Nonfiction Reviews: Week of 5/12/2008

Veteran war correspondent Watson takes the reader on a graphic tour of modern battlefields from Eritrea to Afghanistan, with a particularly haunting stop in war-torn Somalia. It was in Somalia that Watson photographed the corpse of an American soldier being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu—a photo that set off a “firestorm of outrage” in the U.S. and won him a Pulitzer Prize. Watson claims that he was “consumed by anger, fear, and shame” after taking the picture and later sought exoneration from the soldier's family. A self-described “war junkie” who calls Kashmir “a fiery seductress,” Watson is undeterred even when he's diagnosed with “chronic depression and post-traumatic stress disorder.” The lessons that he learns—“[w]ar does not conquer evil,” “truth is a moving target” and war “lives in all of us,” among them—are neither original nor particularly helpful. Watson is at his best describing the sights and sounds of war; his book suffers and he loses credibility when he poses as a journalist-savant whose only loyalty is to the truth. (Sept.)

In this enjoyably quirky narrative, Jones creates a fun tale out of little more than memories of his family, his quite-chatty relationship with God and a deep love of college football. Jones, who runs a college football Web site and works for the Texas Education Agency, grew up in the Texas Panhandle, where the women knew as much or more about football as the men did. Already obsessed with the Texas Longhorns, Jones attended the University of Texas in comparatively swinging Austin and imparts warm memories of those late, music-filled nights before getting down to football talk. The narrative bops from family to football history, particularly the wonders of Ricky Williams or the deadly rivalry with the Oklahoma Sooners (seen by Austin types as the “Redneck Apocalypse”). Every so often, the religious Jones interrupts the narrative just long enough so he can have a talk with God (who doesn't seem to be doing enough to help his team win), but never comes off as even remotely holier-than-thou. (Aug.)

Murakami's latest is a nonfiction work mostly concerned with his thoughts on the long-distance running he has engaged in for much of his adult life. Through a mix of adapted diary entries, old essays, reminiscences and life advice, Murakami crafts a charming little volume notable for its good-natured and intimate tone. While the subject matter is radically different from the fabulous and surreal fiction that Murakami (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle) most often produces, longtime readers will recognize the source of the isolated, journeying protagonists of the author's novels in the formative running experiences recounted. Murakami's insistence on focusing almost exclusively on running can grow somewhat tedious over the course of the book, but discrete, absorbing episodes, such as a will-breaking 62-mile “ultramarathon” and a solo re-creation of the historic first marathon in Greece serve as dynamic and well-rendered highlights. Murakami offers precious little insight into much of his life as a writer, but what he does provide should be of value to those trying to understand the author's long and fruitful career. An early section recounting Murakami's transition from nightclub owner to novelist offers a particularly vivid picture of an artist soaring into flight for the first time. (Aug.)

In this meditation that devolves into an unfocused meander, Mitchell (A Ceremonial Place) purports to treat of Boston's “deeper places,” its “rocks and rivers, hills and hollows, trees and shrubs, and the wild animals that once inhabited these shores.” While he does present some surprising information—the volcanic underpinnings of the geographical area; 5,000-year-old Native American fish weirs discovered around Copley Square; the history of Storrow Drive—his material is entirely unsourced and slackly structured. Phrases such as “may have,” “must have,” “one can imagine” or “so it is believed”—this last given without ever indicating by whom—obscure the historical narratives. Furthermore, Mitchell's digressive personal musings are littered with social- and ethno-psychologizing (Italians “worship” the World Cup trophy, Indians “willingly” “wipe out and decimate” beaver and deer) or are devoted to boohooing the automobile and post–19th-century modernity. A frame anecdote, about the author's brother refurbishing a boat, fails to provide any unifying force, nor is this material helped by clichés such as “mean streets” and “sleep of reason.” What little the reader learns of Boston's original natural environment gets lost amid Mitchell's wandering attention and vague language. (Aug.)

Novelist Jennings (Snake) has penned an affectionate—if uneven—memoir of life with two rambunctious border terriers, Stanley and Sophie, who become her “tonic” and greatest consolation following her husband's death after a long battle with Alzheimer's. Never really a dog person (she initially dismisses them as “handbags with a heartbeat”), the author changes her mind after falling in love with Stanley's “prickly, prideful, independent” spirit. Zippy chapters narrate the challenges of their cohabitation, the introduction of Sophie into their pack and a New York known only to dog owners. Jennings strikes jarring notes along the way, however, especially in failing to satisfyingly explore her grief after her husband's death. And in a bizarre twist that will be genuinely shocking to the reader—and despite her avowed adoration of her dogs—Jennings gives both away halfway through the book. Stanley and Sophie are rendered with such warmth and wit that the book suffers greatly from their sudden disappearance, and the author's decision—never elucidated—makes her seem less rather than more familiar as the memoir proceeds. (Aug.)

