Nonfiction Reviews

Past performance may not guarantee future returns, but it's the best we have to go on, contends this lively meditation on American history. Looking back from the tumultuous 2008 election campaign, historian Schama (NBCC-award winner for Rough Crossings) ponders four themes in American history as they played out in the lives of historical figures: the tension between militarism and liberty in the careers of Civil War general Montgomery Meigs and his family; the progressive influence of evangelical Protestantism on abolitionist and civil rights crusaders; America's conflicted attitudes toward immigrants as seen through the adventures of 18th-century French émigré J. Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur; and Americans' profligate exploitation of the land and water in an elegy for the Cherokee tribe. Schama's wide-ranging narratives wander between contemporary reportage (“For a minute or two after the photo op, George Bush was left to his own devices and came my way”) and fluent, richly literate history. He's alive to irony and hypocrisy in the American story—Mexicans of the 1820s, he notes, shuddered at the uncouth Yankee immigrants flooding into Texas—but Schama is optimistic that the nation's perennial openness and complexity can see it through the storm clouds ahead. (June)

Economist Leeson leads readers though a surprisingly entertaining crash course in economics in this study of high seas piracy at the turn of the 18th century. Far from being the bloodthirsty fiends portrayed in popular culture, pirates created a harmonious social order; through the application of rational choice theory, the author explains how a common pursuit of individual self-interest led pirates to create self-regulating, democratic societies aboard their ships, complete with checks and balances, more than half a century before the American and French revolutions brought such models to state-level governance. Understanding the profit motive that guided pirates' actions reveals why pirates so cruelly tortured the crews of ships that resisted boarding, yet treated those who surrendered readily with the utmost respect. Both practices worked to minimize costs to the pirate crew by discouraging resistance that could lead to loss of life and limb for pirates and damage to either the pirates' ship or the cargo aboard. Illustrated with salty tales of pirates both famous and infamous, the book rarely bogs down even when explaining intricate economic concepts, making it a great introduction to both pirate history and economic theory. (June)

Stern (To Hell and Back) offers fierce investment advice, goading readers to admit that their brains get in the way of profits. They must trust “animal instincts” instead, sharpen their claws and get ready to live by the “law of the jungle” to capture prey and “spit out the bones.” With such rhetoric, the system Stern sets forth is surprisingly tame and prosaic (e.g., reviewing investments monthly for underlying value, price direction and market sentiment). Individual strategies include technical analysis (drawing lines on charts to try to guess future price movements), fundamental analysis (valuing companies based on accounting and economic data) and market psychology. This is not a book for beginners; it does not cover the basics of financial planning and assumes a familiarity with accounting and financial data. Although no figures are given, it seems to assume about a million dollars available for investment in liquid securities and enough outside income that the portfolio need not provide cash. This book would be most appropriate for seasoned investors who trust the author's investment acumen and want a blueprint for imitating it. (May)

Eland (The Empire Has No Clothes) contends that the only workable solution in Iraq is a partition “into a confederation of autonomous regions or into independent successor states” in this slim polemic. The author asserts that Iraq is an artificial state that has been held together only by “iron-fisted rulers” like Saddam; wracked by “ethno-sectarian, tribal, and clan fissures” it faces “a massive civil war” without a negotiated partition. After a historical survey of partitions—from Poland to Yugoslavia—Eland draws 15 lessons that can be applied to Iraq. But many of Eland's suggestions will work in Iraq's case only if some problematic concession is made, e.g., “if the Iraqi Kurds give up any attempt to absorb Kirkuk.” A “unified democratic government” in Iraq might be “impossible” and partition the only viable solution as the author claims. Indeed, a partial de facto partition among Kurds, Sunni and Shiites already exists. But Eland undermines his credibility by focusing on conditions before 2005 and either ignoring or misrepresenting more recent progress. A case can be made for Iraq's eventual partition, but Eland's superficial brief isn't it. (May)

