A Legacy of Spies

Written in 2017, this is an interesting sequel to The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Le Carré's breakout novel published in 1963, at the height of the Cold War.  The Spy Who Came in from the Cold was a masterpiece,  a dark portrayal of the cynical ends-justify-the-means view of the espionage services on both sides of the Cold War.  A Legacy of Spies revisits the events of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold from the perspective of 50 years afterwards: the children of Alec Leamus and Liz Gold (the protagonists of Spy), now grown and deeply embittered, attempt to sue and/or extort the British Secret Service (and especially the very likable Peter Guillam, right-hand junior to George Smiley) for the wrongs done to their parents. 
This backward look is an interesting idea (see Le Carré's piece in The Guardian on how he came to write Spy), and it does effectively highlight some cultural changes in attitudes toward secret services, but the issues at stake are not as powerful as those in almost all of Le Carré's other books and, accordingly,  I did not find it as satisfying. 

Just Kids

I really enjoyed Just Kids by Patti Smith (thanks to Jillian!), which is full of vivid anecdotes, gritty wisdom and the story of her very close relationship/lifelong friendship with Robert Mapplethorpe. I’d call it a rags-to-richness story…richness, less in the sense of wealth than in the variety of her experiences, her achievements and the astonishing number of accomplished, interesting people she met or became friends with.  In all of this, she remained an unusually simple and fresh person.  Here’s a small but surprising example of her openness (although taken from M Train, rather than Just Kids):

September was ending and already cold. I was heading up Sixth Avenue and stopped to buy a new watch cap from a street vendor.  As I pulled it on an old man approached me.  His blue eyes burned and his hair was white as snow.  I noticed that his wool gloves were unraveling and his left hand was bandaged.

 --Give me the money you have in your pocket, he said.

  Either I am being tested, I thought, or I have wandered into the opening of a modern fairy tale.  I had a twenty and three singles, which I placed in his hand.

 --Good, he said after a moment, and then returned the twenty.

  I thanked him and continued on, more buoyant than before.

Patti’s  openness unlocked paths that remain invisible to more conventional souls (me).  Like, she goes to a Holy Modal Rounders concert and becomes interested in the drummer, Slim Shadow:: “..and as he slammed the drums, I thought, This guy truly embodies the heart and soul of rock and roll. He had beauty, energy, and animal magnetism.”  She decides to write an article about him for the rock magazine Crawdaddy, and, over the autumn months, they start seeing each other, as friends.  As winter comes, the impoverished Patti becomes anemic and her doctor advises her:

…to have red meat and drink porter, advice given to Baudelaire when he trudged through a winter in Brussels sick and alone.  I was a bit more resourceful than poor Baudelaire.  I donned an old plaid coat with deep pockets and lifted two small steaks from Gristede’s, planning to fry them in my grandmother’s cast-iron pan over my hot plate.  I was surprised to run into Slim on the street and we took our first non-nocturnal walk.  Worrying the meat would go bad, I finally had to admit to him I had two raw steaks in my pocket.  He looked at me, trying to detect if I was telling the truth, then slid his hand in my pocket and pulled a steak out in the middle of Seventh Avenue.  He shook his head in mock astonishment, saying “Okay, sugar, let’s eat.”

  We went upstairs and I fired up the hot plate.  We ate the steaks out of the pan.

Slim becomes concerned about Patti’s health and takes her for a lavish lobster dinner at Max’s Kansas City.  Patti begins to worry that this “handsome hillbilly might not have the money to pay the check.”  But a stunned friend of Patti’s sees her with Slim and, motioning her to meet in the ladies’ room, saying “Honey, you don’t know who he is?”  She soon informs her that “Slim” is Sam Shepard: “he’s the biggest playwright off-Broadway. He had a play at Lincoln Center.  He won five Obies!”

The heart of the book, though, is the story of the remarkable friendship/partnership between Patti and Robert Mapplethorpe, a friendship that seemed fated from the beginning.  For many years, they lived together, collaborated on art projects, and were true friends until Mapplethorpe’s death from AIDS.  Early in the book, Patti says

We headed home holding hands.  For a moment I dropped back to watch him walk.  His sailor’s gait always touched me.  I knew one day I would stop and he would keep on going, but until then nothing could tear us apart.

