “Land & Sea” juxtaposes dramatic landscapes (a deforested Sherwood Forest) and stark seascapes (a small boat adrift on dark water, closeups of coral and a diving whale) to accompany commentary on vanishing ecosystems. Arresting images of a near-extinct rhinoceros, a threatened polar bear and an endangered South Pacific palm tree illustrate threatened biodiversity. And in his “Modern Living,” section, Zammit-Lucia buttresses gorgeous cityscapes with his argument that “cities are among the most environmentally friendly forms of human habitation,” due to shared services, shorter travel distances and less wasteful distribution of heat and energy. Zammit-Lucia documents how suburbs ravage the environment while Manhattan uses less per capita of resources and energy than anywhere else in America. These surprising findings coupled with the raw emotional appeal of the photographs and a useful resource section distinguish this work as an aesthetic treat and a cogent call to action. (Apr.)

Bach (The Automatic Millionaire; Start Late, Finish Rich) offers a multitude of suggestions for conserving the planet—and your money—in this attractive and accessible guide. A few of Bach's tips require making a serious commitment (growing your own vegetables, using recyclable energy, trading in your car for a fuel-efficient model); others such as unplugging unused appliances, switching to compact fluorescent bulbs and eating less meat are simple—if familiar—ways to go green. Bach also advocates making environmental consciousness a family value (spending more family time in nature, taking volunteer vacations), greening holidays by using recycled wrapping paper, sending e-cards and “tree-cycling.” Bach clarifies how the most conservative changes in lifestyle can yield radical results: “If every U.S. computer and monitor were turned off at night, the nation could shut eight large power stations and avoid emitting 7 million tons of CO₂ every year.” In the “Finish Rich” section, Bach turns his attention from going green to getting green—investing the money you save in eco-friendly businesses. A winning and wise guide, this book—printed on recycled paper with proceeds going to a green advocacy group—will find a large audience. (Apr.)

In 1987, Scott's parents ended “a peripatetic decade” through South Africa, England, and New Zealand, and returned to Botswana with seven-year-old Robyn and her younger siblings. Her mother is a dedicated homeschooler (“Children learn best in unstructured situations, when they don't know they're learning”); her father is a doctor, who often serves “more than one hundred patients a day.” Grandpa Ivor, a former ace bush pilot, whose later ventures include coffin making, and Grandpa Terry, the personnel manager of a mine, are both great storytellers. Taut and coherent vignettes breathe life into the characters, and Scott's own storytelling skill renders childhood ventures (breaking a horse, falling into a thornbush, distributing Christmas bags) with remarkable immediacy and liveliness. There are snakes, metaphorical and real, though the former rarely intrude upon the child's idyllic world. The real snakes provide moments “where we never knew what we'd learn, only that it would be interesting.” A venomous puff adder serves as anatomy lesson, and her mother turns “the death of a juvenile brown house snake into an exhilarating philosophical lecture.” Happy stories are hard to tell, but Scott succeeds in this engaging recreation of a child's Botswana, apolitical and Eden-like. She has no sordid revelations, no shocking surprises—just a raconteur's talent for making any story she tells interesting. (Apr.)

At a young age, Esposito and his family move from Naples, Italy, to Albany, N.Y., where he first falls in love with wine in the basement dining room of his uncle's house. Even as he reflects on the poor quality of those first sips, he understands he was consuming the sense of family and the spirit of his crazy yet adored uncle. After opening a store in Albany, he moves to Manhattan to work as a sommelier in the early 1990s. There he partakes of haute cuisine and affluent wine collections, while learning the hierarchy of international wines. While French wines are considered the pinnacle of the industry and Californian wines are gaining interest, there are very few Italian wines of note. With a fiery passion, he determines to bring appreciation of the wines of his homeland to America and opens Italian Merchant Wines, where he continues today to import highly selected Italian wines. His writing is exuberant, and his wine descriptions evocative. A bottle of Ribolla reminds him of “staring at a cracked painting of a beautiful woman from long ago.” For lovers of wine, this is a full-bodied read about one man's passion and the many delectable moments along his journeys. (Apr.)