This debut by a former journalist at the Daily Telegraph of London chronicles the author's love-hate relationship with the Harvard Business School, where he spent two years getting his M.B.A. Beginning with a confessional account of his disillusionment with journalism and conflicted desire to make money, Broughton provides an account of his experiences in and out of the classroom as he struggles to survive the academic rigor and find a suitably principled yet lucrative path. Simultaneously repelled by his aggressive fellow capitalists in training—their stress-fueled partying and obsession with wealth—and dazzled by his classes, visiting professors and the surprising beauty of business concepts, Broughton vacillates between cautious critique and faint praise. Although cleverly narrated and marked by a professional journalist's polish and remarkable attention to detail, this book flounders; it provides neither enough color nor damning dirt on the school to entertain in the manner of true tell-alls. The true heart of the story is less “b-school” confidential than a memoir of Broughton's quest to understand the business world and find his place in it. (Aug.)

Renowned political pollster Zogby distills a lifetime of surveying public opinion into a provocative—and heartening—portrait of American attitudes toward a host of topical issues that will shock cynics who regularly pronounce on the nation's divisions, apathy and appetite for excess. “The bullshit era is over and done,” Zogby notes; his surveys reveal a public craving for truth rather than hype, valuing thrift over luxury and ready to accept limits on consumption. A “New American Consensus” is emerging, according to the author; shared economic hardships are uniting people commonly perceived to be at odds, and self-defined identities such as “investor” are becoming more reliable predictors of worldviews than race or gender. The author reserves particular enthusiasm for the younger generation, whose responses reveal an unprecedented embrace of diversity, sensitivity to global human rights and a willingness to grapple with complex issues—such as abortion—free from orthodoxy and with a desire to find middle ground. “The American Century is over,” Zogby declares, “and the Whole Earth Century has begun”; his intriguing claims will likely stimulate hope and continued debate. (Aug.)

This anthology compiles the opinions of 20 British and American senior statesmen on how best to move toward a safer and more stable world, drawing upon contributors from across the political spectrum including Jimmy Carter, Henry Kissinger, Sam Nunn, military historian Sir Michael Howard, Michael Heseltine of the U.K. Conservative Party and journalist Simon Jenkins. Their shared consensus is that George Bush and Tony Blair legitimized unprovoked wars, departed from previous constraints and risked turning the West into international villains. Specific recommendations (and contrasting opinions) on everything from national security to global warming abound: Zbigniew Brzezinski optimistically asserts that when the U.S. and Europe are united, there is “literally nothing” they cannot do; while Simon Jenkins uses Afghanistan as a case study to condemn “liberal interventionism” root and branch. The kaleidoscopic essays illustrate editor Harvey's claim that the world is entering a new era, but how best to address this situation is anybody's guess. The attitudes and institutions of the post-WWII world may be ill-suited to the challenges of rogue states, terrorists, human rights violators and global warmers, but Harvey's best and brightest offer no more than discordant notes played on uncertain trumpets. (Aug.)

As wide-ranging as it is deep, and as entertaining as it is informative, the latest offering from UC–Santa Barbara neuroscientist Gazzaniga (The Ethical Brain) will please a diverse array of readers. He is adept at aiding even the scientifically unsophisticated to grasp his arguments about what separates humans from other animals. His main premise is that human brains are not only proportionately larger than those of other primates but have a number of distinct structures, which he explores along with evolutionary explanations for their existence. For instance, a direct outgrowth of the size and structure of the human brain, along with their origins in the complexity of human social groups, was the development of language, self-awareness and ethics. (Gazzaniga offers some surprising comments on the evolution of religion and its relation to morals.) Throughout, Gazzaniga addresses the nature of consciousness, and by comparing the intellectual capabilities of a host of animals (chimps, dogs, birds and rats, among others) with those of human babies, children and adults, he shows what we all share as well as what humans alone possess. (July)