Just Kids is Smith’s tribute to Mapplethorpe and their friendship and it’s funny, fascinating, and deeply touching.

NB:  9-19-2019 NY Times just ran a piece on Patti Smith

Update on A Delicate Truth by John Le Carré

Just re-read a 2013 Le Carré, which I had read and liked when it first came out, but had not been particularly struck by.  But this time, it hit me harder.  One of the prefatory quotes, from Oscar Wilde, was "If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out".  And without specific spoilers, the book deals with the aftermath of an operation gone very wrong and briskly covered up.  A key player, in both the operation and the cover up, is Jay Crispin, a trader in mercenaries. Here's an assessment of Crispin by our protagonist, Toby:

And for sure, wrestling with his disgust and anger, and determined as usual to reduce them to a manageable level, he gave due thought to Hannah Arendt's concept of the banality of evil, and launched into a debate with himself about where Crispin fitted into her scheme of things. Was Crispin, in his own perception, merely one of society's faithful servants, obeying market pressures?  Maybe that was how he saw himself, but Toby didn't.  As far as Toby was concerned, Jay Crispin was your normal, rootless, amoral, plausible, half-educated, nicely spoken frozen adolescent in a bespoke suit, with an unappeaseable craving for money, power and respect, regardless of where he got them from. So far, so good. He had met embryonic Crispins in every walk of life and every country where he had served: just never until now one who had made his mark as a trader in small wars.
In a half-hearted effort to find excuses for Crispin, Toby even wondered whether, deep down, the man was just plain stupid. How else to explain the cock-up that was Operation Wildlife? And from there, he wandered off into an argument with Friedrich Schiller's grandiose statement that human stupidity was what the gods fought in vain.  Not so, in Toby's opinion, and no excuse for anybody, whether god or man. What the gods and all reasonable humans fought in vain wasn't stupidity at all. It was sheer, wanton, bloody indifference to anybody's interests but their own.

The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell

I read The Sparrow on a recommendation from Mark's sister, Kelly, who said it is her favorite book. WOW! It is a masterpiece. Totally brutal without being vulgar, and wholly fresh and unexpected.

The story is told from both ends - an idealistic Jesuit monk bonding with his close-knit group of friends, and this same monk, broken almost beyond recognition, after his return from a first-contact mission gone horribly awry.

I don't want to say too much lest I spoil anything, but this is definitely a first-rate book, which I highly recommend! It is rough but very powerful and poignant.

Jesse's review here

Dad's review here

The Neapolitan Novels

Like millions of others, I found Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels (My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name, Those Who Leave and and Those Who Stay, The Story of the Lost Child) to be fully absorbing and addicting – I don’t say riveting, as many times I alternated between can’t put it down and can’t keep reading. The four books comprise a single, long story of the lifelong, deep and conflicted relationship between two girls, Elena (or Lenù), the narrator, and Rafaella (Lila).  The girls grow up in a poor and violent neighborhood of Naples, from the 1950’s to 2014  – the pervasive violence is not always due to the activities of the camorra, the “secret” crime syndicate that was widespread in Campania, but is embedded in the families and neighborhoods, and especially in the relationships between men and women. 

I was angry.  I said, “You want to use me to con them?”

She understood that she had offended me.  She squeezed my hand hard. “I didn’t intend to say something unkind.  I meant only that you are good at making yourself liked.  The difference between you and me, always, has been that people are afraid of me and not of you.”

“Maybe because you’re mean,” I said, even angrier.

“Maybe,” she said, and I saw that I had hurt her as she had hurt me.  Then, repenting, I added immediately, to make up: “Antonio would get himself killed for you: he said to thank you for giving his sister a job.”

“It’s Stefano who gave the job to Ada,” she replied. “I’m mean.”