As husband-and-wife pensioners, Brits Terry and Monica Darlington sail their barge down the English canal system, along the Thames, past London, to Paris on the Seine and down the Rhône to Carcassonne, France. Along the way, they introduce the folks who make their homes on the water. They avoid teenage vandals, fail to teach their beloved whippet, Jim, to hunt rabbits and sail across the English Channel after nearly every informed acquaintance advises otherwise. The mixture of British vernacular and boating terms in this book originally published in England will leave some readers adrift. Yet the style echoes the author's clear zest for living in the moment. Frequent flashes of wit and poetic prose capture poignant emotions. The addendum of French phrases entitled “French in Fifteen Minutes” nicely sums up differences in the French and British cultures and makes clear the author's own mistakes while navigating a foreign language and culture. (Apr.)

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) has been brought to the fore by the war in Iraq, but not only soldiers experience it. Mason, a case manager in Tulsa, Okla., for people living with TBI, writes with passion and urgency about the unheralded but compelling stories of Americans injured in car accidents or through a miscalculation while snowboarding. Their lives are disrupted by seizures, memory loss, psychosis. One of Mason's clients is an ambitious former air force officer who now goes into waking trances in which he thinks he's dead, as a result of a herpes virus emerging from its hiding place to invade his brain. Mason lays out a damning indictment of the health-care system's failure to provide facilities and services that millions like his clients need. He also tells stories of tremendous courage and perseverance as survivors and their families work to re-establish the everyday skills they had before their injury. The strange effects of neurological damage will draw fans of Oliver Sacks, but Mason's poignant and caring accounts of his clients' lives are sure to touch the hearts of a wide range of readers. (Apr.)

Roach is not like other science writers. She doesn't write about genes or black holes or Schrödinger's cat. Instead, she ventures out to the fringes of science, where the oddballs ponder how cadavers decay (in her debut, Stiff) and whether you can weigh a person's soul (in Spook). Now she explores the sexiest subject of all: sex, and such questions as, what is an orgasm? How is it possible for paraplegics to have them? What does woman want, and can a man give it to her if her clitoris is too far from her vagina? At times the narrative feels insubstantial and digressive (how much do you need to know about inseminating sows?), but Roach's ever-present eye and ear for the absurd and her loopy sense of humor make her a delectable guide through this unesteemed scientific outback. The payoff comes with subjects like female orgasm (yes, it's complicated), and characters like Ahmed Shafik, who defies Cairo's religious repressiveness to conduct his sex research. Roach's forays offer fascinating evidence of the full range of human weirdness, the nonsense that has often passed for medical science and, more poignantly, the extreme lengths to which people will go to find sexual satisfaction. (Apr.)

The blue dog stares out from the image, one ear up, paws out in front. Is it a menacing or pleading stare? Is this a dangerous pooch or a mournful one? However it's interpreted, the Blue Dog is a compelling image that has appealed to millions and has made its creator, George Rodrigue, an artistic icon. More fascinated with his Blue Dog than Warhol was with his soup cans, Rodrigue has used silk screening to replicate, in a variety of settings both real and imagined, his version of the Cajun loup-garou—the mythological werewolf imported by the French. The dog dominates Rodrigue's career and his catalogue raisonné, which purposely downplays Rodrigue's early folk paintings of bayou scenes. Neither the foreword by Bullard, director of the New Orleans Museum or Art, nor wife and curator Wendy Wolfe Rodrigue's introduction nor the artist's commentaries provide much insight into his dramatic shift of style. Rodrigue writes, “Some are offended by what I've done and especially with the fact that I continue. But that is the creative process.” So despite many beautiful illustrations, lavish production qualities and the charm of the Blue Dog, the book offers little insight into an artistic obsession. (Apr.)