This latest recounting of the 1799 discovery of the Rosetta Stone—the key to deciphering ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics—focuses less on the decoding itself and more on the French invasion of Egypt that led to the discovery and the military and cultural battle with Britain that followed. British military historian Downs tells an engrossing story full of larger-than-life and sometimes simply wacky characters, led to Egypt by Napoleon. Among them were dozens of scholars, artists and scientists who produced an explosion of knowledge on both ancient Egyptian and later Islamic culture. The invasion itself ended in disaster when Admiral Nelson's armada destroyed the French fleet at the Battle of the Nile. Napoleon returned to France; his army, left to wither from heat, disease and deprivation, surrendered to Britain in 1801. Much of the book concerns clumsy French efforts to avoid turning over their artifacts, including the Rosetta stone, to the victors. Downs takes an original tack to this well-known story with a straightforward, dramatic account of the 1,500-pound stone from its discovery until its arrival at the British Museum, where it rests today. (July)

Fatsis (Word Freak) is dwarfed by any of the NFL athletes who put their bodies on the line each Sunday. But that doesn't stop him from asking to attend the Denver Broncos' training camp in hopes of learning “one very specific athletic skill”—that is, placekicking—and not to become an NFL-caliber kicker, but to become a “credible one.” Fatsis is treated like any rookie, from having to sing his alma mater's fight song minutes after stepping into the locker room to carrying the team's duffel bags and bunking in the hotel with all the other rookies. But his vibrant enthusiasm for improving his kicking ability helps his Bronco teammates accept him as one of their own. With that, the reader gets a glimpse of the true NFL, in the tradition of George Plimpton's Paper Lion. We see the crippling injuries that are kept secret for fear of losing playing time; the heartbreak of standing on the sidelines in camp, just aching to prove one's worth; the tears that come when the NFL dream could be over. Fatsis, too, has his own personal highs and lows through camp, enduring the long days, the trainer's visits and the sting of failure in front of coaches and players. It's an incredibly fascinating read for football fans, squashing the notion that the life of an NFL player is always glamorous. (July)

First-time author Lax delivers an entertaining and sometimes zany look at the first year of law school. Although he dreams of being a professional magician, Lax realizes after college that being a lawyer—like his father and most of his relatives (he provides a family tree showing the remarkable number of lawyers who are relatives)—is inevitable. After being accepted into the DePaul School of Law in Chicago, where passenger trains “screamed past the classroom every ten minutes,” he finds that the world of torts and criminal law is both like and unlike everything he had imagined. The workload is still brutal—as a professor tells him, “For the next year, the American legal system will be your girlfriend.” But Lax's discoveries of what he didn't expect offer fascinating up-to-date insights such as the inevitability of the depression he develops (lawyers “are about four times more likely to experience clinical depression than the general population”) and the hard fact that “[l]aw schools don't fail students like they used to. They need the tuition dollars to stay competitive.” (July)

In this brisk and entertaining look at Hollywood stuntmen, Conley (Stud: Adventures in Breeding) offers a close look at a daredevil community. Describing the physical skills, exacting preparation, and cinematic challenges, Conley, like his subjects, makes even the glass-smashing, metal-crushing car chases in the Bourne movies (starring Matt Damon) seem easy, as if avoiding certain harm were only a matter of craft and timing. From chapter to engaging chapter, Conley blends film history with his subjects' realistic assessments of athleticism, sexism, death and technological innovations of the mechanical and computerized kind. The most memorable (and humorous) exchanges come, though, from the stuntmen themselves: the seasoned pro who confesses his biggest enemies to be “gravity and blonds” and a stuntwoman who endures a wardrobe malfunction while filming the '70s-era TV series Wonder Woman. In fact, Conley develops such an impressive camaraderie, access and feel for the stunt world that his newfound friends prep him to set himself aflame in an attempt to do “the full burn,” the stunt that gives the book its title. (July)

Simmons, the fire-breathing leader of rock icon Kiss—who once bragged that he had bedded more than a thousand women—delivers an entertaining if sometimes simplistic short overview of prostitution. Simmons (Kiss and Make-up) manages to work into his narrative both the Greek philosopher Diogenes and Nevada's Moonlight Bunny Ranch brothel. Other than the occasional sex joke, Simmons is serious about giving his subject its historical due, stating upfront, “I am not here to judge women's personal choices or how they choose to empower themselves.” The book doesn't cover what Simmons admits is “the dark side of prostitution,” focusing primarily on one of his favorite issues: money. Since “throughout history, women have never had access to power,” Simmons argues that prostitution has been a way for women to “monetize” the “only thing that women have ever owned.” Using numerous famous illustrations (e.g., William Hogarth's 18th-century painting A Harlot's Progress), Simmons and coauthor McCarron support this argument by adroitly exploring a range of topics: Sumerian goddess of sexuality Ishtar; the adulterous “jara and jatini” of ancient India; legal prostitution in Amsterdam's “toleration zones”; and Theodora, wife of Roman emperor Justinian, who Simmons considers “the very first prostitution reformer.” All this from the man who once wrote a song on the Kiss album Love Gun titled “Got Love for Sale.” (July)