This study of values corrupted by the war on terror examines how the Guantánamo Bay detainee camp declined from a relatively enlightened place to a symbol of American brutality. Legal scholar Greenberg (Terrorist Trial Report Card) covers the period from December 2001 through March 2002, when Camp X-Ray opened to house suspected al-Qaeda and Taliban operatives captured in Afghanistan. The story's hero is X-Ray's first commander, Marine Gen. Michael Lehnert, who scrupulously observed the Geneva Conventions; he emerges as an almost saintly figure as he tearfully pleads with detainees to end a hunger strike. The villains are Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and Bush administration lawyers, led by John Yoo, who advanced specious rationales for stripping detainees of legal protections that would ban harsh and abusive treatment. Greenberg's account is not an exposé of Guantánamo horrors; instead, she draws a lesson on “the banality of goodness”—that dutiful adherence to international law, not personal integrity, is the ultimate guarantor of humane policy. Unfortunately, her story's restricted scope and its celebration of Lehnert's personal integrity blur her focus on the legal and institutional determinants of good and evil. (May)

Former foreign editor of Time, Ramo pushes the reader into uncomfortable yet exhilarating places with controversial ways of thinking about global challenges (e.g., studying why Hezbollah is the most efficiently run Islamic militant group). His book, which lays bare the flaws in current thinking on everything from American political influence to the economy, is designed to “change the physics of the way we think.” Analyzing the failure of the Bush administration's “Democratic Peace Theory” and the fruitless efforts at a Mideast peace process, Ramo suggests that people must “change the role they imagine for themselves from architects of a system they can control to gardeners in a living ecosystem.” Ramo's message—that “the most dynamic forces emerge from outside elite circles”: “geeks,” iconoclasts and maligned populations—is persuasively argued. And while the author doesn't explicitly offer up solutions, he goads readers to approach problems in unexpected ways. His revelatory work argues that there must be some audacity in thinking before there can be any audacity of hope. (Apr.)

On the list of things that went wrong with the Iraq War, the wholesale destruction of that country's archeological inheritance often goes unmentioned. The average newspaper reader may recall that the Iraq National Museum was badly looted in the aftermath of initial hostilities, but very few realize how entirely predictable the looting was, how negligible the Bush administration's efforts were to prevent it and how far beyond the museum the thefts extended, and still continue. In this “autopsy of a cultural disaster,” Rothfield (Vital Signs) breaks down the disaster into its discrete parts, using the looting as a perfect metaphor for the failures of planning and execution that have characterized the conflict thus far. Referencing Colin Powell's famous “Pottery Barn rule” (“You break it, you own it”), Rothfield writes, “The barn door knocked in by the Americans remains wide open, and Iraq's cultural heritage is being broken day by day.... [T]he loss is not just to Iraq but to us all.” It may not carry the bombast and thrill of other war accounts, but this book serves as a frightening cautionary tale. (Apr.)

“Industrial civilization is incompatible with life.... Unless it's stopped... it will kill every living being,” begin environmental activists Jensen (A Language Older than Words) and McBay (Peak Oil Survival), introducing the recurring theme and thesis of this radical report on the state of Earth and call to action. The book contrasts natural systems of growth and decay, in which soil and life forms feed each other, with “industrial civilization”: “essentially a complicated way of turning land into waste”: “garbage patches” cover more than 40% of oceans and multitudes of fish and birds are being killed by plastic waste, now more abundant in the seas than phytoplankton. Jensen and McBay trash “sustainability” stars like William McDonough, who designs “green” buildings without questioning their unsustainable uses (truck factories and airports); the authors argue that we value our culture more than the planet that sustains it. The book is flawed by lapses into rants and rages, but Jensen and McBay's message that we need to grow up and “put away the childish notion that we have the right to take whatever we want from nonhumans” is eminently reasonable. (Apr.)

In this timely and thorough analysis of the current financial crisis, Foster and Magdoff explore its roots and the radical changes that might be undertaken in response. With a foray into the Great Depression of the 1930s, they move to the present situation, born out of the housing bubble, the wider explosion of debt and the problem of financialization of capital. They survey the long-term implications and the larger political-economic aspects of the crisis to propose that the crisis raises questions that are primarily political rather than economic. They suggest that society will eventually conclude that our “fatally unstable” political-economic structure should be replaced with one of social use rather than private gain—a more humane order geared to collective needs. This book makes a valuable contribution to the ongoing examination of our current debt crisis, one that deserves our full attention. (Apr.)

