Nonfiction Reviews: Week of 4/2/2007

In this astute and engrossing examination of seven artsy marriages from 20th-century England, Roiphe (Last Night in Paradise) couples her penchant for social criticism with her training in English literature (she holds a Ph.D. from Princeton). The book's title is apt, for some of the unions Roiphe describes may strike even today's jaded readers as outré. Feminist writer Vera Brittain proposed that she and her husband, George Catlin, be joined in their household by her dear friend, Winifred Holtby. Katherine Mansfield and John Middleton Murry found that their highly romantic conception of love failed to sustain them through illness and other crises. Roiphe also examines the unions of H.G. Wells and Jane Wells; Elizabeth von Arnim and John Francis Russell; Clive and Vanessa Bell; Ottoline and Philip Morrell; and Radclyffe Hall and Una Troubridge. Roiphe writes not just as a disinterested historian. She wants to know what she can learn from Brittain and the rest about marriage, and the themes Roiphe focuses on remain relevant to 21st-century marriages: is domesticity compatible with long-term emotional engagement, or are marriages destined to become boring? Roiphe finds that once people began to think of marriage as an arrangement that ought to produce human happiness, monogamy was no longer a given. Fans of Pamela Paul and Cathi Hanauer will enjoy this volume, which is vintage Roiphe: provocative, dishy, substantive and fun. (July)

In this critical but judicious study, Blackburn (Truth: A Guide) regards what's considered the greatest of Plato's Socratic dialogues as "the foodstuff of unintelligent fundamentalisms." Hitler, totalitarianism and neoconservatism can't be blamed solely on "time and circumstance, land, food, guns, and money, the economic and social forces," he argues, so it may be that Socrates' utopian republic, ruled by philosopher-kings, may also have influenced the world in the worst possible way. Blackburn explores the themes that support such an argument, from Socrates' defense of the right of armies to conquer and colonize, to his extolling the benefits of a caste system. Although Blackburn—a philosopher at the University of Cambridge who identifies more closely with Aristotle—admits that he "had never felt Plato to be a particularly congenial author," he presents a clear and sympathetic synthesis of approaches to the famous Myth of the Cave, and gives the Platonist defenders their due. He finishes by making the case that the most critical reading of the book may be the best defense against its insidious influences. Hardly a ringing endorsement, Blackburn's book is a provocative companion to an essential text. (July)

Drawing on immigration history and left-wing economic analysis, historian and immigrants' rights activist Chomsky (Profits of Extermination) aims to debunk the assumptions informing the current immigration debate in this well-researched if stiffly written account. She offers straightforward arguments against anti-immigrant perceptions such as the one in the book's title: the "number of jobs is not finite, it is elastic," Chomsky asserts, pointing out that in the "postindustrial economy," many manufacturing jobs have been replaced by low-paying service jobs. In response to the accusation that "immigrants don't pay taxes," Chomsky notes that textile jobs that were once a part of the "formal sector" are now informal (i.e., they do not offer benefits or collect taxes)—for which she blames the employers. As for immigrants' alleged reluctance to learn English, the author observes that as one generation becomes fluent, new Spanish speakers arrive; she defends non-English speakers by citing the waiting lists for ESL classes and explaining that immigrants with a history as a conquered people (e.g. Mexicans) more stubbornly retain their heritage. Though Chomsky presents an agile blend of the history of race and immigration in the U.S. with current events, the book's format of offering liberal polemics to anti-immigrant questions forces her into a defensive, didactic tone. (July)

This paean to a remarkable animal by Flannery, author of the well-received global warming treatise The Weather Makers, is fascinating but scattershot. The kangaroo, the only large animal that hops, can travel at speeds of 15–40 kilometers per hour. Female kangaroos, who carry their young in pouches, have two vaginas, but don't give birth through either of them, and are always pregnant, because they mate a few hours after their young are born. There are 70-odd species of kangaroo: some drink salt water; others live in trees. But as a paleontologist, Flannery is obsessed with finding out when and where the first kangaroos lived. Much of the book is about his searches for the fossils of extinct species in remote areas of the Australian outback, where he discovered the remains of "the grandfather of all kangaroos," as well as the fossils of ice age giants, such as the short-faced kangaroo and a carnivorous kangaroo. The accounts of his discoveries are engaging, but he covers too much ground, switching back and forth between physical descriptions, kangaroo evolution, reminiscences of his fossil hunting travels, worries about Australia's environment and the aborigines, and his controversial extinction theories. B&w and color illus. not seen by PW. (July)