In a “back-to-nature” move more than a decade ago, Stark uprooted a handful of heirloom tomato seedlings from his Brooklyn brownstone and returned to Eckerton Hill, his Pennsylvanian boyhood home, to harvest two acres of multicolored oddities. From Mennonite country to New York City, using a rusted Toyota pickup, he transported his first auspicious crop of Hill Billies, Tiger Toms and Radiator Charlie's Mortgage Lifters to the Union Square Greenmarket, becoming the unlikely purveyor of apples to heirloom aficionados and Michelin-starred chefs. An amateur farmer with finite experience in organic farming and a rotating cast of weed-pulling hands, Stark takes on hornworms, groundhogs, cantankerous neighbors and route I-78, producing cover-worthy tomatoes for Gourmet, Brooklyn-bound sugar snaps and chocolate habaneros for discriminating farmers' market cognoscenti. With his produce and dogged perseverance, Stark bridges the gap between New York's posh kitchens and the sun-drenched fields of the rural countryside, commenting along the way on buzzwords like organic, the effects of urban sprawl, and farming's changing landscape. His recounting of fly-by-night agricultural tactics, stomach-turning worries and relief-inducing bumper crops paints a poignant picture of a dwindling form of American life. Through his urbane relationships with the Bouleys and Bouluds and pastoral friendships with the likes of fellow berry, pea shoot and haricot vert producers, he illustrates the unlikely bond between the tomato-laden farm and the urban table. (July)

A complete history of the joke and its philosophical motivations will perhaps never be written, as Holt admits that “the joke is not an unchanging Platonic Ideal, but a historical form that evolves over time.” Holt, a contributor to the New Yorker, tries anyway, tracking the joke's evolution from the oldest surviving joke book, the surprisingly blue Greek text Philogelos, to Freud and Kant in explaining how and why we laugh at jokes. The book's second half occasionally lapses into dryness; even Holt suggests that the more interesting a subject is, the more boring the accompanying philosophy. In examining two overlooked aspects of a common joke, Holt presents some illuminating thoughts—jokes evolve more than they are created; they are an ideal way to expel pent-up aggression—and fascinating fringe figures such as Gershon Legman, the controversial and pioneering dirty-joke archivist who saw himself as “the keeper of the deepest subcellar in the burning Alexandria Library of the age; the subcellar of our secret desires, which no one else was raising so much as a finger to preserve.” Highly readable, Holt's effort will appeal to the intellectually curious, and the jokes are pretty funny. (July)

Seymour, who's written biographies, fiction and children's books, now tells a more intimate tale, the story of her father, George FitzRoy Seymour, and the home, Thrumpton Hall, that was his great passion. In this well-told family saga, Seymour begins by noting that her father enjoyed royal lineage, even if it was only to King Charles II's mistress. Thanks to George's father's career in the foreign service, George was barely two when his parents left him with childless relations at Thrumpton Hall, which became his Eden. His need for money to secure actual title to Thrumpton may have inspired his marriage to Rosemary Scott-Ellis. Daughter Miranda doesn't shy from George's less honorable moments. When she was an awkward teenager, her father didn't hesitate to tell her how fat she looked or that her hair was so ugly she should wear a wig. And as he aged, George openly indulged his passion for young men. (July)

In this book-length letter to the next president, Sen. Robert Byrd (D-W.Va.) draws on his 56 years of experience in Congress to offer advice, admonition and encouragement. With frequent references to past presidents, especially his personal favorite, Harry Truman, Byrd claims that his passion for the Constitution is only rivaled by his love for his wife. He presents a readable, if slight, survey of past presidencies and a scathing evaluation of the “greatest crisis” in the nation's history brought about by the “failings” of the Bush administration: the buildup to the war in Iraq and the president's bungled handling of Hurricane Katrina's aftermath. Chapter headings such as “Bring Back the Fireside Chat” and scads of references to Emerson, Jefferson and Thoreau provide a rich philosophical context to Byrd's political thought, even as much of his advice feels familiar and anodyne: “Build Your Presidency Around Accountability.” The book's detailed analysis of the great power and responsibility of the executive branch is timely, and prospective presidents and concerned citizens would be well-advised to read Byrd's book. (July)