From the publication of her celebrated memoir, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, to her reading of her poem “On the Pulse of Morning” at Bill Clinton's first presidential inauguration, Maya Angelou (née Marguerite Johnson) has been an inspirational figure. In celebration of her 80th birthday (April 4, 2008), her friends Gillespie and Long, and her niece Butler, honor her life and accomplishments with a biographical tribute chock-full of photographs and snippets of Angelou's own writings. The authors trace her life from the self-imposed silence after her rape at eight through her voracious reading and the stream of words that began when she was 14 at the coaxing of an adult friend. After marrying Tosh Angelos, and bearing her son, Clyde, she ventured successfully into acting (when she changed her name to Maya Angelou) and activism alongside Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, but always harbored the desire to write. As this book makes abundantly clear, Angelou's friends view her as a woman whose arms and home are always open and a loyal friend who respects others and loves good food and roaring laughter. (Apr.)

When Kurt Vonnegut died in April 2007, the world lost a wry commentator on the human condition. Thanks to this collection of unpublished fiction and nonfiction, Vonnegut's voice returns full force. Introduced by his son, these writings dwell on war and peace, especially the firebombing of Dresden, Germany. The volume opens with a poignant 1945 letter from Pfc. Kurt Vonnegut Jr. to his father in Indianapolis, presenting a vivid portrait of his harrowing escape from that city. The fiction, full of his characteristic humor, includes stories about time travel and the impossibility of peace in the world (“Great Day”) and, in the title piece, a kind of mock Paradise Lost, Dr. Lucifer Mephisto teaches his charges about the insidious nature of evil and the impossibility of good ever triumphing. In his final speech, Vonnegut lets go some of his zingers (jazz is “safe sex of the highest order”) and does what he always did best, tell the truth through jokes: “And how should we behave during the Apocalypse? We should be unusually kind to one another, certainly. But we should also stop being so serious. Jokes help a lot. And get a dog, if you don't already have one.” So it goes. (Apr.)

“We are the Arguing Country,” declares the author of this quirky book, the senior Washington correspondent and columnist for Newsweek. And he thinks that we should argue more, not less, about fundamental matters. The matters Fineman covers are indeed fundamental ones. Some—such as who judges the law and what the right balance is between local and national authority—are constitutional. Others—the role of faith, debt and the dollar, the environment—are social, political, even philosophical. But why does Fineman choose these particular 13 subjects? What of others, like the nature of an open society, the limits of freedom, and class and caste that he barely touches? One also wonders why America's argumentativeness is unique—don't people elsewhere, like the British or Italians, debate many of these issues? Fineman zips through his topics by focusing principally on current debates in the news, which is not a bad way to hold readers' attention, but it also means the book about “enduring debates” will date quickly. All in all, this is a frustrating and unsatisfying book. (Apr. 22)

In the spring of 2005, freelance writer Kurutz began a year of hanging out with tribute bands, a type of cover group he rates “somewhere between lounge and wedding singers” that is dedicated to replicating the music, sound and appearance of a more famous act. Kurutz dates the tribute phenomenon to the 1977 Broadway play Beatlemania and explores a still thriving musical subculture by chronicling the personnel and fortunes of Sticky Fingers and the Blushing Brides, two rival Rolling Stones imitators with decades of experience. Kurutz gets an insider's view of the groups' efforts to balance their limited resources, personal lives and the road pressures of performing at casinos, frat houses and out-of-the-way bars against the real joys of playing rock and roll and pretending to be rock superstars. From exaggerated accents and remarkable libraries of bootleg tapes to descriptions of the “Keithiest” Keith Richards (Kurutz writes, “I had assumed it was impossible to recreate the withered visage of Keith Richards”), this curious debut convincingly captures the bands' histories and successes, the players' conceits and stresses. While a lack of urgency causes the narrative to stall at times, Kurutz does bring to his book energy and insight. (Apr.)

In this lengthy and occasionally slow-going read, sports columnist O'Connor documents the decades-long rivalry between Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus. The two men couldn't have been more different, both on the field and off. Palmer, several years Nicklaus's senior, was an effortlessly charming man, a self-made champion from humble Pennsylvania roots who bashed line drives with astounding force. Nicklaus, meanwhile, was more introverted and endured endless taunting from those who saw him as a cheerless striver caring only about winning. The two men rode their rivalry as golf grew from a sleepy amateur-only sport through its postwar boom into one of America's leading pastimes. Along the way, the men (whose wives became fast friends, and who themselves got along reasonably well) also accrued massive fortunes through an endless string of endorsements, business deals and golf-course building. As rivalries go, Nicklaus and Palmer's is more interesting than some, and O'Connor's account will likely appeal to hardcore golf fans. (Apr.)