How did WWI happen? Was it the inevitable product of vast, impersonal forces colliding? Or was it a completely avoidable war that resulted from flawed decisions by individuals? Clay (Princess to Queen), a documentary producer for the BBC, inclines strongly to the latter explanation, and she brilliantly narrates how just three men led their nations to war. Forming a trade union of majesties, King George V (Britain), Kaiser Wilhelm II (Germany) and Czar Nicholas II (Russia) were cousins who together ruled more than half the world. They were a family, and thus subject to the same tensions and turmoil that afflict every family. They had "played together, celebrated each other's birthdays... and later attended each other's weddings," but still, while George and Nicholas were close, Wilhelm was something of an outsider—a feeling exacerbated by his paranoia and self-loathing. Over time, his sense of exclusion and humiliation would avenge itself on the family and eventually contributed strongly to the murder of Nicholas and the loss of his own throne. Clay's theory does have a hole—though not ruled by the "cousins," France and Austria-Hungary also played major roles in the outbreak of war—but that does not detract from the ingenuity and pleasure of her narrative. 35 b&w photos. (July)

Cohen's memoir starts with an amusing anecdote about traveling to Prague with her mother, who seems cheerfully oblivious to the fact that the handsome young man who joins them for dinner is far more interested in her than her daughter. Unfortunately, Cohen's mother is dying of a brain tumor by the end of the chapter, and though the endless kibitzing of her father, who tries to fix Cohen's love life while dating a string of "older widows and comely divorcees," is entertaining, the other members of her inner circle pale in comparison. Like Candace Bushnell, Cohen was a dating columnist for the New York Observer, with stories that drew liberally upon her friends' experiences and commentaries—and it's hard not to compare characters like John the TV journalist or George the rock star to "Mr. Big." Cohen's misadventures have a much deeper masochistic streak than Sex and the City, even if she copes with setbacks like a virulent face rash with as much self-deprecating humor as she can muster. If the results fail to overturn Bushnell's legacy as the reigning observer of Manhattan dating life, they make for a perfectly acceptable substitute. (July)

A mishmash of foodie writers dispute, humorously or more self-seriously, the pros and cons of cooking and dining alone. While eating by oneself can be the busy worker's greatest pleasure, as Colin Harrison notes of his solitary Manhattan lunches during a work day ("Out to Lunch"), and mother Holly Hughes ("Luxury") agrees is a secret but too rare pleasure, other writers see it as depressing or shameful. In "The Lonely Palate," Laura Calder quotes Epicurus as saying, "we should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink"—then offers a recipe for Kippers Mash. Eating is an act of love, thus prompting Jonathan Ames ("Poisonous Eggs") to dine out and flirt with the waitress. "Table for One" by Erin Ergenbright records how the single diner is perceived uneasily by the wait staff. And M.F.K. Fisher relishes solitary dining ("A Is for Dining Alone") as a way to escape "the curious disbelieving impertinence of the people in restaurants." The collection is named after an essay by Laurie Colwin, who found a dozen different ways to cook eggplant on her two-burner hot plate while living alone in a tiny Greenwich Village flat. (July)

Taking a more pacific tone than Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennett in this marvelous little book, Ayala, a UC-Irvine biologist and member of the National Academy of Sciences, offers a way to reconcile religion and science on the issue of evolution. He is uniquely well suited to address this: before becoming an evolutionary biologist, he trained for the Catholic priesthood. According to Ayala, Darwin provides both a clear understanding of the nature of the physical world and an explanation for its flaws that takes the onus for them off of God. Natural selection gives scientists an eminently plausible and verifiable explanation of the shape species and members of those species have taken over millions of years. For religious believers, evolution offers an explanation for the flawed designs—such as the too narrow human birth canal and our badly designed jawbone—that might call into question the work of a benevolent designer. Ayala points out that science and religion perform different roles in human understanding: science offers a way of knowing the material world, but matters of value and meaning—the core of religion—are outside of the scope of scientific investigation. This elegant book provides the single best introduction to Darwin and the development of evolutionary biology now available. Illus. (June)