Perman (Spies Inc.) casts an affectionate and admiring eye at In-N-Out Burger, the family-owned, Southern California chain that has become a “cultural institution” without franchising, going public, changing its menu or precooking its burgers. This book traces the history of the company and the Snyders, the family that founded and still owns In-N-Out, interspersed with the evolution of the fast-food industry. Perman never makes good on her promise to go “behind-the-counter” and analyze the company's dealings—her access to executives and family members did not extend to gleaning financial or strategic information—consequently it's never clear whether In-N-Out's conservatism is a conscious business strategy, a personal preference of the owners or plain complacency. More a glowing fan letter from an appreciative customer than exposé, this book has more to say about the company's celebrity fans, American family dynamics and our collective love affair with fast food. (Apr.)

Women who have achieved grandmotherly status will appreciate this engaging, honest volume of essays by 26 writers who articulate shared emotions about their grandchildren. All describe a new form of love different from the love they felt for their own children. Editor Graham (Women Who Run with the Poodles) calls it “ a besotted state.” For some contributors, grandmotherhood is a promise of genetic continuity, while others value the freedom to play and indulge. Many essays may be sentimental, but they're also insightful and candid, sometimes painfully so. Notably, one pseudonymous writer lashes out at her cruelly withholding daughter-in-law; another describes raising her mentally disturbed daughter's unstable son. Perhaps most disturbingly, Sallie Tisdale portrays a dire situation created by her financially irresponsible adopted son and his girlfriend, who keep producing more children. Yet humor abounds. In an irreverent piece, Abigail Thomas writes of fleeing a clan reunion by scheduling an appointment with her gynecologist. Judith Viorst confronts the taboo topic of jockeying for love with the other set of grandparents. All learn the lesson best expressed by Anne Roiphe: “Seal your lips.” (Apr.)

It was long axiomatic among archeologists that the prehistoric Clovis people of the Southwest were the first people in the Americas, arriving 12,000 years ago. Meltzer synthesizes controversial recent evidence that humans arrived in the Americas earlier than that and may not all have come across the Bering Strait from Asia. Meltzer also conveys well the heated debates among archeologists on this crucial subject (an argument among experts after examining evidence in South American turns rather ugly). Drawing on archeology, linguistics, geology, genetics and other disciplines, anthropologist Meltzer (Search for the First Americans) explores that evidence, as well as what we know about the Clovis people, such as evidence regarding Ice Age terrain indicating prehistoric peoples' ability to adapt to an uninhabitable and unfamiliar continent, and the speed with which they might have moved across the new world. Sometimes dense and academic, often lively and occasionally bemused, Meltzer's study—part detective story and part archeological research—is stimulating and sometimes tantalizingly controversial. 16 color and 64 b&w illus. (Apr.)

Going beyond the charisma and romance of two of history's greatest lovers, L.A. Times Book Prize–winner Preston (Before the Fallow) vividly puts their lives in the larger political context of their times. Preston explodes the legends, saying Cleopatra was less a seductress than a politically shrewd ruler, and Antony was not a hotheaded megalomaniac. Preston chronicles Cleopatra's life from her royal upbringing to her marriage to the new Roman emperor Julius Caesar, motivated, says Preston, by political ambition. After Caesar's murder, according to Preston, Cleopatra was wise to join political and sexual forces with Antony, who won favor in her eyes for rebelling against Octavian. For his part, Antony remained loyal to Cleopatra, viewing her as a partner with whom he could rule the Roman Empire. Although the tales Preston rehearses are familiar ones, she provides a rich context and speculates that if Antony and Cleopatra had defeated Octavian, then Cleopatra might have ruled in Judea more benignly than Herod. Her reception of Jesus of Nazareth might have been very different than Herod's, and history itself might have been altered. 30 b&w illus., one map. (Apr.)

Consciousness, mind, brain, self: the relations among these four entities are explored by German cognitive scientist and theoretical philosopher Metzinger, who argues that, in fact, “there is no such thing as a self.” In prose accessible mainly to those schooled in philosophy and science, Metzinger defines the ego as the phenomenal self, which knows the world experientially as it “subjectively appear[s] to you.” But neuroscientific experiments have demonstrated, among other things, that the unitary sense of self is a subjective representation: for instance, one can be fooled into feeling sensations in a detached artificial arm. So the author argues that the ego is a “tunnel” that bores into reality and limits what you can see, hear, smell and feel. Metzinger tests his theory by ranging over events of the consciousness such as out-of-body experiences, lucid dreaming and free will, and he concludes by probing ethical actions and what a good state of consciousness would look like. Most readers will have difficulty penetrating Metzinger's ideas, and those who do will find little that is genuinely new. (Apr.)

