Gone Tomorrow, by Lee Child

So, after finishing The Soul of All Living Creatures, I had a few week hiatus from reading because life got busy (when isn't it?) and I wasn't quite sure what to read next.  I didn't have anything in the queue.  When packing for our holiday trip to Southern California, I asked the husband if he had any suggestions on what I should read next...  He suggested the next Jack Reacher novel.  So as we were rushing to get out the door and to the airport, I hopped onto my handy dandy book blog (this one!) to see which Reacher I read last so we could look at the list and grab the next one in the series - which just happened to be Gone Tomorrow, by Lee Child.  I started this one on December 20 and finished it on December 25.  A good, quick read.

A typical Jack Reacher novel, Gone Tomorrow, tells the story of Jack Reacher, ever the nomad, having trouble find him when he is trying to mind his own business and keep to himself, and him being unable to walk away and let things be.  Lee Child's Jack Reacher tales are pretty formulaic - but they (so far) are always entertaining.

In this iteration of the Reacher novel, Jack Reacher finds himself on the subway in New York City at 2am looking at what he thinks is a female suicide bomber.  Ever the hero, Reacher intervenes and approaches the lady and the situation deteriorates from there.  But, in each Reacher novel, the situation is never exactly what it seems, and Childs weaves an intriguing web of layer upon layer of shit hitting the fan that Reacher wades and sifts through in an attempt to help the down and out, the trodden upon, the little guy or girl.

One unique thing about this book, Reacher doesn't get the girl in the first half of the book...  He gets her all the way on page 452 (out of 543) and it isn't the girl that you expect it to be.

She said, "What do you want to do right now?"
[Reacher said,] "Honest answer?"
"Please."
"I want to unbutton your shirt."
"Danger makes you horny?"
"Women make me horny."
"All women?"
"No," I said.  "Not all women."
She was quiet for a long moment and then she said, "Not a good idea."
I said, "Ok."
"You're taking no for an answer?"
"Aren't I supposed to?"
She was quiet for another long moment and then she said, "I've changed my mind."
"About what?"
"About it not being a good idea."
"Excellent."

This book has to do with some things that I'm not entirely sure I should write about in this blog out of a slight fear that it could raise the eyes of some organizations that I'd rather not raise the eyes of.  I will say this - it was a great story, and when the shit hit the fan, as it inevitably does in every Reacher book - it REALLY hit the fan.  I found it difficult to put the book down toward the end because I really wanted to see how it ended.  Usually books help me fall asleep.  Reacher books generally (when the shit is hitting the fan) help me avoid sleep - I get all worked up and need to read as fast as I can to find out what happens.  This one was no different.

If you need a little mind candy and a good, quick read, pick up the Reacher books - but read them in order, they will make more sense that way.

The Soul of All Living Creatures, by Vint Virga, D.V.M.

So, After finishing Paris: The Novel by Edward Rutherfurd on October 26th, I picked up The Soul of All Living Creatures: What Animals Can Teach Us About Being Human, by Vint Virga, D.V.M.  I heard about this book when I was listening to NPR one evening on my way home from work.  The author, Vint Virga was being interviewed about cat PDA and his book.  I'm pretty addicted to animals, so this interview piqued my interest more than some other interviews I hear on NPR.  I mentioned it to the husband, and he added it to our next Amazon order.  Poof - a few days later, I had it in hand!

I started reading it on November 6th, and finished it in early December (of course, I forgot to write the date down...)  It was a little slow going getting into the book, but once I did, it was so interesting and gave me so much food for thought.  I've only really had one pet in my life - a cat named Kitty Witty - she was the best and I loved her.  I still get misty eyed remembering the last days of her life - she lived almost 21 years.  The last years, I didn't have her with me - she stayed living with my parents after I moved from Southern California to San Francisco to go to college.  But I loved the time I had with her when I was home for visits.  I had fish and mice and hamsters and rats as pets too, but none had as much impact on my life as Kitty Witty did.

Reading this book, however, made me think more about animals and how if humans could live their lives more like animals live theirs, the world might be a much better place, and our relationships with others might be really different too.