Freelance writer Silva, and Koney, who directs youth programs for Seattle's YMCA, teamed up to write a book about baseball, which they both love, even though they've “never played the game.” Before they even describe the basic mechanics of the game, they launch into a chatty chapter on baseball history. They follow this with a digression on the role of managers before arriving at the heart of their book, a discussion of various game positions and how they're played. They continue with chapters on pitchers, theories of the lineup and instructions on how to score a game, all interspersed with sidebars from females, identified by first name and age, making enthusiastic comments about what a great game baseball is. Surprisingly, basic information—how the diamond is organized, the responsibilities of each position, game mechanics—is never laid out consistently. In the end, apart from the subtitle and the sidebars, there's little here for “savvy girls.” (Apr.)

Former secretary of state Shultz and Stanford economics professor Shoven offer an agenda to reform Social Security and health care in a useful but abstruse primer meant to clarify some of the most pressing issues in the upcoming election. Shultz and Shoven offer an overly optimistic assessment of the economy's health and warn of the “Iceberg Ahead”: the “staggering projected costs” of Social Security, Medicaid and Medicare. The authors boil the crisis down to the simple fact that, “in demographic terms, we are retiring earlier and living longer.” Government revenues alone cannot meet the needs of the increasing costs of health care, a longer life span and a growing cadre of those retiring at 62. Shultz and Shoven acknowledge that reforms in entitlement programs are notoriously difficult to implement, but “inaction is not an option,” and reforms should have been in place 10 years ago. To keep Social Security and health care from buckling under their prohibitive costs, the authors suggest a series of reforms, chief among them measures to encourage older Americans to continue participating in the labor force. The proposals in this “citizen's guide” are undeniably convincing, yet their presentation might prove too dense and difficult foranyone but the most dedicated political enthusiast. (Apr.)

Bobbitt follows his magisterial Shield of Achilles with an equally complex and provocative analysis of the West's ongoing struggle against terrorism. According to Bobbitt, the primary “driver” of terrorism is not Islam but the emergence of the market state. “Market states” (such as the U.S.) are characterized by their emphasis on deregulation, privatization (of prisons, pensions, armies), abdication of typical nation-state duties (providing welfare or health care) and adoption of corporate models of “operational effectiveness.” While market states are too militarily formidable to be challenged conventionally, they have allowed for the sale of weapons on the international market, thereby losing their monopoly on mass destruction; furthermore they are disproportionately vulnerable to “destabilizing, delegitimating, demoralizing” terror. Bobbitt asserts that this situation requires a shift from a strategy of deterrence and containment to one of preclusion. States must recast concepts of sovereignty and legitimacy to define what levels of force they may deploy in seeking and suppressing terrorists. Domestically, the shift involves accepting that in order to protect citizens, the state must strengthen its powers in sensitive areas like surveillance. International alliances can be a major advantage in a war waged not against terrorists, but terror itself. Terror and Consent, the first work to interpret terrorism in the context of political theory, merits wide circulation and serious consideration. (Apr.)

In this extraordinary account of 20 years on the front lines of Arab-Israeli peacemaking, career diplomat Miller provides an impressively candid appraisal of Middle East peace efforts. Drawing from his extensive experience and 160 interviews with presidents, advisers and negotiators, he apportions censure and praise with an even hand, sparing not even his failures or those of his colleagues. Miller evinces genuine compassion for both sides in the conflict (stressing that Americans cannot fully understand the life-and-death stakes in the struggle between Israelis and Palestinians), while maintaining a detachment that allows him to draw hard conclusions. Miller says that though the two sides hold ultimate responsibility for their shared fate, American involvement is imperative and calls for the tough-love approach of Kissinger and Carter, arguing compellingly that such engagement is “now more vital to our national interests, and to our security, than at any time since the late 1940s.” Although occasionally paternalistic, Miller's writing is both approachable and deeply smart; this and his absolute failure to take sides mean that this work will doubtlessly influence and enrage—and certainly inspire. (Apr.)