U.S. poet laureate Simic casts his knowing eye over a range of subjects in 16 biographical/critical pieces, many originally published in the New York Review of Books and other journals. In the opening, autobiographical piece, Simic, born in 1938, recalls his Belgrade, Yugoslavia, childhood unsentimentally (“I had a happy childhood despite droning planes, deafening explosions, and people hung from lampposts. I mean, it's not like I knew better....”), and continues with his arrival in America as a teenager and how his growing distaste for Serbian nationalism turned him into a renegade. Simic then roves outward to figures such as the misunderstood and underappreciated E.A. Robinson; melancholy Robert Creeley of Black Mountain Review fame; surrealist-inspired Yves Bonnefoy; and fellow U.S. poet laureate Donald Hall. He examines the endless quirks of Witold Gombrowicz, the eclectic originality of W.G. Sebald and certainly one of the greatest artistic renegades anywhere, Christopher Marlowe. Also among these elegant, penetrating writings are essays on a MoMA exhibit of Dada and on Whitman, not to mention a memorable segue on the world's worst haircut. (Apr.)

With such signature buildings as the Guggenheim Bilbao and the Disney Center in Los Angeles, Frank Gehry has been called “the most famous architect in the world.” These conversations, edited from interviews California-based writer Isenberg (Making It Big) began with Gehry in the 1980s, cover topics from his first buildings—made as a boy from chips of firewood on his grandmother's floor—to current large-scale projects like a $3 billion redesign for Grand Avenue in downtown L.A. There is talk about the architectural politics of Los Angeles and the practical aspects of running a large architectural office. And while Gehry never name-drops, readers do get a sense of the celebrity and high-finance crowds in which he circulates. Gehry says he has always been more influenced by artists than by other architects, and those influences range from such friends as Robert Rauschenberg to Vermeer and Hieronymus Bosch. Whether designing jewelry or museums, he sketches constantly and his assistants build dozens of models before reaching a final design. Illustrations of these preliminary steps and of realized buildings add a visual component to the wide-ranging and informative conversations. 165 color and 41 b&w illus. (Apr.)

The tumultuous life and career of Chan Marshall, the voice behind indie rock band Cat Power, is explored in Goodman's solid biography. Despite, or perhaps because of, Marshall's refusal to be interviewed for the book, Goodman, the editor-at-large at Blender, is able to peel back the layers of the singer's life, mixing original interviews with Marshall's friends and family and published quotes from Marshall herself. Born in 1972, Marshall grew up all over the South, the daughter of a schizophrenic mother and a wannabe rocker father, finding solace in music early on. From her first tentative forays into writing songs while living in Cabbagetown, Atlanta's bohemian enclave, to her shoot to indie—and mainstream—fame after moving to New York in the 1990s and signing with Matador Records, Marshall seemed certain of a bright future. Crippling self-doubt, coupled with a penchant for alcohol, led to Marshall's much-publicized breakdown. But Marshall endured, releasing the latest Cat Power record, Dark End of the Street, in 2008. Goodman's respect for Marshall's music is evident, but it's her objectivity when faced with reporting some of the singer's less than admirable traits that make this a thoroughly enjoyable read. (Apr.)

Following her memoir of healing, coauthored with her husband, Bob Woodruff, an ABC journalist gravely wounded in a bomb attack in Iraq (In an Instant), Lee delivers a collection of 17 brief, plainspoken essays about being a busy mother to four kids and a loving wife, daughter and friend who doesn't always know the right answers. Navigating the adolescence of her two oldest kids, Mark and Cathryn, focuses much of her parenting effort, and where the whole clan was once comfortable with nonchalant nudity, once her son turned into Mr. Hyde and her daughter into an eye-rolling critic, “the bathroom door is sealed tighter than a government nuclear testing ground in New Mexico.” In the essay “A Different Ability,” Woodruff writes movingly of first learning about her younger daughter's deafness (Nora and her twin sister were born by surrogate) and how a personal tragedy has been transformed in time to a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Similarly, Lee writes of the sustaining friendship with Melanie, whose own journalist husband died in Iraq, through the initial hours of grief when she learned of Bob's injuries. Lee moves fluently from deep to lighter subjects, such as worrying about her sagging knees or bemoaning her otherwise ideal husband's woeful gift-selecting ability. Self-deprecating and modest, Woodruff is certainly likable, and this collection will broaden her appeal. (Apr.)