Coauthored by Atlantic Monthly writers Douthat and Salam, this book (like David Frum's Comeback) is part of a movement to reconstruct the Republican Party's core principles and reinvigorate the conservative electorate. The authors' strategy is to win back the working class through a combination of prudent government intervention and entrepreneurship. Relying on a bevy of sociological analysis, class scrutiny and historicism—a style resembling New York Times columnist David Brooks's, but stripped of his literary flair—Douthat and Salam take a nuts-and-bolts approach, perhaps because their book is prescriptive rather than observational, policy advocacy not entertainment. Whether or not readers will agree with the tenor of their arguments, rarely have moderate conservative ideas been so intelligently streamlined and so self-consciously pruned of conservatism's hairier iterations. The real holes in the text are the lack of cogent discussions on immigration and the war against radical Islam—the very issues currently shaping working-class politics in America. Nevertheless, this book is stuffed with fresh and brilliant ideas and presents a solid domestic conservative agenda to win over blue-collar workers. (July)

Life coach Miedaner (Coach Yourself to Success) has written a self-help manual counseling readers on how to attract love into their lives or rediscover “the love that somehow got lost in your current relationship.” Her basic concept: people are motivated by a few basic needs, needs that can bloom into dreaded neediness—toxic for love. “Fulfill your unmet emotional needs and live your top core values,” Miedaner says, and love will seek you out. The book includes her weighty (and often challenging) patented “Emotional Quiz Index” to identify core needs (“Control/Power,” “Order,” “Peace/Balance,” Security/Safety,” etc.) and advice on how to achieve them and establish boundaries. On occasion, Miedaner's advice can be simplistic; to meet the need for independence, she advises readers to “pay off all your credit cards... so you are financially free.” Clearly, this is good advice, but if it were so easy, there wouldn't be such a booming market for financial self-help titles. Her simple message of empowerment, however—the reminder to readers to ensure that their needs are met—might alone be worth the cover price. (July)

Journalist Ford's debut, a collection of essays about how sexuality changes after children are added to the marital equation, is a flaccid affair. Despite the abundance of steamy vernacular, the author's tepid and detached delivery—and fondness for third-party reportage—make her come across as removed and impassive. Ford is a clunky stylist; her choice to refer to couples in her bawdy anecdotes as “baby Nate's mom” and “Lucas' young dad” stunt much of the book's comedic—and carnal—potential. Moments that should have left readers hooting and blushing—such as an explosively flatulent infant in bed with a couple engaged in vigorous lovemaking—fail to deliver. The chapters “Pleasure Party” and “Kinderotics” do entertain in their descriptions of women-only crowds attempting to reclaim or augment their sexual prowess through erotic dancing and myriad sex toys. Ford is capable of movingly depicting the pure doggedness of lust after childbirth and child-rearing and inspires with stories of rekindled passion; when she goes for laughs, however, her book falls flat. (July)

This survey of photographer Shore's images juxtaposes some of his precociously early work as part of Andy Warhol's Factory with the now classic color photographs of American life from the '70s and Shore's most recent black-and-white pictures. The book is organized into four sections, each focusing on a different set of images. Art historian Fried's disorganized interview with the artist kicks things off with a selection of images from Shore's two career-making books, Uncommon Places and American Surfaces. Critic Lange's wordy overview of Shore's artistic progression examines images from the same periods as the books. Photographer Sternfeld contributes an in-depth analysis of one photograph, taken in 1974, of a street in a small town in Massachusetts. The book closes with images selected by Shore himself, alongside his own writing and extracts from texts that he admires, including a paragraph about Chinese poets, who “accept the world exactly as they find it in all its terms, and with profound simplicity therein find sufficient solace.” It's a shame that Shore's section isn't longer, as that line perhaps explains his exceptional body of work more completely than any of the learned musings that precede it. (June)

McBrien's outspoken media commentaries on Catholic polity and pronouncements have earned him a loyal following and not a few critics. A theology professor at the University of Notre Dame, he has written 25 books including Catholicism, a 1,344-page theological survey. His newest study looks at one branch of theology, ecclesiology, which he defines as “theological reflection on the nature, mission, ministries, and structures of the Church.” In good academic fashion, McBrien organizes his material thoroughly, with frequent introductions, summaries, lists and cross-references that make this an ideal textbook. At the same time, he writes clearly and passionately on topics of general concern such as papal authority, the church's social and political involvement, interfaith relations and the role of the laity. An ardent admirer of the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), McBrien sets its documents and discussions at the heart of his presentation. Much of the rest of the book, including one breathless 30-page romp through 18 centuries, is either historical context for the Council or a discussion of its effects on the contemporary church. (Sept.)

