Crazy for the Storm: A Memoir of Survival by Norman Ollestad How did this book miss my radar for 2 years? It’s a remarkable story, gorgeously and simply told, and as an audiobook it’s simply stunning. And I’m rather appalled that I missed knowing about it till now. We know I can’t keep away from plane crash stories. This is such a story. But it’s really a father-son story, told by the grown son, who’s looking back at his childhood and the influence of his charismatic father. Ollestad’s dad really pushed his son to excel athletically—dragging him out of bed for hockey practice, taking him surfing in waves he found frightening, and skiing with him down icy mountains. And all that adventure travel and extreme sport stuff prepared him for February 1979, when the worst happened. Eleven-year-old Norman, his dad, his dad’s girlfriend, and a pilot were flying in the mountains, and they crashed. The plane crash story is interwoven with the story of Norman’s life in the year or so leading up the crash. Obviously we know Norman survived, but it’s still surprisingly suspenseful to read the passages about the crash and its aftermath. It’s pretty amazing that an 11-year-old could have the strength and the presence of mind to take the steps necessary for his survival, but he was kind of an extraordinary kid. He’s grown up to be an extraordinary writer.
Other notes: The author reads the audiobook himself, and I can’t imagine anyone else reading it. His intonation adds so much to the story that I actually can’t even imagine reading it on the page. It’s rare that an audiobook is powerful enough for me to say that. (Audiobook: 7.5 hours) BTW, Amazon has an essay the author wrote about enticing his young son into reading. I love it.
The Kennedy Detail: JFK’s Secret Service Agents Break Their Silence by Gerald Blaine with Lisa McCubbin First off, if you’re looking for scandal, skip this book. This guy is not spilling any of those kinds of secrets. Also, if you’re looking for conspiracy theories (which I find oh-so-tiresome), skip it. If, however, you’re looking for the behind-the-scenes story of what it was like to protect the Kennedy family, this is your book. The fellows assigned to protect the Kennedys were the first and only Secret Service agents to see a president assassinated on their watch. And really, there probably wasn’t a doggone thing they could have done about it. Kennedy himself said, on the morning of November 22, 1963, that if someone wanted to kill him, it would be easy to do from an upper-story window. And—the part that the Secret Service did not speak of at the time (because they did not want to sound as though they were blaming JFK for his death)— is that Kennedy had asked, earlier that month, that the agents remain further away from his car so spectators could see him. This request had been passed through the chain of command, so that day in Dallas, the agents were not as close to the president as they would have liked to have been. (And yes, there’s all kinds of discussion of whether or not this is true. All right, already!) The amazing thing is that the agents never talked about the assassination in the days and years following Kennedy’s death.
Since so much already has been written about the assassination, the thing about this book that will stick with me most is the information about the protection of Mrs. Kennedy and the children. The fellows on the “Kiddie Detail” seem like truly remarkable humans. Blaine describes how Caroline Kennedy rolled down the car window during the funeral cortege so she could hold the hand of special agent Bob Foster. Even though this is just one more take on the old story we know so well, it’s fascinating to read.
The Report by Jessica Francis Kane Holy Toledo. What a book. I read this puppy in two days flat, which included one quite late night because I Could Not Stop reading. Despite my general antipathy for historical fiction. This one really pulls a person in. First, it’s about a tragedy, so I’m a sucker for that. But it’s also told in such a way that we know there’s more to the story, and it is revealed ever so gradually. So there’s a quiet suspense that builds. Not a big, dramatic, in-your-face suspenseful thing, but the dreadful feeling that the truth has been hidden, the truth is complicated, and the truth is not very nice. This novel is based on an actual event that took place in London during the Blitz. During an air raid (during which no bombs were dropped), 173 people died in a crush in a stairwell at the Bethnal Green tube shelter. The novel follows a small cast of characters whose lives intersect on the 30th anniversary of the tragedy: the man who ran the inquiry and wrote the report about the event, a woman who survived the crush as a child but who retains emotional scars, and a young documentary filmmaker with a personal connection to the event. The story goes back and forth from the 1970s to the 1940s, and it’s breathtaking. I absolutely cannot wait for more people to read this book so we can talk. (Watch out if you see me coming your way; I may try to thrust this book into your hand, and there’ll be no escaping me.)