Virga opens the book with a tale about a dog named Pongo that was hit by a car.  Pongo wasn't physically injured - xrays and other tests showed nothing physically wrong with him, but he was going downhill fast.  Vigra couldn't figure out what was wrong with Pongo or how to help him get better.  Vigra attended to a host of other injured animals in the clinic that evening and at close to 3am, he sat, exhausted, next to Pongo to update the charts of the other animals.  As Vigra sat there charting and resting his free hand on Pongo's chest, Vigra soon felt a vague shift in Pongo.  Soon, the changes were real - Vigra felt the pulse strengthen, heart rate slow, and Pongo's focus shifted "from some distant planet to there by my side.  With the weakest of wags at the tip of his tail, he licked my hand as I spoke his name.  In medical terms, he became more responsive.  But, simply put in other words, Pongo grew preset in body and spirit."  Was it medicine that healed Pongo - maybe but also maybe not.  Was it possibly companionship, touch, and bonding with Vigra?

Bixby, Christmas 2011

This passage really touched me.  I, too, have always loved animals - they have a special place in my life.  I love seeing them, love petting them, love just being with them.  Animals are pretty special.  I could spend hours just laying next to my sister's dog, Bixby, petting his soft little ears, and feeling him breathe.

"Since my earliest memories (I was maybe four or five years old), I've felt drawn to animals by some unexplained force.  At holiday gatherings, my parents' dinner parties, or days around town - especially in crowds - I could be found somewhere out of the way, comfortably sitting alone on the ground with a cat in my lap or a dog close at hand.  Sometimes I'd talk to them, other times not.  I was simply content to be with them in silence and escape all the pressure of being with people - words freely spoken with so much unsaid, unspoken meanings, hidden agendas.  With animals, I felt at home.  Their messages were clear and true.  What mattered in those moments was nothing more than our relationship."

Vigra tells his story in vignettes about animals he has treated - from house cats in Lake Tahoe to leopards in zoos - how he has tried (sometimes successfully and sometimes not) to help the animal (and their human companions) through whatever ails them.  From depression, to crazy fits, he seems to always want to listen to the animal and hear what they are saying in order to try and ease their strain.

He wonders, for instance, why his dog, Katie, is so drawn to sniff every single lamppost on their walks.

"I envision a dog's world with clouds of aromas - some muted pastels, some lusciously brilliant, painted on tree trunks, seeping from crevices, and wafting aimlessly in the breeze.  Enthralling.  Alluring.  Beguiling.  Seductive.  If for just one day we could smell as a dog does, in what ways would that day differ from others?  And how might we be changed afterward?  Could we go on with our lives as before, ignoring all that our senses miss?  Or would we then dare to look at the world from a fresh perspective?  ...How would it feel to surge through the waves and leap through the air with the ease of a dolphin? What would it be like to lope through the savannah, grasses billowing in your wake, in a coalition of cheetahs, moving toward a nearby grazing heard of impala? Or to swiftly glide through the cold autumn air as silently as a great horned owl, having spotted through the blackness of night the stripe of a skunk on the forest floor below you?  How, then, is it possible to step into the shoes of an animal?  Simply put, as humans, we can't... In the hurried pace of our daily routines, we all too often neglect to notice what our senses reveal to us.  At the end of the day as we drive down the freeway, in our haste to make it home, we ignore the ochre hues of sunset fading before us between the clouds.  With windows closed to the snarl of traffic and radios tuned to the evening news, we miss a flock of geese as they pass overhead...our thoughts often drag us right out of the moment...distracted by responsibilities and focused on our hopes and dreams, we neglect what is right within our reach.  And in so doing, we miss the moment and all the rich experiences it offers us."

He talks about how animals' minds generate images, emotions, memories, and thoughts - just like we do.  They take in their surroundings and circumstances, and make decisions on their actions accordingly.  Sometimes they get it right, sometimes not.  They use methods other than language to convey how they are feeling and what they are thinking.  Where humans use language, there are so many nonverbal cues that we fail to pick up on or use.  By considering animals and how they communicate, we could learn a thing or two.  "...we must be willing to notice, take stock, and be accountable for all the messages we relate, spoken and unspoken.  Our ability to express ourselves - to be seen, heard, and understood; to connect with others, as we long to do - depends upon us fully claiming all the ways we communicate.  As we accept how we convey our thoughts and feelings beyond words we use - through the tone, pitch, and pace of our voice as we speak; our postures, gestures, and facial expressions; the ways we look into another's eyes (or don't) - we more fully relate to those in our lives.  And as we communicate with clear intention, while being mindful and sensitive, we more fully embrace our human nature."

Often, as I am reading books, I dogear (ironic?) certain pages with passages that touch me in some way.  In this book, there are so many dogeared pages, I can't include them all here - this post would be far too long, and there would probably not be too much more book for you to read.