Niebuhr, the former religion reporter for the New York Times, is now a professor at Syracuse University. This makes his book immensely valuable: he has the careful scholarship of an academic, but the communication expertise of a journalist skilled at getting to the personal heart of a story. Not long after 9/11, Niebuhr set out to find and tell the largely untold stories of those who are involved in interreligious dialogue: why do they do it? what do they gain from it? what do they risk? True dialogue, as the title claims, means moving “beyond tolerance,” approaching other religious traditions with a desire to learn and, perhaps more important, to make friends. Niebuhr tells memorable stories of people reaching across religious lines, from a group of Cape Cod Congregationalists who gave a Jewish community a historic building, some land and some money to create a synagogue to the energetic individuals who founded Louisville's famous Festival of Faiths. Niebuhr beautifully honors the commitment and care shown by those working on the front lines of interreligious understanding. (Aug. 4)

Some have described Rahn as the inspiration for the Indiana Jones movies. Indeed, after the publication of his first book, Crusade Against the Grail (1933), Rahn's quest for the relic came to be sponsored by the Nazis' SS. This is the first English translation of his travel diary as he searched for the Grail throughout Europe in the 1930s. For Rahn, “Lucifer's court” is composed of individuals who rebelled against the Christian takeover of pagan Europe, best exemplified by the Cathars of southern France who resisted Roman Catholicism in the 13th century. His disgust with and hatred for all things Christian, particularly the Roman popes, is highlighted on nearly every page. Although Rahn eventually repudiated the Nazis, his book is plagued with the same sort of racial and national fanaticism that formed the intellectual framework for that regime. What remains is a maddeningly repetitive, rambling and unoriginal treatise on folk religion. The book holds some interest as an historical document of the Nazi era, but little else. (Aug.)

Viola (Pagan Christianity), a leader in the house church movement, believes the church as we know it today is nothing like what God intended it to be. According to Viola, the first-century church, which should be our pattern, met in homes without any official pastor. All members of the church were involved in worship, spontaneously breaking out with teaching or song as they were moved. Decisions were not made until everyone reached consensus. There were no official leaders or elders, but there were men who served and taught and helped others, thus leading by example. Viola believes that to bring the church back on track, both clergy and denominations must be completely abolished. Churches should not have buildings nor should they worry about doctrinal statements. Such radical ideas will best be received by Emergent and postmodern readers. Skeptics will cringe at Viola's strident tone and all-or-nothing approach. More concrete examples of what Viola has seen work well in his 20 years of house church work would have greatly strengthened the book. (Aug.)

One of 197 nominees for this year's Nobel Peace Prize, Dear recounts his nearly 30 years of waging peace through speaking, networking, writing (25 books so far) and spearheading nonviolent demonstrations. While studying at Duke University, he decided to forsake his frat-boy ways for life as a Jesuit priest. His resolution took further shape after graduation during a transformative pilgrimage to Israel: “I would go forth from the Sea of Galilee forever opposing injustice, poverty, and war.” From then on, Dear was in trouble most of the time. Repeatedly jailed and often rebuked by religious superiors as he doggedly criticized U.S. policies, violated state property and told influential people how to behave, he accepted suffering as the necessary cost of following Jesus. Though his account could use more introspection, he writes moving descriptions of atrocities he personally witnessed in Iraqi and in Central American war zones, and his humane concerns are evident in his work with 9/11 survivors. Unfortunately, his righteousness will alienate readers who do not already share his beliefs. (Aug.)

Friend and teacher of the high-profile author Pema Chödrön, Tibetan Buddhist lama Kongtrül grew up in a monastic environment and received broad training in Buddhist doctrine. Steadily gaining in sophistication in its three sections, this slender book has wisdom for practitioners of all levels. The first part lays bare the five self-centered emotions of jealousy, aggression, attachment, arrogance and stupidity. The second, which delves into working with others, offers fresh material on working with a teacher, as well as understanding the pull of our emotions and thoughts in everyday relationships. The final part, on emptiness, is more suited to advanced practitioners who are ready to embrace esoteric teachings. Kongtrül's primary mission is to help readers train their minds in wisdom. There is a comforting bravery in his thinking about the difference between “trying to arrange the world according to our preferences” and “delighting in the way our experience naturally unfolds.” (July 8)