Freelancer Miller is a self-described “cake chronicler,” and in this memoir, she describes her indiscriminate and conflicted obsession with cakes, which yields varying and sometimes, embarrassing results. Her stories are structured like a tiered cake and begin with a series of historical tidbits based on Internet research. She mixes in her experiences as a “sloppy baker” and an owner of a low-carb bakeshop, sprinkles in detailed but uninsightful discussions with other bakers and tops it off with lists of cultural ephemera. Much of the earnest, conversational prose reads like a series of inflated blog entries and reveal a person whose love of sweet, sugary food makes her feel “addicted, neurotic, weak-willed.” Like her frantic, inconsistent attempts at baking, the writing suffers from the “perils of impatience” and a lack of focus. Miller manages to redeem herself with a few short, poignant memories—eating frosting from a can, her grandmother's kitchen and a dream about sweets. (Apr.)

“Your lack of experience doesn't bother me,” Jurgensen's first boss in a restaurant kitchen told her. “It just means... you haven't learned any bad habits yet.” From that auspicious beginning, Jurgensen, pastry chef at Dressler in Brooklyn, makes a few mistakes along the way (one time, she managed to burn a hole in the bottom of a pot while trying to melt chocolate), although she steadily improves, landing jobs at several impressive Manhattan restaurants (with an interlude as a chef for Martha Stewart's TV show). In this amiable narrative, she describes various pitfalls: a hookup with one of her bosses eventually settles into a dating relationship; when they break up, it's right back to work for Jurgensen ever the professional. The edgy “backstage” atmosphere will be instantly familiar to fans of chef memoirs, but Jurgensen's promise of a feminine perspective to the sexist environment is barely fulfilled by the indifferent telling of a few raunchy anecdotes and her insistence that she got over it because she had no other choice. Individually, the stories are never anything less than entertaining, but when they're put together it feels like there's one more ingredient missing—an elusive something that would make a good dish great. (Apr.)

In a memoir that combines the personal and the political, Laurino (Were You Always an Italian?) documents her journey from a childhood spent in the company of a traditional Italian family to becoming a mother herself and the many differences between her mother's life and her own. Laurino's mother, a stay-at-home mom, claimed that she was not like the “other mothers”—she didn't drive or participate in the school's PTA; she was superstitious and read omens from dreams into daily life, while keeping an overprotective eye on Laurino and her mentally disabled brother. Laurino's father believed in the power of education and supported Laurino through college, where she pursued her burgeoning interest in the feminist movement. She began her career in the early 1980s at the Village Voice and later became New York City Mayor David Dinkins's chief speechwriter. As she married and had a child, her worldview expanded to include that of a working mother, and she struggled “to find a comfortable place for myself amid the hum of two dominant, divergent traditions.” Laurino deftly tells her story, while succinctly expressing a feminist's perspective on motherhood and explaining how much further we have to go as a country in order to honor every woman's work. (Apr.)

This memoir by actor Grodin (It Would Be So Nice if You Weren't Here) begins pleasingly with recollections of his mid-century Pittsburgh childhood. Grodin has a clipped and straightforward style that's so stripped of artifice it initially comes off as dust-dry wit; if only that were the case. The book's loose autobiographical framework quickly becomes little more than an excuse for a tired assemblage of would-be thoughtful musings and score settling. Although he claims, when speaking about a TV executive who was once rude to him, “I try not to take these things personally,” it's all too clear that he does. Whether it's critiquing a speech teacher from college, a director he didn't care for or even dredging up a decades-old negative review, there is rarely a slight that the author is not willing to try and address in these pages. A deadpan marvel as an actor, Grodin the writer is, with few exceptions, humorless. (Apr.)

California pediatrician Sloan has helped deliver more than 3,000 babies, and he marvelously captures the precarious nature of childbirth—both its joys and its anxieties—while treating readers to an informal and captivating history of the medical practices surrounding birth in America. Sloan shares his first bumbled attempts at delivering babies as an intern, which leads him into reflect on why doctors persist in having women lie down to give birth when standing or squatting are better physical postures for it. Sloan ranges surely and splendidly over epidurals, cesarean births, premature birth and neonatal nurseries, as well as the state of an infant's five senses at birth. For example, he points out that the fetus not only smells the foods its mother eats, it remembers them after birth and tends to like what it remembers. Sloan counsels that women cannot prepare for labor, because events change rapidly during the process. He advises women to surround themselves with the people they love: “unlike other labor pain relievers she may choose, their benefits will last the rest of her life.” (Apr.)