In a quest to determine whether psychology is really a science, Uttal, professor emeritus of psychology at the University of Michigan, leads the reader through five investigative chapters that outline the foundations of science and scientific thought (e.g., axioms and deduction)—the criteria psychology ought to adhere to if it is to join the ranks of physics and biology. But the author's liberal use of quotes and anecdotes bogs down the prose, leaving little room for his own arguments. Uttal claims that psychology is indeed a science—and that it isn't. This ambiguous conclusion is due to psychology's two subdivisions, behaviorism and mentalism. The latter "accept[s] the accessibility of mental events" and makes free use of vague terminology that includes "emotion," "soul" and "consciousness." Behaviorism, on the other hand, is interested in external, observable behavior that can be replicated and analyzed, and "can be considered to be a natural, if underdeveloped, science." This conclusion is unsatisfying, and the author's freewheeling application of the classifications inherent to science by using learned quotes, mathematical equations and distracting anecdotes on historical figures (such as Descartes's belief in God) is neither specific nor convincing enough. (June)

With fast-paced storytelling, freelance journalist Murdoch traces now ubiquitous but still controversial attempts to measure intelligence to its origins in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He takes readers back to 1905 when French psychologist Alfred Binet first formulated tests to measure reasoning, language, abstract thinking and complex cognitive abilities. However, many psychologists began to use the tests as a device to separate the mentally retarded from the rest of society. As Murdoch points out, the tests were often administered unfairly to members of various races, offering proof to the test's administrators of their own theories that intelligence was linked to race. Murdoch also demonstrates that the tests were often used as eugenic devices. In the landmark case of Carrie Buck, faulty IQ testing was used as a justification for involuntary sterilization as part of a move to eliminate feeblemindedness in future generations. Murdoch concludes that IQ testing provides neither a reliable nor a helpful tool in understanding people's behavior, nor can it predict their future success or failure. While much of this material is familiar, this is a thoughtful overview and a welcome reminder of the dangers of relying on such standardized tests. (June)

Though it never goes for the gross-out effect, this memoir is not for the squeamish. "You begin to learn to heal the living by dismantling the dead," says Montross, and though her recollections encompass all of her medical training, the narrative backbone of the story is her semester-long dissection of a human cadaver, from opening up the ribcage to removing the brain from the skull. Montross was a poet and writing teacher before she decided to become a doctor, and she peppers her account of the dismantling of her cadaver, Eve—so named because she has no belly button—with arresting imagery: to test the heart's semilunar valves ("little half-moons that work passively and without musculature"), she and another student take the organ to a sink and run tap water through it. Performing her own dissection leads Montross to explore the history of studying anatomy through corpses, which brings tantalizing detours to medieval Italian universities and saints' shrines. But she also recounts her earliest encounters with living patients, such as a heart-wrenching consultation with a man suffering from Lou Gehrig's disease, who can communicate only by blinking. Her thoughtful meditations on balancing clinical detachment and emotional engagement will easily find a spot on the shortlist of great med school literature. (June 25)

Recycling much historical material from the magisterial Cambridge World History of Food (which the author co-edited), this slender volume distills 10,000 years of food history into just 300 pages. While the first work was notable for its rich multiplicity of voices and deeply informed scholarship, this one is a bit of a hash, owing to its author's insistence on squeezing a far-ranging narrative into the narrow framework of globalism. Far from being a new economic concept, the globalization of food, asserts Kiple, is as old as agriculture itself (globalization being murkily defined as "a process of homogenization whereby the cuisines of the world have been increasingly untied from regional food production, and one that promises to make the foods of the world available to everyone in the world"). The strongest material examines the spread of agriculture and its ramifications: it's a paradox of civilization that increased food production encourages population growth, which invariably creates food shortages and disease. That said, gastronomes will find scraps to nibble on here and there—who knew, for example, that the Egyptians trained their monkeys to harvest grapes? (June)

Barr (We Called It Macaroni) worked with culinary icon Julia Child for 24 years, starting in 1980 as an assistant to Child's monthly live segment on Good Morning America and remaining until Child's death in 2004. This delightful and sprightly backstage look at life with Child (a "Lucille Ball-with-a-rolling-pin character in the kitchen") describes Barr's work as an integral member of "the Julia team" that supported Child's "mind-boggling" schedule of demonstrations, media appearances and book signings. Barr skillfully illustrates Child's "extraordinary drive" in business, showing how "she never took her success or her audiences' acceptance of her work for granted," and how throughout her many ventures, "she maintained the integrity of what she was doing—teaching cooking." A delightful description of a day when the pair "gobbled down Double-Double burgers at the In-N-Out drive thru" illustrates how Child was "as down-to-earth, unguarded, and unselfconsciously outspoken in the company of friends as she was with the cameras rolling." By concentrating on the "memories of the Julia who was my mentor, my colleague, my friend; my story of what made her so special," Barr provides a sweet addition to Noel Riley Fitch's biography Appetite for Life and, recently, Child's autobiography with Alex Prud'Homme, My Life in France. (June)