The relationship between Lenù and Lila is synergistic – on her own, Lenù is book-smart, but a striver, who says she is only fully alive and most creative when working with, or stimulated by Lila.  In contrast, Lila is strong, exceptionally creative and fiercely independent, but seems to seek and need the validation of her accomplished friend.  And their lives and friendship are framed in the books within the larger currents of Italian political and social life, which are fully and grippingly explored.  Still, there are key events in the books whose meaning and significance I cannot quite grasp but which remain in my mind long after closing the books.  Fascinating books!

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One Hundred Poems from the Japanese

Kenneth Rexroth was a highly-regarded poet and influential leader of the San Francisco School of poets in the 1950’s (but he pleaded innocent to the suggestion that he was a Beat Poet!)  In One Hundred Poems from the Japanese, he offers a history of Japanese poetry from the significant period of the 700s to the late 1100s, through translations of the works of major figures.  All of the poems are short, characteristic of Japanese poetry; haikus were a later form that Rexroth did not value as highly, and he offers only a few famous examples in an appendix). 

Many of the poems, read alone, are strikingly lovely and/or thoughtful:

When I left my girl

In her grave on Mount Hikite

And walked down the mountain path,

I felt as though I were dead.

The meaning and significance of the poems is immensely enhanced by Rexroth’s introduction and by notes on many of the poems, discreetly located at the end of the book.  I had been unaware of some important themes and devices that, when explained by Rexroth, opened entirely new perspectives on what had seemed to me to be beautiful but simple moments in nature:

Though the purity

Of the moonlight has silenced

Both nightingale and

Cricket, the cuckoo alone

Sings all the white night

In a note, Rexroth briefly explains the significance of the different birds in Japanese literature; for example, the cuckoo “is also supposed to be a spirit from Hell, and, again, symbolizes the pleasures of the flesh, courtesans and prostitutes, sacred and profane”.  He suggests that this poem could mean “The salvation of Buddha has enraptured both the householder and the monk or nun, but the prostitute worships in her own way, all through the night.”

A very rewarding book.

Crazy Loco | Stories by David Rice

This is a funny, sweet, wise, loopy book of short stories about kids growing up in Mexican-American families in South Texas.  Laughed and cried.  Wonderful.

Inheritance

All my life I had known there was a secret.

What I hadn’t known: the secret was me.

Inheritance, a particularly interesting and thoughtful memoir, was written by Dani Shapiro, a successful novelist, memoirist and professor of creative writing.  Both her parents were Jewish and her ancestors, on her father’s side, were exceptionally distinguished rabbis and leaders of national Orthodox Jewish associations.  Dani spoke Hebrew fluently, having attended a Joseph Schechter Jewish Day School, a prestigious prep school and then Sarah Lawrence, where she was strongly influenced by Grace Paley.  It’s not a terrible spoiler (it's recounted within the first few pages of Inheritance) to say that Dani was literally stunned and disoriented to discover, through incidental DNA testing, that her father, Paul Shapiro, was not her biological father.  With the help of her husband, Michael Meran, a journalist and screenwriter, Dani quickly was able to identify a person who was almost certain to be her biological father. 

The shocking DNA evidence triggers intense self-searching and quests for understanding. How could her parentage have been so estranged from Jewish law and tradition?  Which members of her family (almost all now deceased) knew the secret of her parentage?  How could she herself, blond and blue-eyed, not have known? 

And, finally, what relationships might develop with her new family and how would she be affected by discovering this whole new side of herself?  I highly recommend this most emotional and thoughtful memoir.

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Daughter of the Samurai

My thanks to Lauren, who, several years ago,  recommended this unusual, interesting, and charming book!  Etsu Inagaki Sugimoto was born in a small Japanese village in 1874, just twenty years after Mathew Perry and "the black ships" forced Japan to open to the world.  Etsu's father had once been a high samurai official and she was brought up in the stringent and severe samurai tradition.   She was disciplined and courageous, yet she also proved to be flexible, open-minded and surprisingly thoughtful and sweet.  In Daughter of the Samurai, Etsu relates and reflects on her early experiences in traditional Japan and her later life in America.