If your portfolio is tied up solely in American stocks, you're missing out, warns journalist Opdyke. In this lucid investment guide, he advises average investors to bypass Wall Street, avoid domestically held Exchange Traded Funds and American Depository Receipts, and to put their money to work directly in foreign economies. More than 320 of the Fortune Global 500 are based outside the U.S., and tens of thousands of smaller companies never show up on the radar back in America, but afford American investors a host of opportunities for growth, diversification, risk reduction and richer returns. Opdyke offers panoptic investment advice from finding overseas brokerage firms and picking promising stocks to funding accounts and handling tax issues. The author masterfully condenses a daunting amount of information and presents useful crash courses on how currency works and the differences between developed, emerging and frontier markets, concluding with a detailed portrait of China's investment potential. Comprehensive and inspiring, with a strong, assured voice, Opdyke's book is a must for would-be overseas investors. (Apr.)

Laurens, founder of a company called La Cabane Perchée (the Treehouse Aloft); Dufour, a watercolorist who designs and draws tree houses; and André, a carpenter who builds them, present in superb color photographs 50 tree houses they have constructed in France, Switzerland and Spain. Situated on estates and in gardens, backyards, forests and playgrounds, these are children's playhouses, writers' retreats, guesthouses (complete with water and electricity) and a simple platform for a bed for those on a limited budget. Many are reached by spiral staircases that wind around tree trunks, others have footbridges, and one even has a lift. All are marvels of technical construction and sophisticated woodwork, and most have stunning views. Photos and watercolors show the houses in their settings as well as their interiors, which often include elaborate furnishings. Brief texts describe how each house is designed and constructed in place without driving nails into the trees or removing branches: if a tree limb is in the way, it is simply incorporated into the design. Snippets of information about the clients who commissioned these dwellings add to the delight of this beautiful coffee-table book. (Mar.)

In this brilliant account, Wheaton College literature professor Jacobs (The Narnian) traces the idea of original sin from the Bible to the present day. The doctrine has inspired fierce debate for the last two millennia. In every generation, it seems, someone defends the doctrine, pointing to all manner of evidence that people are (as Jacobs, in one of his rare stylistic lapses, too cutely puts it) “bad to the bone.” Their opponents in turn ridicule the notion, noting the unfettered “greatness of human potential.” Thus Augustine tangles with Julian of Eclanum, and John Wesley clashes with Rousseau. It is a compliment to Jacobs that in his hands these abstruse theological disputes are utterly engrossing. Jacobs makes clear that he has a dog in this fight—he thinks original sin is the most persuasive explanation of the world he lives in (though he dissents, irenically and charitably, from some classic Christian formulations, such as Augustine's view on infant damnation). Jacobs hazards some quirky and intriguing ideas, such as the notion that the kind of “kinship” created by a universal doctrine of original sin is perhaps as good a basis as any for a brotherhood and sisterhood of humanity, in which no one lords it over anyone else. This book is truly sui generis. (May)

Ryan's winsome memoir and writing debut traces her desperate search for a man—specifically a husband—and for a spirituality that works for her. En route, her heart is broken in every possible way: her college fiancé cheats on her; her first husband abuses her; and she dates a succession of alternately nice and creepy noncommittal guys. She attempts to talk herself out of her desire for marriage, hoping that crystals, feng shui and astrology will provide the guidance she needs to sort out the mess of her life. When she ends up unemployed and broke in Boston, she channel surfs across a Joyce Meyer program one afternoon and is shocked to hear that the Bible promises good things. She visits an evangelical church, joins a small group and ever so tentatively explores the idea of Jesus, eventually giving him her broken life and asking him to fix it. God promises her a husband and delivers (with a tinge of prosperity gospel that will appeal to Meyer fans), but not without cost. In spite of her desperation and a string of horrible choices, Ryan is eminently likable and vulnerable, and her sharp writing will appeal to faithful and irreverent readers alike. (Apr. 30)