In this biography of the Iraqi poet Nabeel Yasin, freelance writer Tatchell offers a portrait of a courageous family, a devastating political regime and a writer's escape and exile. Before the Ba'athist "crackdown on writers, poets, and artists," Yasin had been "one of [Baghdad's] most celebrated poets"; in March 1976, however, he was officially declared an "Enemy of the State." Tatchell divides the book in two sections, tracing Yasin's life in Iraq from the 1950s to 1980 in the first and his exile in the second. Even as the Ba'athist regime impinges, through multiple arrests and torture, upon the Yasins, the first section is particularly rich in its evocation of family life and tradition. The stress and anxiety of exile occupy the second as Yasin with his wife and children seek a place to settle (Prague, Damascus, Budapest, Leipzig, among them) before landing in England in 1992. Straddling the imagined and the historical, Tatchell's novelized biography takes the reader inside the thoughts and reproduces the dialogue of a wide cast of characters. While this approach is usually enlightening and compelling, here it makes it difficult to distinguish the speculative from the factual. Given Yasin's status as a poet, the biography reveals little more about his poetry than names of his most famous works: "Brother Yasin" and "Brother Yasin Again." (June)

Corson (The Secret Life of Lobsters) spent months at a "sushi school" run out of a Japanese restaurant in Hermosa Beach, Calif., observing the students as they learned how to prepare a seemingly endless variety of fish. Although the reporting focuses primarily on Kate, a young woman who struggles to overcome her lack of confidence, many of the other students get a turn in the spotlight, as do the restaurant's owner and the head instructor. This would make for a riveting enough story on its own, but Corson beautifully intersperses the drama with lessons about the history and science of each fish the class encounters, along with the rice and wasabi. He also reveals that just about everything Americans know about eating sushi is wrong, down to using chopsticks to dunk their fish in soy sauce. Foodies will find dozens of useful tips to enhance their appreciation of "the fast food of old Tokyo," especially if they entrust an experienced chef to prepare an omakase meal for them. The combination of culinary insights and personal drama makes for one of the more compelling food-themed books in recent years. (June)

This scathing indictment probes Israel's soul as much as the substance of its treatment of the Palestinians. Cypel, a Le Monde editor and a Jew who lived in Israel for many years, revisits crucial episodes in the Arab-Israeli conflict, from the expulsion of Palestinians during the 1948 War of Independence to the controversial 2000 Camp David negotiations whose failure led to the current intifada. Citing Israeli scholars, Cypel debunks the standard Israeli accounts and pillories what he contends is Israel's systematic repression of Palestinians in the occupied territories. From this somewhat haphazard critique (the book presupposes extensive knowledge of Israeli history and politics), he explores the ideology and mentality behind Israeli policies toward the Palestinians. His diagnosis is dire: a deep-seated "denial of reality" marked by anti-Arab racism, an irrational sense of victimization and an obsession with military security at the expense of political compromise, leading to a pervasive "brutalization" of society; "as [Israel] goes from victory to victory, the country is being morally destroyed." (Cypel takes some swipes at the Palestinians, but clearly feels that Israel bears more responsibility for the impasse.) Cypel's book can be heavy going—contentious, rambling, repetitive and full of dense psychologizing. Still, his is an impassioned, often perceptive challenge to the Israeli consensus. (June)

Taylor's vivid recollection of nearly four years as a Japanese prisoner during WWII would have benefited from a tactful editor, but still remains riveting. An octogenarian and the former mayor of North Las Vegas, Taylor shipped out to Wake Island, 2,000 miles west of Oahu, Hawaii, as a civilian construction worker in 1941. He and more than a thousand other civilians assumed that the U.S. would evacuate them after Pearl Harbor, but the Japanese proved them wrong upon conquering the island two weeks later. Taylor's ordeal began with a stroke of luck: the Japanese transported him and most of his colleagues to a POW camp in China, later killing those remaining on Wake. There followed more than three years of starvation, disease, beatings and hard labor until, in May 1945, Taylor escaped and lucked out again when he ran into Mao Zedong's Communist forces, who guided him to safety. Taylor is best describing day-to-day events, rather than when he pauses to explain his religious views or Japanese culture. He credits his survival to God, but his gripping account makes it clear that he possessed both a tenacious will and entrepreneurial talent. (June)