War by Sebastian Junger Oh, this is not an easy book. It is every bit as dreary, frightening, and depressing as I thought it would be. Yet, still, I am glad I read it. Even though it will haunt me. But doggone it, we’re a nation at war; why the hell shouldn’t an American feel haunted? Between June 2007 and June 2008, Junger (yes, the same guy who wrote The Perfect Stormand who writes for Vanity Fair) was an embedded reporter who lived with Army troops who were on the front lines in Afghanistan. So he got as close to living their experience as anyone can, and thank goodness he’s one heck of a writer, because he makes it real to those of us who are reading in our comfy armchairs and living our cushy lives. For even more of this reality, you can check out the documentary Restrepo, which Junger and Tim Hetherington co-directed and co-produced. The film’s web site also has photos of the soldiers who appear in the book.
As one would expect, there’s plenty of suffering in this book. Soldiers die, and soldiers are injured. And then the survivors wait around in a start of tense boredom, yearning for it all to start up again. That sentiment seems unfathomable, but Junger makes it make sense.
He writes that war (the big picture) is different from combat (what happens on the ground/air/sea), and that many of the soldiers grow to love combat. But, he says, for them, a love of combat does not equal a love of killing. Instead, combat comes to mean protecting, defending the tribe—which quickly becomes addictive. The entire third section of the book, titled “Love” is a remarkable thing I’ll not soon forget. And listen to this, from the section titled “Killing”: “Society can give its young men almost any job and they’ll figure out how to do it. They’ll suffer for it and die for it and watch their friends die for it, but in the end it will get done. That only means that society should be careful about what it asks for.” (p. 154) Dang. Anyone else just feeling like weeping?
The Day Lincoln Was Shot by Jim Bishop So here’s the thing about this book, and why it’s shocking that I like it: It’s a true crime book, people. And I am made hideously uncomfortable by books of true crime. I get a little bit twitchy even walking past such books. I’m not wild about society’s underbelly. Why I can tolerate this book: Well, duh. There’s a president in it. So that pretty much says it all. And it’s got a big old nasty tragedy at its center, and I’m just wild about those tragic events. But really, the thing I think makes this book work is that Bishop makes April 14, 1865, come to life. His writing is fairly simple, but there’s a grace to his style. It reminds me of the classic account of the sinking of the Titanic: A Night to Remember by Walter Lord (which actually was written in the same year, 1955). Both books provide a sense of immediacy, and that’s all too rare. (Cripe! The Titanic sank on April 14-15. Now I’m just freaking myself out.) This book follows Lincoln and Booth (who shall, from here forth, be referred to as “That *&$>^%#^%#^%#
Loving Frank by Nancy Horan I selected this book for our book club, then assiduously avoided reading it. Not sure what that was about. Especially since, once I started the book, I tore through it in 3 days, so the author did something right. (Also, the book club was only 6 days away.) This is that novel about Frank Lloyd Wright and Mamah Borthwick Cheney, the woman who left her husband and children to be Wright’s lover. (Note: Guess what? He left his spouse and children, too!) Scandalous, right? Here, yes, but no, but really: yes. The book, told from Mamah’s point of view (but thankfully, not first person—the book started out in her voice, and I was really not liking it one bit; the third person viewpoint was a very welcome shift), tries to explain how things happened between them. And OK, she was in a loveless marriage, and that sucks. I just really don’t get how she left her children. Here’s the other thing: I really dislike Frank Lloyd Wright as a human. He was a womanizer, and he didn’t pay his workers. I really detest those things (though I somehow keep reading about JFK, and somehow he gets away with that womanizing crap). And Mamah, even though we’re (I think) supposed to “understand” her from this book, was all messed up, too. (Guess who’s in a judgmental mood this evening?) So this one of those book club gatherings where we got all excited and kept interrupting each other. Meaning: this is one heck of a book club choice.