Broadway wants what many young Christian women want: a fulfilling partnership with a husband who shares her faith—and with whom she shares a certain zingy chemistry. But the young urban editor has found that real romance is a whole lot more complicated and painful than the courtships in the Harlequin novels she devoured as a teen. In this spicy and funny Gen-X memoir, Broadway details her own rocky romances, giving code names to her many crushes and paramours, including Poster Boy, Aryan Atheist, the Captain, Ad Weasel and Singapore Fling, among others. Youngish evangelical readers will recognize many of their own heartaches in these pages: the struggle to remain chaste when marriage seems distant; the pain of outgrowing a close-knit college Christian fellowship group; the plunge into the isolations of postcollegiate life and work. Although there have been a number of memoirs chronicling young adulthood and the “quarterlife crisis,” Broadway's account adds a candid faith journey to the usual fare. At times, the bloglike chapterlets mire down in excessive details and characters that don't wind up being important to her story. However, her engaging voice and wit will appeal to a wide readership. (Apr. 15)

For bestselling evangelical author Eldredge (Wild at Heart), Christians are meant to inherit the kind of intimacy that Adam and Eve had with God in the Garden of Eden, but the belief that God only speaks through the Bible hinders a Christian's ability to experience that intimacy. Drawing from a year's worth of journaling about his “walk with God,” Eldredge models how talking to God is as easy as checking daily to ask, “What are you saying, Lord?” Sometimes when Eldredge queries God, God's response confounds him. For example, when God responds repeatedly with two words, “My love,” it takes an accident and a personal epiphany for Eldredge to understand that God wants him to “rebuild [his] personality based on [God's] love.” Through everyday life lessons, personal anecdotes and a lot of scripture, Eldredge shows how Christians can get into direct conversation with God, encouraging readers to ask for answers about anything and everything. Eldredge's story (as opposed to chapter) format is supposed to better help readers “to pause along the way at those points where God is speaking to you,” but it results in a lack of real organization and may make it difficult for readers to uncover an overarching theme in the course of a section. (Apr. 15)

Boston University professor Freitas (also an occasional contributor to PW) explores college students' spiritual and sexual lives in this fascinating, disturbing book. With the exception of evangelical collegians, who are still gunning for marriage and trying to remain chaste until then, almost all of the young people Freitas interviewed were engaged in “hookup culture,” often exploring their sexuality with near strangers in the hopes of eventually finding someone to date. And with the exception of evangelical students, who allow their religious views to permeate all life choices, including sexual boundaries, most college students don't see much connection between their sexual behavior—which, in candid interviews, they often regret—and their spirituality, which is important to them. Freitas's tone is engaging and her writing persuasive. Of particular interest is her gender analysis of evangelical purity concepts, which expect young women to be chaste but passive as they wait for Prince Charming. Even more disturbing, the theme parties prevalent in hypersexualized hookup culture (in which young women may dress up as whores, maids or schoolgirls while their male counterparts are powerful CEOs, millionaires or professors) also place all the power in the hands of men. Freitas's work chronicles a poignant spiritual loss that students themselves articulate and mourn. (Apr.)

In this collection of 12 previously published essays, each revised considerably for this volume, noted Catholic pundit Weigel (Pope John Paul II, Witness to Hope) ranges provocatively over a diverse selection of topics from social justice and abortion to atheism and just war. Underlying many of the essays is the idea of Christians as “resident aliens” in modern democracies who must, by their very callings, live in the world but not be of the world. As he observes, sometimes Christians may feel more like “residents” when their views of justice or compassion are more compatible with the world's views (as in Vatican II), but many times they will feel more like “aliens” (as during the Nazi regime) because their call to justice conflicts directly with that of the reigning political powers. Weigel points out that the Church can best influence public policy when it is a community of faith and love that emphasizes the flourishing of the individual over the success of a totalitarian state. While Weigel's deeply considered reflections on the Iraq War as a just war are certain to provoke reaction among his critics, his thoughtful essays on democracy and religion offer new insights into the meaning of Catholic social doctrines for the 21st century. (Apr.)