Prolific bestseller Axelrod (Patton: A Biography, etc.) examines the evolution of the Marine Corps in this sprightly popular history of the pivotal WWI Battle of Belleau Wood in France. The Marine Corps, founded in the American Revolution, entered the 20th century on the verge of extinction. Saved by a congressional intervention that repealed Theodore Roosevelt's 1908 executive order withdrawing Marines from warships, the Marine brass looked to WWI as a chance to build up their ranks. The War Department sent two Marine brigades to France, but the U.S. commander, Gen. John Pershing, was reluctant to use them—relenting only when a German offensive threatened Paris. Belleau Wood, formerly "an idyllic patch of forest" used as a hunting preserve for the wealthy, was occupied by the Germans and transformed into "a natural fortress" bristling with machine-gun emplacements. In a savage, month-long fight, the 4th Marine Brigade pushed the entrenched Germans out of Belleau Wood, earning a new nickname from the enemy (Devil Dogs), forging a reputation as "America's fiercest warriors" and securing the future of the corps. Based exclusively on published material, Axelrod's brisk if conventional narrative provides a solid introduction to a crucial battle for fans of military history. (June)

With her first full-length book, biologist, writer and musician Serano positions herself as a Betty Friedan of the transsexual community. Making a case that trans discrimination is steeped in sexism and that trans activism is a feminist movement, Serano delivers a series of articulate, compelling and provocative essays that unmask many of the misconceptions surrounding transsexualism, gender and feminism. Where most books on the topic focus either on first-person accounts or clinical observations, Serano approaches her topic from multiple angles. Tempering her own experience as a transsexual woman with psychological documentation, historical research and sociological data, she explores the debate on biology versus socialization; the media's "lurid," "superficial" and "contrived" depictions of trans women; the psychology of transitioning; "boygasms" versus "girlgasms"; nonacceptance and marginalization of transsexual women by the feminist community; and the subtle shades of gray between masculinity and femininity. Though her writing is dense at times, Serano largely succeeds in breaking down complex issues and offering deep insights that will be valued by anyone interested in transsexualism or gender studies. (June)

In a tale set mainly in the Hawaiian Islands, London-born Martin (Walking on Water) narrates the decade-long conflict between two of the world's best known "big wave" surfers: Ken Bradshaw and Mark Foo. A large, irascible Texan, Bradshaw considered himself lord of Oahu's Waimea Bay in the 1980s and had a habit of biting chunks out of the boards of any surfers who dared to trespass on his domain. While Bradshaw was an old-school purist, the younger, Chinese-American Foo was alive to surfing's commercial potential and had a feel for the spotlight. The rivalry endured through one board-chomping and numerous monster waves. Yet as media attention and technological advances such as Jet Skis raised the stakes in big-wave surfing, the two men developed a grudging respect for one another. Their budding partnership was cut short in 1994, however, when Foo drowned while surfing with Bradshaw at Maverick's, south of San Francisco. A scene insider and surfing journalist, Martin knew both men well and is at his best writing about the lure of the waves. In the end, Martin tells a gripping story of not only the intrapersonal competition between the two men but the real struggle each faced against the ocean. (June)

Insult comic Rickles has written a feel-good memoir that's loaded with photos and sentiment. The only son of loving parents, today he's an 80-year-old grandfather who still performs nationwide. The most interesting bits—his climb to the top—are told only in broad strokes. The tone is friendly and conversational, however, as he describes, among other things, his style: "I found a distinct sense of sarcasm and humorous exaggeration." Rickles wanted to be a serious actor, but he started as a comic in strip clubs and worked his way up. His break came when Sinatra heard him—and he used Sinatra's influence to get him better gigs. Yet for a guy famous for calling others a "hockey puck," Rickles's story is Hollywood lite. There's no backstage drama, no sex, no gossip. When he name-drops celebrities, it's always in glowing terms. We learn of his short-lived TV shows, CPO Sharkey and The Don Rickles Show, and how voicing Mr. Potato Head in Toy Story jump-started his later career. Those looking for a sardonic autobiography will be disappointed; Rickles accentuates the positive. If he has a bad word to say about anyone, he'll probably save it for his act. (June)

Ackerman, a Washington lawyer (Boss Tweed), examines the "red scare" hysteria that swept the country in 1919. The linchpin in the government's actions was the notorious Palmer Raids, a series of raids and arrests ostensibly designed to rid the country of anarchists and Communists. Though many at the time believed J. Edgar Hoover played only a small role in the raids, in fact they were organized by Hoover, then only a 24-year-old Department of Justice agent who Ackerman describes as possessing an uncanny ability to please his superiors, a preternatural ability to attend to detail and a dangerously distorted moral compass. The mixture of Hoover and the other personalities prominent in the story—Clarence Darrow, Emma Goldman, Eugene Debs and Felix Frankfurter, to name a few—makes for a compelling story that features demagogues; terrorists; a gullible, xenophobic public; rogue law enforcement officials; and good guys, both in and out of government, who discredit the raids. Ackerman captures well the pathological character of the young Hoover and argues effectively that there is a cautionary tale in the corrosive effect of the denial of civil liberties and extralegal measures employed in the red scare raids. Illus. (June)