I approached this book with trepidation. I know of Sarah Vowell from “This American Life” on NPR, a show everyone in the world seems to love—except for me.
But this book, I loved.
Who knew Sarah Vowell and I were fellow travelers on the road of presidential trivia geekery? It’s true.
Vowell even addresses the problem I often face:
“Once I knew my dead presidents and I had become insufferable, I started to censor myself. There were a lot of get-togethers with friends where I didn’t hear half of what was being said because I was sitting there, silently chiding myself, Don’t bring up McKinley. Don’t bring up McKinley.” (p. 13)*
Here Vowell tracks down well-known and the barely-ever-heard-of locations linked to the first three presidential assassinations: those of Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley. That sounds grim indeed, but she’s a delightful companion who brings levity to the subject, even as she addresses it with a respect that is almost touching.
For example, she writes of the suffering by James Garfield after he was shot and was dying, and she remarks that it’s tacky that we have forgotten him. True story. I’m a big old fan of Lincoln, but you really have to feel for Garfield and McKinley, who are not remembered well (to put it lightly).
*The other day a friend was wondering, randomly, whether former presidents could hold office after leaving the White House. So she and her husband called, and I got to hold forth on the wonders of William Howard Taft (Chief Justice of the Supreme Court!) and John Quincy Adams (Congressman who collapsed on the floor of the House and died!) I think they may have regretted placing that phone call.
Good heavens to Betsy. Who knew the Hindenburg was so darn fascinating? (OK, I admit it: I’m on a disaster kick. There it is.)
This book is absolutely riveting, which is due not only to the gripping nature of the story, but very much to the writing style of the author. Reading this book was a pleasure, because the sentences and the paragraphs were crafted beautifully. It makes a person just want to hum.
The author tells the story of the people involved in the development and the crash of the Hindenburg. There’s just enough information about the technology to inform those who know little about airships (count me among them—I’m an airplane girl myself), but not so much that things bogged down in detail.
The only shortcoming of this book: It posits simply that a crew member sabotaged the Hindenburg by planting a bomb—and does not address the fact that this is only one possibility and that the cause of the explosion is still uncertain.
I’d not realized that the Hindenburg emerged from Nazi Germany (which would explain the creepy swastikas on its tail—which I never before realized were present). Some of the events surrounding the early days of the Hindenburg are downright chilling: Goebbels insisted on the swastika being placed on the tails of the various Zeppelins, and the Nazis issued a decree banning any mention of the company board chairman’s name in the press, after he offended Hitler with his reluctance to allow the Zeppelins to be used as propaganda tools during the 1936 election.
So add Nazi menace to the overall “this ain’t gonna end well” story, and you’ve got yourself one doozie of a page-turner.
Not Fade Away: The Life and Music of Buddy Holly by John R. Gribbin
Yes, another one. I know. It’s getting a little obsessive. (At least this was the word tossed out at book club when I launched into my four fun facts about the song “Peggy Sue.”)
After reading four prior books about Buddy Holly, this one was bound to feel like a bit of a repeat. So I’ll focus here on the things that set it apart.
First, it’s by a British author, so as in the Philip Norman book, we get that perspective. Since Buddy was always bigger in the U.K. than he was here in the States, I am glad to get this view. My favorite new anecdote from this book is this one, from Buddy Holly and the Crickets’ British tour:
“As an example of Buddy’s stage banter, on this tour he used to introduce ‘Rip It Up’ like this:
Here’s a sad little song with tender lyrics that really tell a story. This tune is likely to reduce you all to tears, not because of the sadness of the words, but on account of the pathetic way we sing it.” (p. 121)
Second, the author includes a couple of recommended iPod playlists, which both surprised and delighted me.