Red Sox quote of the day vol. 4 (going back to Boston edition)

"Like I said from the beginning, it doesn't matter to me who's the No. 1 starter and who's the No. 5 starter,’’ Lester said Sunday in anticipation of his Game 3 start. "We all have equal importance to this team when it comes to winning. I just try to go out and execute pitches. Hopefully I can go deep in the game and give the bullpen a rest and give it to [Jonathan Papelbon], and anytime you get to Pap with the lead, we're doing pretty good.’’ -- That's pitcher Jon Lester, quoted by the Boston Globe's Tony Massarotti. Boy will we all be glad to see Lester on the mound, as well as the friendly green of Fenway. I haven't entirely forgotten about books, though -- in fact my recent reading and my Red Sox in the playoffs obsession merged for awhile there as I read Dennis Lehane's new novel, "The Given Day." It's historical and it's epic and Babe Ruth shows up a couple times, in his last year with the Sox (the book is set in 1918-1919 -- I wonder what it says about us as a society that the trade of the Babe to the Yankees is far better known to New England schoolchildren than the Boston police strike which is the climax to the book?

Recent reading

Some stormy weather meant my employer was closed for a couple days this week -- and I got to read, when not evaluating storm preparedness and/or keeping the dog amused. Since I happened to post some reviews of this recent reading on Library Thing, I figured I might as well post them here: The Open Door by Elizabeth Maguire

A slim, engaging novel about real people -- primarily Constance Fenimore Woolson, who has gone down in history as a minor writer who pursued Henry James. According to this book, she was a lot more and I'd like to believe this version, if only because she seems like a remarkable, determined and admirable woman. It was especially interesting to read this fairly soon after reading "The Five of Hearts" by Patricia O'Toole, which includes several of the same people, especially Clarence King. It may or may not be relevant, but the novel does deal with the main character's awareness of and acceptance of mortality -- and the author reportedly completed it just before she died of ovarian cancer at a way-too-young age.

The Whiskey Rebels: A Novel by David Liss

Historical hindsight tends to carry the air of the inevitable. Because we’ve all known so long about the American Revolution and worshiped the wisdom of the Founding Fathers, we assume it was meant to be, that fate decreed our nation would turn out the way it has. Historical fiction is a useful reminder that these developments were not so inevitable, and that our history turned on human actions, decisions, chance, opportunity and intelligence. “The Whiskey Rebels” is a fine addition to the American story. The novel takes place in a mostly unexamined period, immediately after American independence had been won but the course of the young country was not yet determined. The government, headed by the Revolutionary hero George Washington, is in Philadelphia. Two members of his Cabinet – Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton and Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson – are bitter enemies, struggling over whether the country will have a strong federal government or serve as a looser association of states. But the book’s main characters are fictional. The novel has, at first, two separate threads. The first, starting in 1792, follows Capt. Ethan Saunders, a wreck of a man who served as a spy for the American forces but was drummed out of the Army after he and his mentor were accused of treachery. His mentor’s daughter, whom Saunders loved, marries another man when he refuses to associate her with his shame. And he’s been drowning his sorrows in taverns. But Saunders gets drawn back in to national affairs, when his lost love’s husband goes missing and he determines to make sure she is in no danger from her husband’s attempts at financial speculation. The other storyline follows Joan Maycott, a young woman who marries a Revolutionary War veteran and tries to make a go of life on the western Pennsylvania frontier. That story begins in 1781 and at first appears totally unrelated. Maycott and her husband struggle to survive and she secretly harbors grander ambitions: to write the first real American novel. Meanwhile, it turns out her husband has a knack for distilling good whiskey. Naturally, characters and eventually plot start to intersect and the two main characters eventually meet and interact. Despite the complexity, Liss does a good job setting the scene of Philadelphia as the capital of the new nation, with a form of government the men were basically making up as they went along and Hamilton and Jefferson engaged in their titanic struggle for the direction of the country. People like the Maycotts, who believe in their new country, are collateral damage when Hamilton determines to raise funds by taxing whiskey, a primary currency on the frontier but one that’s used in barter and thus does not generate cash profits to pay the tax. The settlers, many of them Revolutionary War veterans, see Hamilton’s national bank as a replica of the British system they fought so hard to escape, and see his national bank as “the harbiner of doom, the sign that the American project had failed.” Meanwhile, back in the coastal cities, nefarious men are plotting to use the new bank to corner the entire nascent American economy. As one character says of these men, their plots are “the dark side of liberty … A man is not hindered by what cannot be done, so twisted men like Duer apply that liberty to their greed.” Liss, whose background is in historical financial thrillers, does a good job describing the financial machinations and even if you don’t follow every strategic nuance, it’s an enjoyable thriller. Liss does an especially good job setting the scene, in taverns and boarding houses and respectable homes, and occasionally turns an especially nice phrase, like “Pigs roamed freely and grunted their courage at passing carriages.” Our heroes are sympathetic but human, flawed and understandable, and you find yourself rooting for both of them even when their goals are at odds.