Sometimes religious inspiration can come from the most unlikely places. Reece, author of the award-winning Lost Mountain, is the son and grandson of Baptist preachers. His own religious world-view, however, comes not from traditional Protestant Christianity, but from American thinkers such as Walt Whitman, Thomas Jefferson, William James and the lesser-known scientist Lynn Margulis. The author intercalates his personal story, which is one of great tragedy, with those of these great historical figures. His goal is not quite clear from the outset, but that is the point. He is searching for a form of Christianity that he can live with, since he believes that the usual sources are unhelpfully dogmatic. The primary tension is a classic one: the struggle between the material and spiritual worlds. Reece is unconvinced by his stern grandfather's brand of Christianity, based more on the punitive teachings of Paul, he believes, than those of Jesus. The kingdom of God can be found, at least partly, right now—no need to slog through life in order to celebrate one's reward in the hereafter. There are disjointed moments in the narrative, but the overall project is commendable. (Apr. 2)

A collection of short-form meditations, anecdotes and nuggets of insight gleaned from Silf's work, travels, family and spiritual life, this volume aims to highlight God's appearances in ordinary life. A British retreat director specializing in the spirituality of Ignatius of Loyola, Silf (Close to the Heart) asserts, “God isn't as elusive as we think.” Her meditations are sparked by events as diverse as travel through the American West, Wales and South Africa; pastry made by a old friend; or even an Internet story about a race for children with special needs. Wherever we journey, she says, we will discover that God awaits us “through every point of the compass.” Some of the illustrations she uses are compelling. Some are, frankly, rather dull. This is not her richest or most reflective book. But Silf fans will find the writer they know and have come to depend on for grounded ideas on how to incarnate one's faith in daily life. (Apr. 1)

Don't be fooled by the slender spine of this unusual book. Rollins, the Irish philosopher/po-mo theologian who has previously published How (Not) to Speak of God and The Fidelity of Betrayal, upends some of Christians' most cherished platitudes about God in his newest outing. He cautions readers that the book is not to be read quickly, for acquiring information, but to be savored slowly for possible transformation. Mostly, the book lives up to this billing. Rollins recasts some of the most familiar parables of and stories about Jesus, sometimes subversively—as when he proposes a version of feeding the 5,000 that shows Jesus and his disciples pigging out on meager resources while the multitudes look on, starving. His point? That Christians are the body of Christ, and when we oppress the poor and hoard scarce resources, we are saying that represents the kind of God we serve. Although not all of the parables work equally well—some could use further illumination—Rollins is a tremendously talented writer and thinker whose challenges to Christianity-as-usual should be well-received by the emergent church crowd, if not beyond. (Apr. 1)

The Catholic group Opus Dei (Latin for “work of God”) emerges in this compact collection of essays and interviews as an entity that gives its female members a deep sense of purpose amid ordinary and extraordinary circumstances. Whether they are stay-at-home mothers or professionals in academia and business, these women tell of lives changed by their faith and what they commonly refer to as “the Work.” Opus Dei members, according to founder St. Josemaría Escrivá, aspire to be “contemplative souls in the midst of the world who try to convert their work into prayer.” They do this through offering their work to Christ and following a spiritual regimen of daily prayer and regular theological development programs. Excerpts from Escrivá's writings and an explanation of the group's structure help fill out the selected narratives. Readers looking for the kind of intrigue found in The Da Vinci Code's treatment of this group won't find it here, but they will get an honest appraisal from women who know Opus Dei from the inside out. (Apr.)

Former journalist and NASCAR publicist Rich, a spirited speaker on the evangelical Christian circuit, has much to say on this subject. With stylish sass, Rich wants to convince her readers that Southern women of faith have a distinct edge over females living anywhere but those warmer climes. Rich shares comical asides to all of life's experiences as she declares that Southern women would never be caught dead wearing the same dress two days in a row—even at their own funeral. The author also praises her peers' ability to “comfort, cajole, and even curse,” using that timeless multipurpose expression, “Bless her heart.” Jesting aside, Rich laces every amusing chapter with the grittiness of genuine, rock-solid faith in God. Tackling such topics as praying and receiving, speaking favor into existence, binding the enemy and doing good to others, Rich's treatise on faith will afford her readers a helping, heaping dose of good old Southern hospitality. Bless her heart. (Apr.)