This book, to me, was more of a book about how to be a better human, than it is about actual animals.  Sure, the book is about animals, but it is so much more than that.  How can we be better humans by considering the animals around us.  "The world is always changing...Our circumstances are never static...We're never precisely on the right course...Adapting is an ongoing process...As I watch animals, I see they get this.  It's not that they don't have objectives, but they adjust them more willingly than we do...Animals accept adapting as a process, adjusting their plans according to each situation...The creatures around us can serve to remind us that we hold the wisdom already within for how we can change our lives and open ourselves to new ways of being, if only we are willing to clip a whisker from the tiger."  (Clipping a whisker from a tiger is part of a Korean folktale that Vigra writes about in his book - I found a retelling of it courtesy of Google - it's a touching story.)

In writing about forgiveness, Vigra says "While animals, undoubtedly, harbor memories of pleasure, suffering, and remorse, they move past them with greater poise than humans often do.  It's not that they are indifferent to insult or injury, but they more willingly return to their relationships and their lives, giving as before.  For them, the continuity of their lives takes precedence.  Overlooking conflict, abuse, punishment, and suffering, they offer forbearance, patience, and a readiness to forgive.  Looking past missteps and blunders, they remain devoted to the enduring qualities of each relationship - companionship, sharing, and affection."

with Kitty Witty in 1986

Animals are wondrous creatures, as are humans.  I think we each enhance the others' lives, and we can learn a lot from each other - not through words - but rather, through unspoken connections.  I remember distinctly the day I moved to San Francisco in January 1994.  It was a week after the Northridge earthquake.  I think my cat tried to warn me about it - but I didn't listen.  About 30 minutes before it happened, I remember her waking up from her little corner of my bed, meowing a lot, waking me up and annoying me.  I nudged her off my bed with my foot, and she ran away to find another part of the house to occupy.  Then 30 minutes later - BAM! the earthquake hit.  She was nowhere to be found for quite some time after the earthquake.  I'm sure it was as traumatic for her as it was for me.  I was so scared to leave home, leave my cat, and move to a city that was home to the original "big one."  As I finished packing my things, and getting ready to go, I remember clinging to my cat.  She sat there with me patiently and let me hold her, crying on her side, tears wetting her fur.  She let me get it all out and licked my cheek - telling me it was ok to go - that I would be ok.  We had a bond.

with Kitty Witty in 1998

Vigra's book is sweet and lovely, and rather insightful.  Read it - it might teach you a thing or two about animals, and volumes about yourself.

Paris: The Novel, by Edward Rutherfurd

After finishing Los Angeles Stories, by Ry Cooder, on August 30, I moved right on to Paris: The Novel by Edward Rutherfurd.  I got this book soon after the husband and I returned from our vacation in May to Paris, Florence, and Rome.  I had never been to any of those places before so was super excited to go.  I had low expectations for Paris, but after getting there and being there for a day, I fell in love.  Paris was magnificent and I loved every moment we were there.  I also have a soft spot for historical fiction, so was excited to see this book at Costco one afternoon, and decided it should come home with me.

This book is quite lengthy - 805 pages - so it took me a while to get through it.  I finished it on October 26h.  The Husband and I had an ongoing joke about the book.  Every night he would ask me what the book was about, and every night I would tell him it was about Paris.  Clearly it was about Paris - it's the title of the book.  But it was so much more than that.  Rutherfurd told the story of Paris through several fictitious families that lived there at different times in pivotal periods of Paris' and France's history.

Rutherfurd provides an illustration of 6 family trees - these families all are intertwined throughout the book in interesting ways - the families Le Sourd, de Cygne, Renard, Blanchard, Gascon, and Jacob.  The illustration begins in 1282 and goes through 1968, so yeah, the book covers a lot.

I loved how Rutherfurd paints such real and vivid literary pictures with his rich and descriptive writing style.  As you are reading, it is so easy to visualize the people, the places, and the details that he writes about.  I loved how he would describe a place, and I could actually picture it because I had recently been there.