Smith, an evangelical singer and songwriter, offers Christian women her debut writing effort with both grace and candor. Smith winsomely challenges fellow Christians to be transparent in their admissions of failures, doubts, struggles and fears. To this end, she takes the lead by sharing her own emotional story of aborting her baby while in college. Years after the abortion, Smith was nudged by God to go public after hearing another Christian speaker tell a similar story. Still she battled against self-exposure because she was deeply ashamed and feared other people's judgment. Smith encourages women to seek God's grace and mercy for inner healing from past mistakes and for today's trials. Each chapter brims over with stories of women who've “been there” in the trenches of infidelity, abuse, widowhood and despair. Smith exhorts Christians to stop hiding behind their smiles and be brave enough to get real so that they—and others—can discover true freedom and God's extravagant restoration. (July)

Murray (The Beliefnet Guide to Evangelical Christianity) lowered herself into ancient ruins, chatted with nuns behind iron grilles and pored over documents in four languages to research and write this story of Francis of Assisi, the medieval saint whose appeal is timeless. In a work that is both scholarly and engaging, Murray retells the life of this “complicated man”—who was poet, warrior, knight, lover, madman and saint—in a way that even those familiar with Francis's story will find compelling. Of special interest is the way she handles the relationship between Francis and Clare of Assisi. Acknowledging what scholars and historians have tended to dismiss as “sentimental, modern and implausible,” Murray holds that the pair's attachment was rooted in love, but that it evolved into a mutual renunciation and remained pure as they took religious vows. She also shows that the age difference between Francis and Clare may not have been great enough to support the official Catholic position that their bond was merely that of father and daughter. (July)

Jesus Christ used just 72 words to outline the key elements of communicating with God in what we know as the Lord's Prayer. Timms, a native Australian who teaches at Hope International University in California, uses many more words than that in this lucid and probing excavation of the prayer, which he calls “the greatest Christian teaching of the centuries on spiritual formation.” In word-by-word and phrase-by-phrase exposition, he digs deep into meanings and layers that easily escape a quick read. The opening “our” calls us to community, Timms says, while “Father” speaks to fear. Timms also discusses God's closeness, our call to holiness, our willfulness, the challenge of simplicity and the need for forgiveness. Readers will find remarkable lessons throughout this work, which reveals shining gemstones of truth usually left buried in the prayer. Even “Amen” is mined, with Timms calling it “the greatest word of faith that the early church could muster.” This is a well-polished study of the oft-quoted but seldom-realized formative prayer of the Christian faith. (July)

The title of this book is misleading since it characterizes the author, pastor of a Boston-area Pentecostal church, as an ex-atheist. But as Schmelzer recounts in the book, his atheism was a teen phase, and adolescent explorations are generally not cited on one's intellectual résumé. The title also sets the reader up to expect some apologetic rejoinder to trendy bestselling polemical atheists. This book, however, is much broader (and better) than that, and almost antipolemical. Schmelzer has a disarmingly low-key way with words, a refreshing change from the fighting terms so often employed in battles over religious truth . His self-deprecating tone is persuasive even while he makes bold statements about the power of faith. He asserts, for example, that prayer can bring about physical healing, a statement he backs with evidence from his own family and a few other instances. Yet he's honest enough to admit he has no answer to the question of why God permits suffering. Schmelzer's mild-mannered theological humility is winning. (July)

Emergent church pastor McManus (Soul Cravings) encourages readers to “dream wide awake”—in other words, to live their dreams. From McManus's perspective, the salvation that Christianity offers is not only redemption from sin but also an invitation to a much bigger life. Each chapter focuses on a skill dreamers need, including focus, creativity, the urge to discover, a willingness to adapt and joy for life. He encourages readers to get out of jobs that simply pay the bills and do something meaningful—which may mean moving “to Tibet or maybe India or South America.” There's nothing new here, and McManus relies on clichés, though he writes simply and with energy. Christian readers attempting to figure out how to pursue their dreams would do better with Max Lucado's Cure for the Common Life. Some readers, though, may be more comfortable with McManus's pop psychology approach to the scriptures, where Daniel becomes the poster child for adaptability, Jesus represents a focused life and Isaiah's prophetic, “Arise, shine; for your light has come” becomes a call to “[live] up to your potential.” (July)

Two books delve into the Middle East's burgeoning youth culture, looking at young people who maintain devotion to Islam and Iron Maiden and grapple creatively with tradition and modernity.