The perfect storm

Reason No. 416 why working in a library beats working at a newspaper: Hurricanes mean LESS work, not MORE work! In fact, Tropical Storm Fay was the perfect storm -- a nothingburger in effect that gave us two days off work, ie. two extra days of reading time. And I took advantage of it. First, I read The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, a historical YA book about a black kid in Boston in the 1770s. He's the subject of some weird experimentation; it's a good read though I have to say I think it's a tad ... sophisticated? Not sure of the right word but I don't know how many kids would get into it. Then again, kids get into Philip Pullman and lots of other pretty complex stuff so maybe I'm selling them short. Yesterday I read Disarmed by Gregory Curtis, a history of the Venus de Milo -- what a great nonfiction read and a very interesting comparison to a book I recently read called The Linguist and the Emperor. Both dealt with antiquities unearthed by the French in the early 19th century but that's about all they have in common. The Linguist and the Emperor (which is about the deciphering of the Rosetta Stone, sort of) was a mess. Disarmed was a treat. I can't wait to read Curtis' new(er) book, The Cave Painters. He's got a real talent for making a story understandable and putting it in historical context without getting bogged down or jumping around so much that the narrative becomes incomprehensible (see: The Linguist and the Emperor).

catching up

I really have been reading a lot, or at least I was until we got cable and the Tour de France took over my waking, non-working hours. But I can see the end and the stack is piling up. I read Dominion by Calvin Baker, who will be appearing at the Key West Literary Seminar in January. It was a little outside my normal reading, which is the best kind (it's the reason I joined a book group years ago although that fell by the wayside when I was pursuing my master's). I read Women and Ghosts by Alison Lurie, a slim book of short stories that I think I might have read before, unless that was an effect of its eerieness. It reminded me how much I like her, and how much I need to read The Last Resort even though I have a strange fear of reading about places I know and love. (Haven't been able to make myself read Tracy Kidder's Hometown yet, either, about Northampton, Mass., where I was born.) I read Sacrifice by Eric Shanower, the second volume in his Age of Bronze series of graphic novels about the Trojan War -- it was as good as the first, though it does suffer from that effect of many of the guys looking the same; you can distinguish them by their headbands, though. Over the Fourth of July weekend, perhaps influenced by the reintroduction of cable television into my brain, I found myself craving brain candy so I read The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory (author of The Other Boleyn Girl and numerous other works of Tudor Trash). I gulped that down in a day and a half so maybe I'm not over my Tudor thing entirely; plus it was fun to hear from/about a couple of the lesser-known Henry VIII queens (Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard, or Nos 4 and 5 if you're counting). And just today I finished Dreaming Up America by Russell Banks, which I'll be reviewing for Solares Hill shortly. Whew.

Yep, he really is good

I've now read the entire published works of John Wray -- in other words, I finished his other book, "The Right Hand of Sleep." Like "Canaan's Tongue," it's a historical novel but set in a very different time and place -- this time, it's an Austrian mountain village in 1938, aka the time of the Anschluss. Wray's mother is Austrian and he spent a lot of time there growing up and it's astonishingly surehanded and mature for a first novel. This guy is that good.