Ordained women pose a revolutionary challenge to traditional Christian beliefs about God and male-female relationships. Virulent and ingrained discrimination against these pioneers thrives in many Christian denominations. So argues Sentilles (Taught by America), a former aspirant to ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church. After interviewing Protestant (and, to a much lesser extent, Catholic) women of diverse denominations, races, ages and ordination status, Sentilles contends that sexism is woven through Christian practice, distorting everything from worship to creeds to human relationships. Fueled by empathy and appreciation for the women whose stories she narrates, deep disillusionment with the established church and a search for meaning in the wreckage of her own vocational discernment process, the volume is alternately sobering, deeply disturbing and hopeful. It is unclear, however, whether the writer bothered to converse with those who might have challenged the inevitably one-sided perspective of the women she portrays as victims. The book is also marred by the author's polemical tone and personal agenda, which often make it read more like a crusade than an analysis. (Apr.)

As a hospice nurse and the former president of the Hospice Foundation for Caring, Harris has seen more than her share of death. In this collection of 44 real-life stories, she shares her own journeys with patients in their final days with an eye not only to what the dying experience, but what those last days, weeks and months may teach those of us who walk with them. Regardless of our lifelong faith, or lack thereof, Harris believes, most dying people come to experience God's unconditional love and his desire to welcome us home, a point illustrated by the book's stories. Many of the shorter two- or three-page stories lack enough detail or new information to be thought provoking or spiritually nurturing, but Harris's longer anecdotes, like those about her grandparents, are deeply touching and encouraging. Those attending a dying person will find examples of ways they may listen to and be helpful to them. Those who wonder about what their own journey toward death may be like will find in these stories a demystification of the last days of life on earth and future glimpses of heaven that offer comfort and hope. (Apr.)

Full of wordplay, puns and parodies, this no-holds-barred satirical polemic eviscerates the religious right. Conservatives, McElvaine argues, “have committed... grand larceny on the grandest scale: they have kidnapped Jesus.” The religious right has adopted a “ChristianityLite,” claiming “salvation in return for nothing” except belief and espousing a message that directly contradicts what Jesus instructed in the Gospels. Using chapter titles like “Amazing Disgrace,” “The Greed Creed” and “Unintelligent Design,” McElvaine targets George W. Bush's presidency, the Iraq War, the prosperity gospel, biblical inerrancy and the politics of fear, division and hate. His section on sex and gender includes theories on the female origin of agriculture and male fear of women very loosely tied to his overall theme. As demonstrated by McElvaine's detailed research itself, many thoughtful critiques have already been written about the impact of the religious right at the beginning of the 21st century. While the author directs his ire primarily toward the movement's leaders, whom he calls “Jesus Thieves”—including Jerry Falwell, Ted Haggard, James Dobson and D. James Kennedy—he leaves unaddressed the tantalizing question of why the religious right's ideas have been so compelling to a significant portion of the American population. (Apr.)

Journalist and biographer Aikman offers a spiritedly unsympathetic review of the “new atheism” represented by Daniel Dennett (Breaking the Spell), Richard Dawkins (The God Delusion), Sam Harris (Letter to a Christian Nation), and Christopher Hitchens (God Is Not Great). As might be expected from any one author simultaneously engaging four opponents, Aikman struggles at times amid a flurry of arguments and counterarguments. Still, many of his criticisms score on their targets. Aikman reads the new atheists in historical perspective as the heirs of Voltaire, Marx, Feuerbach and Mencken, as well as in their immediate setting of post-9/11 fears of religious extremism and discontent with the Bush administration and its perceived evangelical leanings. While not an expert on all the issues the new atheists raise—chapters on science and biblical criticism rely heavily on arguments made by other reviewers—Aikman speaks effectively to the interplay between religious belief (or disbelief) and politics, whether among the American founders or in contemporary North Korea. But after criticizing the new atheists' inflammatory rhetoric, Aikman does not always rise to a higher level himself: references to Harris's drug use and Hitchens's communist past and drinking habits become gratuitous. (Apr.)