When still very young, Etsu was betrothed to Matsuo, a friend of her brother.  Before she ever met Matsuo, however, he moved to America to set up a business. Her family then allowed Etsu to move to Tokyo so that she could receive a "western education" that would prepare her for her new life - in Cincinnati!   Etsu and Matsuo had two daughters, but after Matsuo died, she returned to Japan for several years.  Later, they moved back to America, where Etsu eventually taught Japanese language and culture at Columbia University and authored several books. I discovered that her youngest daughter, Chiyo, also became an author; one of her books had a title,  "But the ships are sailing -- sailing," which puzzled me until I read the concluding paragraphs of Daughter of the Samurai:

"I wonder why they were called "black ships." Do you know, Honourable Grandmother?" 

"Because far out on the waters they looked like clouds of black smoke rolling nearer and nearer, and they had long, black guns that roared. The red barbarians cared nothing for beauty. They laughed at the Japanese boats, whose sails were made of rich brocade and their oars of carved wood, inlaid with coral and mother-of-pearl. They talked like tradesmen and did not want to learn the hearts of the children of the gods." 

The grandmother stopped and slowly shook her head. 

"And after that?" asked the eager little voice. "And after that, Honourable Grandmother?" 

"The black ships and the rude barbarians sailed away," she concluded, with a deep sigh. "But they sailed back many times. They are always sailing. And now the people of our sacred land talk like tradesmen and no longer are peaceful and content." 

"Will they never be peaceful and content again?" asked the little girl, with anxious eyes. "The honourable teacher said that sailing ships bring lands nearer to each other." 

"Listen!" said the grandmother, holding herself very straight. "Little Granddaughter, unless the red barbarians and the children of the gods learn each other's hearts, the ships may sail and sail, but the two lands will never be nearer." 

Years passed, and Etsu-bo, the little girl who had listened to the story of the black ships and the red barbarians, herself went sailing on a black ship that moved without sails, to a new home in the distant land of the red barbarians. There she learned that hearts are the same on both sides of the world; but this is a secret hidden from the people of the West. That makes another chapter to my grandmother's tale - another chapter, but not the last.  The red barbarians and the children of the gods have not yet learned each other's hearts; to them the secret is still unknown, but the ships are sailing---sailing----

The Blessing Way and Dance Hall of the Dead - Tony Hillerman

Over Memorial Day weekend, my friends and I went camping, and I finally had some time to relax and read. Inspired by dad, I decided to give Tony Hillerman a try, and I'm glad I did! I read the first two of his Navajo country murder mysteries, The Blessing Way (1970) and Dance Hall of the Dead (1973).

I really enjoyed these novels, particularly the worldview conveyed by the protagonist, Navajo sheriff Joe Leaphorn:

"Leaphorn never counted on luck. Instead he expected order—the natural sequence of behavior, the cause producing the natural effect, the human behaving in the way it was natural for him to behave. He counted on that and upon his own ability to sort out the chaos of observed facts and find in them this natural order. Leaphorn knew from experience that he was unusually adept at this. As a policeman, he found it to be a talent which saved him a great deal of labor. It was a talent which, when it worked unusually well, caused him a faint subconscious uneasiness, grating on his ingrained Navajo conviction that any emergence from the human norm was unnatural and—therefore—unhealthy. And it was a talent which caused him, when the facts refused to fall into the pattern demanded by nature and the Navajo Way, acute mental discomfort."

When I read this passage, I was strongly reminded of a quote by Hercules Poirot in the film version of the Murder on the Orient Express -

"I can only see the world as it should be. And when it is not, the imperfection stands out like the nose in the middle of a face. It makes most of life unbearable. But it is useful in the detection of crime."

I'm not sure if this characterization reflects a shared reality among talented detectives, or whether it is a purely literary conceit, but I thought this parallel was interesting.

The books also treat fairly extensively on Navajo culture and religion, its beliefs, and its rituals. My experience with Native American culture, and Navajo culture in particular, is fairly limited, so I was very interested in the insights from these works. (Although Hillerman is White, it seems he was was considered a true friend of the Navajo people and an excellent student of their culture, and his books, although works of fiction, are evidently praised for their accuracy in this regard.)

Finally, I really enjoyed the depictions of nature, and especially the scenes where Leaphorn applies his skilled tracking abilities to locate missing persons. The books are very successful in conveying a sense of the rich beauty and detail of nature, which I appreciated.