This breezy narrative comes from the pen of a veteran journalist and economics reporter. Rather than telling a new story, she tells an old one (scarcely lacking for historians) in a fresh way. Shlaes brings to the tale an emphasis on economic realities and consequences, especially when seen from the perspective of monetarist theory, and a focus on particular individuals and events, both celebrated and forgotten (at least relatively so). Thus the spotlight plays not only on Andrew Mellon, Wendell Wilkie and Rexford Tugwell but also on Father Divine and the Schechter brothers—kosher butcher wholesalers prosecuted by the federal National Recovery Administration for selling "sick chickens." As befits a former writer for the Wall Street Journal, Shlaes is sensitive to the dangers of government intervention in the economy—but also to the danger of the government's not intervening. In her telling, policymakers of the 1920s weren't so incompetent as they're often made out to be—everyone in the 1930s was floundering and all made errors—and WWII, not the New Deal, ended the Depression. This is plausible history, if not authoritative, novel or deeply analytical. It's also a thoughtful, even-tempered corrective to too often unbalanced celebrations of FDR and his administration's pathbreaking policies. 16 pages of b&w photos. (June 12)

This frustrating book offers an interpretation of American history as an enduring conflict between inclusionary and exclusionary impulses. Harvard's Higgonet (Paris: Capital of the World) has his sights set on the Bush administration, which he places among the exclusionists—those who try to retard the incorporation of all peoples within the American dream. And he has no warmth for those who, like Theodore Roosevelt and Bush, accept as necessary the cruelties and costs attendant upon forging a nation and becoming a world power. Higgonet's broad knowledge of French history is on display as he emphasizes the telling absence in the United States of European anticlericalism and anticapitalism. But as a work of history serving as contemporary criticism, the book largely fails. Yes, the nation's history has been marked by shifting attitudes—inclusionary during the Civil War era, exclusionary for the first third of the 20th century. But that binary division scarcely exhausts the complexities of our history. Higgonet's scheme will appeal to those who want their national history to conform to a lazy, contemporary kind of feel-good liberalism. But few readers will be challenged to think afresh about their country's past. (June 19)

The Long March—the 8,000-mile trek by 200,000 Communist soldiers in 1934 while fleeing the Nationalists—is still legendary in Chinese Communist Party lore, but there are a lot of myths surrounding it, as the Chinese-born author discovers when she retraces the march's steps. Meeting wizened march veterans, the author, raised on the heroism of the march, is shocked to discover the reality: stories of starvation and desertion, violence against women and unnecessary deaths. For years afterward, some of the veterans didn't receive full pensions. A filmmaker and television producer who divides her time between London and Beijing, she also finds that Mao made strategic mistakes attributed to others, and used the march ruthlessly to defeat his rivals and cement his hold on Communist power. Her interviews with veterans are among the book's highlights, but just as fascinating as the interviews and archival research is her travel through China. She colorfully describes the countryside, which in her eyes maintains its ancient beauty even amid creeping 21st-century modernity. Some readers may need to do a little background reading on 20th-century Chinese history, but the rewards make it worthwhile. Map. (June 12)

On July 9, 2001, the hot exhaust of a state vehicle on fire patrol ignited the major Libby South Fire in the North Cascades Range in central Washington State. When a smaller blaze broke out later that evening some miles to the north in the narrow Chewuch River canyon near the Canadian border, resources were already stretched, and only a small, rookie-laden crew was deployed. This Thirtymile Fire should have been a simple operation, but instead it blew up into a towering inferno of double fire-plumes spinning tornado-like in opposite directions, scorching 9,324 wildland acres. In two weeks, 1,000 firefighters and dozens of helicopters, bulldozers and other heavy equipment were deployed, costing $4.5 million and the lives of four fire fighters. A controversial official investigation claimed that the firefighters defied authority and bore responsibility for their own deaths. Maclean (Fire and Ashes) interviewed families, survivors, investigators and fire experts, and the result is an evenhanded, lucid re-creation of catastrophe and its aftermath. The author gives a human face to national headlines, capturing the dignity and sense of mission of the lost firefighters, such as Karen FitzPatrick, age 18, a born-again Christian who sought, through firefighting, to "resolve the ageless conflict between the desires of the spirit and those of the flesh." (June 1)