The impact of the media on American Jews is the subject of this badly written work. Author Shandler, a professor of Jewish studies at Rutgers University, starts his presentation with cantors, discussing their recordings and their participation in movies and operas. He then proceeds to radio broadcasts, analyzing a program called “The Eternal Life,” claiming that its rise and fall paved the way for linking broadcasting and Judaism. Other chapters are devoted to Holocaust remembrance, photographing and videotaping Jewish life-cycle events from circumcision to funerals, television programs related to the juxtaposition of Christmas and Hanukkah, and use of new media by ultra-Orthodox Jews to promote their agenda. From this potpourri of examples, Shandler concludes with the baffling assertion that the impact “of new media on a community's religious life [is] not at its extremes but somewhere in the middle.” Apparently, he is asserting that the media affect Jewish religious practice, a self-evident proposition. (Apr.)

At first glance, it would seem that attempts to write histories of biblical characters must be hampered by the sparsity of extracanonical writings that inform our understandings of the Bible's people. But sometimes an individual rises from the pages of Scripture to take on a role so central, so important to Christendom's self-understanding that legend and devotion supersede historical verities. Rubin, professor of history at Queen Mary University of London, brings to this work a panoramic view of Mary's impact on the evolution and growth of Christianity, especially Catholic Christianity. Mary emerges in this study as a multifunctional Swiss army knife of spirituality, variously used as a model of motherhood, an object of devotion and a focal point of conflict among Christian believers. But she also serves as a useful tool to help all believers “reflect on the uses of the feminine in private yearnings and public supplications.” In the end, Mary is as complex as is Christianity itself. Rubin's study goes a long way toward helping readers understand Mary and deserves a wide readership. 32 color, 8 b&w illus. not seen by PW. (Apr.)

Some kids were evidently not unhappy growing up, but they can still get pretty good childhood memoirs, especially if they are honest about exaggerating. Quaker pastor-author Gulley (the Harmony series) writes a low-key Hoosier who's who in this memoir set in Danville, Ind., where youthful acting out takes the form of hurling tomatoes and detonating cans of bug spray. Danville includes Quaker widows aplenty, pals named Peanut and Suds, an arthritic and deaf police dog and a mousery that provisions Indiana's homegrown pharmaceutical manufacturer, Eli Lilly. Gulley has no shortage of material, and the teenage years naturally bring an attack of hormones that prompts pathetic, doomed crushes. We even manage to learn a few facts about the humorist, such as that Gulley grew up Catholic. His chief object of fun is his youthful self, which takes the edge off his views of other characters from his youth, many of whom are relatives. Humor beats nostalgia and drama; this stuff is a laugh-out-loud tweaking of a not terribly misspent youth. (Apr.)

God in couples counseling? Sounds sacrilegious, but in the adept hands of comedian, writer and actress Isaacs, it's a success. Isaacs reached bottom at age 40: no job, no boyfriend, no home. Of course, she blamed God. So off they went to counseling with the ever-patient therapist Rudy. Isaacs moves easily between recounting her life story and her counseling sessions. She describes encounters with the Nice Jesus of her Lutheran upbringing; the “Oakie” Pentecostal church and the militant counselor; the “Rock-n-Roll” church and the “Orthopraxy, Dude” church, plus her rocky acting career and her love life, including guilt-ridden sex and Mostly Mister Right. Isaacs readily admits to being snarky, but she's honest about her quest and its conclusion: “I saw now all too clearly why I had married God: for the power and the glory. For the money.” Isaacs goes on a Job-like search for explanations from God, but instead finds the problem to be her. She's funny, biting, earthy and brilliant. (Mar. 12)