I will definitely be reading more Hillerman!

My Brilliant Friend

The first of Elena Ferrante's four novels, which constitute the Neapolitan Quartet.  This is a powerful coming-of-age story, telling of two young girls growing up in a poor neighborhood of Naples in the 1950's, whose lives are closely intertwined, as friends and rivals, each extraordinary.  Through much of the book, the title seems clearly to refer to Lila, who is strong, fiercely independent, highly intelligent and self-taught:

Lila, too, at a certain point had seemed very beautiful to me.  In general I was the pretty one, while she was skinny, like a salted anchovy, she gave off an odor of wildness, she had a long face, narrow at the temples, framed by two bands of smooth black hair. But when she decided to vanquish both Alfonso and Enzo, she had lighted up like a holy warrior. Her cheeks flushed, the sign of a flame released by every corner of her body, and for the first time I thought: Lila is prettier than I am.  So I was second in everything. I hoped that no one would ever realize it. 

But at times, "brilliant friend" seems to apply instead to the more scholarly, but sometimes timid Elena, as the frequently tense relationship between the two see-saws back and forth.  The events that occur in the book are seemingly ordinary but they are charged with an intensity that is compelling. 

The Cold Dish

I don't remember how I first heard about Tony Hillerman books, but I loved them and read every one.  Hillerman died in 2008, bringing an end to the fascinating and gentle series of mysteries set in the four corners region and featuring Lieutenant Leaphorn of the Navaho Tribal Police.  Later, by chance, I read somewhere that Hillerman had been inspired by Arthur Upfield's books, satisfying mysteries set in Australia and invariably solved through the patience, charm and relentless logic of half-British, half-aboriginal Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte (Bony).  I read all of these, but, alas, Upfield is also deceased.

Happily, on my recent flight back to Cincinnati from a Seattle visit, I chatted with a seatmate from Logan, Utah, who recommended the Walt Longmire series written by Craig Johnson!  As its title suggests, the book is about revenge ("a dish best served cold" -Les Liaisons Dangereuses) - Here I will omit spoilers and demi-spoilers, skipping all plot description, and just say that the story features the rugged landscape and weather of Wyoming, its tough and independent citizens, including the Cheyenne....and a generous dose of laugh-out-loud humor.  I loved it.  On to to Death Without Company, book #2 of more than a dozen in the series.

The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing AND The Case of the Missing Servant

Tarquin Hall's mystery is light, comical and very entertaining.  Distinguished scientist and Guru Buster, Dr. Suresh Jha, receives a very specific death threat. The next morning, the committed rationalist attends his regular exercise/self-improvement group, the Rajpath Laughing Group, at a public park.

Suddenly, while Professor Pandey is telling a knock-knock joke that convulses the group members, a mist begins to form around their ankles and rises to their shins, and then higher.  The sky darkens, dogs bark, and then, appearing out of the mist, high above the ground, is the hideous face of Kali, the Indian goddess of time, creation, destruction and power, the destroyer of evil forces.  Facing Dr. Jha, she screams "You who have dared to insult me! You who have dared to mock my power!You will taste blood!", and thrusts a sword deep into his chest.

Kali

A video, taken by a passing French tourist, is broadcast on the all major news stations and the impossibility of any material explanation for these startling events convinces millions that Kali has miraculously appeared and wreaked vengeance on Dr. Jha.

Later that day, Most Private Investigator Vish Puri is visited by Inspector Singh, who asks for his help in investigating the circumstances of Dr. Jha's death.  Most Private Investigator Puri kicks into action, with frequent food breaks for his favorite Punjabi dishes; thanks to a glossary at the end of the book, this provides a valuable catalog of Indian snacks.

A very entertaining mystery, with a couple amusing side-plots, lots of colorful characters, and whimsical commentary on life in India - a quick and diverting read!

Just ran across another Vish Puri mystery on our library's Staff Picks shelf...once again, I thought the story was lively and very amusing - and I enjoyed The Case of the Missing Servant even more than the first one I read.  These are wonderful, light reads - highly recommended!