The diaries our 40th president kept while in office—edited and abridged by historian Brinkley (The Great Deluge)—are largely a straightforward political chronicle. Reagan describes meetings with heads of state and antiabortion leaders, reflects on legislative strategy and worries about leaks to the press. He often used his diary to vigorously defend his polices: for example, after a 1984 visit with South African archbishop Desmond Tutu (whom Reagan calls "naïve"), the president explained why his approach to apartheid—"quiet diplomacy"—was preferable to sanctions. Reagan sometimes seems uncomfortable with dissent, as when he is irked by a high school student who presents a petition advocating a nuclear freeze. And he often sees the media as a "lynch mob," trying to drum up scandal where there is none. Reagan's geniality shines through in his more quotidian comments: he muses regularly about how much he appreciates Nancy, and his complaints about hating Monday mornings make him seem quite like everyone else. Brinkley doesn't weigh down the text with extensive annotation; this makes for smooth reading, but those who don't remember the major political events of the 1980s will want to refer to the glossary of names. Reagan's diaries are revealing, and Brinkley has done historians and the broad public a great service by editing them for publication. (May 22)

Despite Irons's title, Mike Newdow, who challenged the words "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance, says, "People... think this is against God. And it's not.... It's those who believe in equality versus those who don't." But his opponents, and the other defendants in the seven cases concerning the separation of church and state that civil liberties lawyer Irons relates, clearly see it differently. As one of Newdow's opponents says, if "the majority of folks want it, I don't think the minority should be able to say, 'Well, no, you can't have it.' " Irons (A People's History of the Supreme Court) provides exciting blow-by-blow accounts of the legal battles, ranging from two challenges to displays of the 10 Commandments in Kentucky and Texas to the fight over a cross on Mount Soleded in San Diego—a theater of the absurd lasting 17 years and counting. Irons ends each chapter with monologues by a participant on each side. These are sometimes rambling and overlong, but reveal sometimes with surprising power, the personalities and motivations of the opponents. Irons's accounts clarify the legal issues in these important cases as well as what one federal judge called the Supreme Court's "utterly standardless" decisions, failing to provide clear boundaries for the role of religion in the public square. (May 21)

Willinsky, a Jamaican native, first published this volume in 1990, and in this lively and completely revised edition, she begins by explaining exactly what jerk is ("an authentic Jamaican method of cooking pork, chicken, seafood, beef, fruits, and vegetables over a fire pit or on a barbeque grill") and how it's seasoned (in general, a combination of scallions, onions, thyme, pimento, cinnamon, nutmeg, chilies and salt). She first explains how it's done in Jamaica (where jerk huts can be found everywhere), then demonstrates how these recipes can be adapted to a kitchen or backyard grill. Recipes for jerk rubs, dry seasonings and marinades are included in the first chapter, as well as a list of traditional Jamaican ingredients, like breadfruit, a large starchy vegetable. Chapters devoted to jerk pork, chicken, seafood, beef, lamb and goat recipes follow. Some are simple and traditional (Authentic Jamaican Jerk Chicken, Curry Goat), while others are variations using jerk seasoning like meat loaf, lamb kebobs, and stir-fried beef). Side dish recipes include Fried Plantains and Steamed Callaloo, a leafy green popular in Jamaica. Bright, colorful photos accompany these accessible recipes. (June)

This delightful, affectionate homage to the pig is a blend of cookbook and travel guide, celebrating the pig and the bounty it provides. Reynaud, the owner and chef of restaurant Ville 9 Trois, just outside of Paris, learned about pigs through his butcher grandfather, attending his first pig killing at the age of seven. Now, more than 30 years later, he shares his reverence for tradition and all that the pig offers in this exceptional book. Taking the reader on the journey from slaughter to table, he reveals a rich and rustic world largely unknown to most Americans. Readers meet Aimé, who can butcher a 400-pound pig in just a few hours; Blachou and his faithful dog, Florette, who help out during the slaughter; and the pâté team of Pompom, Kiki and Jacquy. Hearty, mouth-watering recipes—150 in all—range from the more common (Pork Tenderloins with Porcini Stuffing and Super Maxi Royale Choucroute) to the unusual (Pig's Tongue with Sorrel and Stuffed Pig's Ears). Sections on blood sausage, ham, sausage making and wild boar will fascinate as well as tantalize. Reynaud offers alternatives for hard-to-find ingredients and provides a list of mail-order butchers in the U.S. and France. Originally published in France in 2005, this collection is a must-have for cooks and food lovers everywhere. 240 color photos and 100 line drawings. (May)