Powers, another graduate of the University of Virginia Buddhist studies program that has produced a cadre of scholars of Tibetan Buddhism, condenses a longer introductory work. Tibetan Buddhism is both esoteric and difficult, so any text that elucidates it performs intellectual service. This one admirably unpacks the topic of tantra, that distinctive aspect of Tibetan Buddhist teaching. Tantra includes texts, practices and ideas, and Powers sketches with mastery one very complex system. The book logically selects material essential to a survey: history, key concepts, doctrines and distinctions among various schools of thought. Particularly helpful is a survey of Tibetan Buddhist ideas about death and dying, which are distinctive to this form of Buddhism. Certain varieties of meditation are also distinctively Tibetan, and the author provides useful discriminations and context. The history of Tibet focuses on its tangled relationship over centuries with neighboring China. The work has editing flaws, as the reshaping done to shrink a larger work into concise form is ragged in places. Some references remain unexplained, and the book lacks a conclusion, as if an ending were abruptly excised. On the whole, however, this concise book does yeoman work of explanation. (Apr.)

Rogers, a pastor at New Life Christian Fellowship at Virginia Tech, reflects on the tragedy that shook the campus (and the nation) in April 2007 when Seung-Hui Cho shot and killed 32 fellow students and professors. However, this isn't primarily a message of pastoral comfort, or even a journalistic account about how students of faith have walked through their grief. (Rogers is more than 50 pages into the book before he mentions that one of the students who died attended his church.) Instead, it centers around Rogers's own heartache and struggle to understand how God can give so many good gifts and yet allow such horror. While there are poetic moments, and readers will be comforted by his thoughts on the way the world was meant to be and the world that is to come, there's little new, and all the brooding introspection can become wearying. With a release timed around the anniversary of the shootings, there promises to be a lot of interest and plenty of media opportunities. Unfortunately, the book could have been much better if Rogers had gotten out of his own pain and focused on the students he works with. (Apr.)

Here's everything you ever wanted to know about the Passover haggadah, from multiple perspectives: biblical, historical, theological, legal, rabbinic, mystical, feminist—and then some. The editors don't take anything for granted, even defining basic terms like haggadah itself and discussing the translation of barukh, the first word of every blessing. But this comprehensive two-volume handbook is not for the cursory reader or even for light use at the seder table. It opens with a collection of scholarly essays reflecting all denominations of Judaism, then segues into the text, presented cleverly in Talmudic format (in Hebrew with a new English translation) and surrounded by commentaries. Contributors include Lawrence Kushner, Arthur Green, Carole Balin and Neil Gillman as well as Hoffman (My People's Prayer Book) and Arnow (Creating Lively Passover Seders). The plurality of voices lends richness to the reader's understanding of the familiar text, but it can be confusing to follow the flow of the commentaries, which continue beyond the text and even overshadow it. Still, this illuminating resource provides a myriad of in-depth answers to the “why?” in “why is this night different from all others?” (Apr.)

It's a fascinating project: attend 52 different churches in one year and report your first impressions. Shea, a New England novelist and former Catholic, engagingly writes of her initial visits to all kinds of churches: Shaker and Baptist, evangelical and mainline, African-American and Caucasian. Sometimes, these well-written first impressions yield intriguing analysis, as when she notes the total absence of children at the Mother Church of Christ, Scientist. But more often, the book's quick verdicts reinforce the idea that public Sunday worship is just one part of what makes a religion tick, and that it may be unfair to judge churches solely on this basis. Shea seems comfortable enough criticizing other people's intolerance—including that of former president and erstwhile Sunday School teacher Jimmy Carter—but myopically fails to see her own judgmentalism, as when bemoaning the Mennonite presence on a Hopi reservation or taking easy shots at televangelist Joel Osteen. Also, the book has some small factual errors; for instance, Mormons do not believe in the Holy Trinity, as Shea attests. Although the portraits are appealingly personal and often funny, readers may wish for a more rigorous examination of these churches than Shea's impressionistic approach is able to provide. (Apr.)