With a jolting arrangement of images and voices, LeVine powerfully upends received notions about the Middle East by exploring one of the area's least-known subcultures. Interviewing and jamming with musicians from Morocco to Pakistan—including rappers and trip-hop artists as well as metalheads—LeVine (Why They Don't Hate Us) presents Muslims, Christians and Jews who, in the face of corruption, repression and violence, use their music to speak truth to power and carve out a space for individual expression and a new form of community. The degree of independence the musicians enjoy varies widely—from Israeli band Orphaned Land who are free of restrictions (and widely admired in the Arab metal world) to Egyptian metalheads who fear arrest and possible torture for sporting long hair. Each artist in this book struggles, on some level, for cultural and political reform, and LeVine argues that if these musicians could find a way to cooperate with progressive religious activists and the working class, they could trigger a revolution. This is a tall order, but the author's warm and intelligent examination of a reality few in the West have experienced suggests it may yet be possible. (July 15)

Two-thirds of the Middle East—a quarter of a billion people—are 25 or younger, a demographic as large as it is unrepresented in Western media. With aplomb and scads of self-deprecating wit, journalist Stratton, herself 25 years old and a self-professed naïf about the Arab and Muslim world, plunges into youth culture in Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon and Kuwait. Her findings are epitomized by the book's title; the term muhajababes (coined by one of Stratton's interviewees) describe veiled young women who combine traditional piety with a secular sensibility, wearing tight jeans with their head scarves and following pop stars and religious leaders with equal devotion. “My methodology was to talk to everyone... who seemed my age,” Stratton writes, including men and women, religious visionaries and artists, revolutionaries and small-business owners. In visiting pockets of the Middle East seldom seen in the Western media (a Kuwaiti student union, a Damascus newspaper), she skillfully renders the frequently downplayed differences between the countries and their shared effort to integrate centuries of history with an avalanche of modern influences. The book's lacunae are not unimportant—Stratton doesn't step beyond urban population centers or speak with any local experts who might have helped analyze the tumble of information—but her genuine and frankly affectionate engagement makes Muhajababes an entertaining addition to the shelf of anyone hoping to actually understand, rather than stereotype, Arabs and Muslims . (July 1)

Two women of Chinese descent explore their cultural roots through food

For Tse, looking ahead to her future meant taking a step back into family history. In 2004, Tse and her two sisters all abandoned promising professional careers to follow a family tradition and opened a family restaurant. “My sisters and I were immersed from birth in the Chinese catering business—the fourth generation of our family to make a living from food.” Tse begins with her grandmother's birth in 1918 in a small farming village in southeastern China. Each successive chapter chronologically follows the family's struggles and triumphs from peasant life to prosperity and heartache in Hong Kong in the 1930s, the horrors of the Japanese occupation, life in England from the 1950s to today. Tse poses a question that serves as the core of this delightful, well-written and at times painful memoir: Why would three young, successful 21st-century women, Tse an attorney, one sister an engineer, the other a financier, return to a family business they struggled to escape? In answering this question, Tse engagingly tells the larger story not only of her grandmother's and mother's struggles but the shared story of the many Chinese immigrants who made the journey from mainland China to England and “who also carved out a place in their new homeland through the catering trade.” (July)

Chinese-American journalist Lin-Liu's delightful mixture of memoir and cookbook records her years living and working in Shanghai and Beijing, when she attended a vocational cooking school and discovered a passion for Chinese cooking and culture. Growing up in the U.S. to Taiwan-born parents, the author admits feeling “alienated” from her heritage when she first moved to China in 2000; a graduate of an American journalism school, she eventually became the food editor at TimeOut Beijing. Moving between Shanghai and Beijing, she begins her account with her frustrating yet ultimately rewarding study at the Hualian Cooking School in Beijing, where she apprenticed to one of the school's instructors, Chairman Wang, an old-style cook raised during the Cultural Revolution, who taught the author the rudiments of chopping, shopping and how to pass the cooking exam. Despite the flimsy certificate, bias against women working in professional kitchens and the reluctance to hire foreigners, Lin-Liu found work at Chef Zhang's noodle stall serving migrant workers and at the popular dumpling house Xian'r Lao Man; she later snagged a plum internship at Jereme Leung's upscale Shanghai restaurant, Whampoa Club. Incorporating stories of many of the Chinese she worked alongside (and their recipes), as well as trips to the MSG factory in Henan or to the rice-growing Guangxi province, Lin-Liu offers a thoroughgoing, spirited celebration of overcoming cultural barriers. (July)