At this stage in the BBQ game, the rules for creating a cookbook have become obvious. First, give yourself a good ole boy nickname. "King of the Q" is as righteous as any (even if it is inspired by a mention in a seven-year-old issue of GQ). Next, create a lovable persona and a catch phrase or two. Reader, with his plump smiling face and up-swirled hair looks a lot like Big Boy (he of the checked overalls and giant hamburger), and nowhere is it mentioned that this chef is, in fact, Canadian. Despite all of this, and aided by the mouth-watering photography of Edward Pond, the addictive trifecta of meat plus smoke plus time proves to be as enthralling—if sometimes outlandish—as ever. There is much attention paid to planking (grilling on a soaked plank of aromatic wood). Salmon Quesadillas, Figs with Goat Cheese, and Beef Tenderloin all get that treatment. Liquor is a leitmotif that carries through to dishes like Jack Daniels Salmon Gravlax and an inspired Tequila and Honey-Coffee Lamb Ribs. Meanwhile, readers may find their arteries harden just by reading the recipes for Cheesy Stuffed Burger Dogs or Teddy's Grilled Cheese Beef Burger, where the bun is constructed out of two grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches. (May)

Though Gower (Eric's Kitchen; The Breakaway Japanese Kitchen) defends his inventive, improvisational cooking against charges of "fusion," his lively combination of cuisines from Japan, Mexico, India and Italy (among others) is exactly that—a fusion. For the adventurous home cook who delights in intense and surprising flavors—and who doesn't want to labor for hours in the kitchen—this book will provide endless ideas for invention. Gower's pantry basics are exotic yet accessible: tart pomegranate molasses, ginger and galangal, miso, yuzu (citrus valued for its zest) and umeboshi (Japanese pickled apricots). Gower, currently a private chef, lived for 15 years in Japan; his explanations of Japanese ingredients are especially informative, and though he is clear on typical practices, he doesn't shy from presenting his own unconventional combinations such as Frittata Giapponese, baked eggs with umeboshi, green beans, ginger and maple syrup, Mole Tofu with Spiced Bread Crumbs or Minty Boozy Chicken marinated with rum and lime. Even home cooks familiar with Gower's kind of staples will be pleasantly shocked by some of these recipes—in a way that culinary adventurers are always seeking. (May)

Equal parts cookbook, agricultural history, chemistry lesson and produce buying guide, this densely packed book is a food-lover's delight. California food writer Parsons (How to Read a French Fry) begins with a fascinating tale of agribusiness trumping our taste buds en route to supplying year-round on-demand produce, and how farmer's markets are bringing back both appreciation of, and access to, local and seasonal foods. He then takes readers on a delectable season-by-season produce tour, from springtime Artichokes Stuffed with Ham and Pine Nuts to midwinter Candied Citrus Peel, and provides readers with the lowdown on where each fruit or vegetable is grown and how to choose, store and prepare it. Along the way, he detours into low-stress jam making, the chemistry of tomato flavor, a portrait of two peach-growing stars of the Santa Monica farmer's market and why cucumbers make some people burp. For readers who have always wondered where their food comes from, why it tastes the way it does and how to pick a peach, a melon or a green bean, this book will be an invaluable resource. (May)

Family therapist Gurian (The Wonder of Girls) approaches his nature-based theme from a slightly different angle in his latest work, urging parents to buck "social trends parenting" and make decisions based on the core personality of their individual child. A researcher of brain science and gender differences, Gurian believes that much of a child's behavior is inborn from the start. But Gurian sees a disturbing trend in parents' increasing willingness to disregard their own instincts, letting media and society-driven fads dictate the way they raise their kids. In his own "clinical detective work," he has found that children are becoming bogged down by activity overload and the "material anxiety" that arises from trying to keep up with the latest designer fads or electronic gadgets. Gurian presents an in-depth, chapter-by-chapter analysis of child development, beginning at infancy and ending in early adulthood. Gurian's presentation is comprehensive and peppered with fascinating facts (i.e., how pheromones of biological fathers affect the onset of girls' puberty or how parts of a toddler's brain actually swell during a tantrum). The author's new text will help parents begin, in the tradition of Maria Montessori, to "follow the child," rather than adapt their kids to a contemporary one-size-fits-all mold. (May)