The Fifth Risk

Michael Lewis is extraordinarily talented - he's whip smart, a terrific story-teller, and has a great sense of humor.  His books are seemingly quite diverse - Liar's Poker and The Big Short are about Wall Street, Moneyball describes how data analysis revolutionized baseball, Blind Side explains why offensive left tackles were the second-highest paid position on a football team, The Undoing Project profiles two psychologists who overturned widely accepted theories about how the mind works - but a common thread is that these books generally deal with economic issues and how they impact society.  They're wonderful reads because Lewis has a gift for explaining difficult topics clearly, mainly by profiling key individuals through arresting or amusing anecdotes.

The book is inspiring in its portrayal of several very knowledgeable and intelligent governmental officials (in the Departments of Energy, Commerce, Agriculture, and the NOAA), who chose government out of a desire to help their country.  This idealistic commitment is contrasted with several accounts of the appallingly ignorant and selfish perspective of many Trump appointees during formation of the new Trump government.  Immediately after being elected, the President Elect is required by law to form a transition team.

The first time Donald Trump paid any attention to any of this was when he read about it in the newspaper.  The story revealed that Trump's very own transition team, led by New Jersey governor Chris Christie, had raised several million dollars to pay the staff.  The moment he saw it, Trump called Steve Bannon, the chief executive of his campaign......and told him to come immediately to his residence, many floors above. Bannon stepped off the elevator to find the governor of New Jersey seated on a sofa, being hollered at. Trump was apoplectic, actually yelling You're stealing my money! You're stealing my fucking money! What the fuck is this?? Seeing Bannon, Trump turned on him and screamed, Why are you letting him steal my fucking money? Bannon and Christie together set out to explain to Trump federal law........  To which Trump replied, Fuck the law. I don't give a fuck about the law. I want my fucking money. Bannon and Christie tried to explain that Trump couldn't have both his money and a transition.  

Shut it down, said Trump.  Shut down the transition.  

Bannon asked Trump: "What do you think MorningJoe will say if you shut down your transition?" Bannon suggested MorningJoe would say it was because Trump didn't think he had any chance of being elected.  Trump stopped hollering.  For the first time, he seemed actually to have listened. "That makes sense," he said.

The cover and back of the book offer a hint as to its contents: careless removal of jenga pieces will cause the structure to collapse; in this book, the "structure" is the US government.   The title?  Well, a few months after the transition, when senior administrators in different departments were dismissed and/or ignored, Lewis interviewed many of them to find out what they would have told the incoming administrators about the issues currently facing the department. 

As an example, he spoke at some length with John MacWilliams, a super bright guy who had had an interesting and varied career: graduated from Stanford and Harvard Law School, worked for a law firm, then as an investment advisor for the energy sector at Goldman Sachs, wrote a novel, started and sold a private investment firm - and, at the request of MIT nuclear physicist Ernie Moniz, who had just been named Secretary of Energy, joined the DOE as their first-ever chief risk officer.  (McWilliams confessed that when he first joined DOE, he knew next to nothing about what it did - but dove in and eventually learned that about half its budget went to maintaining the nuclear arsenal and protecting America from nuclear threats.  Another quarter was devoted to cleaning up  contamination associated with production of nuclear weapons, and the remaining budget supported access and use of energy).

Lewis asked him how he would have briefed a new DOE appointee on the 5 greatest risks facing the DOE.  MacWilliams said Risk 1 was a nuclear weapons accident (A "Broken Arrow" incident).  He identified Risk 2 as North Korea ("The risk of mistakes being made and lots of people being killed is increasing dramatically.  It wouldn't necessarily be a nuclear weapon they might deliver. It could be sarin gas").  He suggested that Iran is "in the top 5" - at the time of writing, the deal with Iran had been concluded and "the serious risk in Iran wasn't that the Iranians would secretly acquire a weapon. It was that the president of the United States would not understand the nuclear scientists' reasoning about the unlikelihood of the Iranians' obtaining a weapon, and that he would have the United States back away foolishly from the deal." MacWilliams gave some past examples of Risk 4, which could be distilled down to the difficulty of imagining unexpected risks.  The Fifth Risk?  "Project Management," was all he said.