Journalist Baglio follows a Catholic priest through the latter's training to become an exorcist in this incisive look at the church's rite of exorcism and its use in contemporary life. Baglio began delving into the topic after hearing about a course at a Vatican-affiliated university, where he met and befriended the Rev. Gary Thomas, a priest in the diocese of San Jose, Calif. Thomas took the exorcism course at the request of his bishop and subsequently apprenticed himself to a seasoned exorcist. Keenly aware of the misunderstanding that abounds about exorcism through film images, Baglio sets about dispelling misconceptions and does so skillfully, separating the real from the imaginary in the mysterious and unsettling sphere of the demonic. Both Thomas and Baglio were changed by their exposure to the rite. Thomas grew spiritually during the process, which bolstered his desire to help his parishioners, and Baglio, previously a nominal Catholic, reconnected with his faith. For anyone seeking a serious and very human examination of this fascinating subject, one that surpasses the sensational, this is absorbing and enlightening reading. (Mar. 10)

Known best for his fiction centered in the Middle East and based in Christian end times beliefs, Rosenberg's nonfiction behemoth will be a bestseller among evangelicals. Rigorous research, travel and interviews with hundreds of Muslim, Jewish and Christian leaders lends credibility to this survey of the spectrum of beliefs that drive foreign policy in nations such as Iran, on which the book focuses. Rosenberg divides Muslims into three types. Radical Islamists will stop at nothing short of dominating the world or destroying those who believe otherwise. Reformers believe radical Muslims have hijacked peaceful Islam for their own power-hungry and violent ends. Revivalists are Muslims or those living in predominantly Muslim countries who believe Islam is not the answer but that Jesus is the way. Rosenberg challenges Islamic eschatology without adequately comparing parallel Christian views. On the other hand, he is one of a few evangelicals who will put quotes from the Qur'an in context, has traveled widely and interviewed global leaders. This is one of the best primers for evangelical Christians to understand political Islam in the Middle East. (Mar. 10)

When a diving accident in 1967 paralyzed her from the neck down, Tada, then a teenager, questioned God and life itself. Decades later, the author and founder of Joni and Friends, a ministry for the disabled, writes from her wheelchair, “[T]here are more important things in life than walking.” In her latest book, Tada jumps back in time to reveal her thoughts as a young quadriplegic, then pleads with her teenage self and the reader to be patient and hopeful. In each chapter, Tada offers a “ruby” of her own hard-won wisdom (e.g., God may not always provide healing; courage in the midst of suffering is a testament to God's love; God gives grace in tough times) and encourages readers to dialogue with God to understand the purpose for hardships. Tada then supports this argument about suffering with Scripture, folding some verses into the chapters and compiling others into three appendices. Those who are ill, struggling or hopeless may be comforted by her testimony and perhaps roused to pray and perform good deeds while awaiting relief in whatever form it may take. (Mar.)

A former religion reporter for the Los Angeles Times, Lobdell recounts in this plainly written memoir how he became a Protestant evangelical, nearly accepted Catholicism and, in the end, rejected faith altogether. Central to the arc of this memoir is the unfolding sexual abuse scandal in the Roman Catholic Church, which Lobdell covered in depth during his time as a religion reporter, beginning in 2000. Despairing of the role of priests and bishops in that scandal, he refashions his identity as a crusading reporter out to cleanse the church of corrupt leaders. But after finding that his investigative stories about faith healer Benny Hinn and televangelists Jan and Paul Crouch appear to make no difference on the reach of these ministries or the lives of their followers, he gives up on the beat and on religion generally. Lobdell subjects his faith to the rigors of rationalism. If Christians are no more ethical than atheists, why belong to a church? It's a curious utilitarian argument that sounds more like a rearview explanation than a revealing account of loss of faith. Still, the memoir's strength lies in the wrenching emotional toll exacted by the Catholic abuse scandal. If nothing else, it suggests reporters may have been victimized by the scandal, too. (Mar.)

Danaan, environmental activist and author of Sacred Land, invites readers to cultivate an awareness of the natural world and become an “earth ally.” Individual chapters describe the author's experiences of discovering harmony between body and Earth, the sacredness of land, controlled use of psychotropic plants and a sense of belonging in nature. Each chapter also devotes considerable space to directed meditation and practical exercises so that readers can gain such insights themselves. A “nature intuitive,” Danaan writes of her ability to talk to nonhuman natural items, animals and elements, and coaxes readers to learn to do the same. In the process, she assures readers that they will enjoy the comfort of connection, a keener sense of vitality and supportive collaboration from a totem animal. Danaan notes that results benefit the earth, too, and contribute to its healing. This book isn't for hardened skeptics. But the author's gentle optimism about human relationship to the Earth and earnest care for the planet in all its particularity is a welcome contribution to environmental advocacy. (Mar.)