When in Paris, the Husband and I took a guided tour of the Eiffel Tower.  Our tour guide described how the tower came to be - a contest for a monument for the world's fair was opened with very specific requirements.  It it had to be a specific height (to top the Washington Monument in America), and the winner of the contest had to fund the construction of the structure themselves.  One option was a giant guillotine and another contender was a giant sprinkler.  The tower was submitted by Gustave Eiffel - an engineer - and it was selected.  Eiffel negotiated that he would pay for the construction if he could keep the profits the tower generated for the next 20 years.  The book echoed this sentiment as Rutherfurd wrote about the character Thomas Gascon, a poor boy who lived near Sacré Coeur, who needed a job.  He worked for Eiffel on the Statue of Liberty, and when the tower was starting to be built, Thomas got a job from Monsieur Eiffel himself.  In one of the many conversations between Thomas and Eiffel, Thomas learns from Eiffel about the reasons behind the tower's design:

     "What is the greatest threat to a tall structure, young Gascon? Do you know?"
     "Its weight, I suppose monsieur."
     "No.  Not really.  It's the wind.  The reason my tower has the shape it has, the reason it is constructed the way it is, all this is because of the wind, whose force would otherwise tear it down.  That is the reason.  Nothing else."
     "Is that why it is just iron girders, so the wind can blow through?"
     "Excellent.  It is an open lattice construction, so that the wind can blow clean through it.  An despite the fact that it is made of iron, which is strong, it is actually very light.  If you put the tower in a cylindrical box, as a bottle of wine is sometimes sold, the air contained in the box would be almost as heavy as the metal tower itself.  Amazing, but true."

Jumping to 1911, Thomas Gascon is married and has a few children.  He has taken his children for a walk around Montmartre:

There was a funicular, nowadays, that ran up the left side of the steep, high slope, but one had to pay.  Besides, as he told Monique when she complained, they wouldn't get any exercise if they didn't go up the steps.
     The sun was out, catching the soaring white domes of the church of Sacré Coeur.  High on its hill, it gleamed over the huge oval valley of Paris.
     "Most of my life," Thomas remarked to his children "this hilltop was just a huge field of mud and wooden scaffolding.  I used to wonder if I'd ever live to see the church finished.  They didn't take the scaffolding down from the big dome until you were born, Monique, when I was thirty-five."

Jumping back to 1877, Thomas is courting Édith, a girl he saw at the funeral procession for Victor Hugo and fell instantly in love with, despite not knowing her name, where she lived, or anything about her.  He found her many years later, and began courting her.  Thomas and Edith went for a walk at the Trocadéro, and some pleasure gardens nearby.  Rutherfurd describes the scene:

     On the slope below the Trocadéro's Moorish concert hall as it looked across the river to the site of Monsieur Eiffel's tower, there were some pleasure gardens, which contained two big statues, one of an elephant, the other of a rhinoceros.
     "I remember my father bringing me here to look at these," Édith told him, "when I was a girl."  She smiled.  "So I like to come and see them sometimes."  She shrugged.  "It brings back good memories."

I remember seeing these statues outside the Musee d'Orsay.  They were absolutely lovely!

Also in 1877, we follow Roland de Cygne after school one day going to see the tomb of Napoléon at Les Invalides near Champ Mars and the Eiffel Tower.

     Roland was a conscientious pupil.  It didn't come naturally, because he often didn't want to work.  It was only because of his mother, really, that he forced himself to do it.  "Promise me, Roland, that you will try your best at school."  It was almost the last thing she'd ever said to him.  And to his credit, he had always kept his promise.  Other boys in the class might be cleverer, but by working hard, he usually managed to get grades that were only a little behind the leaders.
     So when, during a history class that morning, the teacher had asked how many boys had been to visit the horror, and he was the only one not to raise his hand, and the teacher told him to go to see it, he'd decided to go at once.  After all, it wasn't far.
     ... Instead of finding a nave beneath the dome, one looked down from a circular gallery into a marble pit.  Twelve pillars of victory encircled this pagan crypt, and in its center, upon a massive, green granite pedestal, rested a stupendous sarcophagus of polished red porphyry, bulging with imperial pride.
    

     The tomb of Napoléon, child of the Revolution, conqueror of God's anointed monarchs, emperor of France.  This was the horror that Roland had been sent to see.

The book was so rich with descriptions of places, people, architecture, feelings, and historical events.  It is impossible to touch on them all.  I absolutely loved this book.  I think I would feel exactly the same had I not bought it in a post-vacation Paris-loving haze at Costco one afternoon.

Randomly, my in-laws were visiting the Husband and I after I just started the book, and my father-in-law, Jim, mentioned he was reading Rutherfurd's New York book.  I did not know that there were other books by this author out there (though I can't say I am surprised).  I asked Jim to please save the New York book for me to read.  If you like books rich in history that might help you learn a thing or many about what happened in that place over time, pick this book up.  You won't be sorry - and if you haven't already been to Paris - be prepared to want to make the trip.  You will absolutely love it!

Note: all pictures here were taken by me on our vacation to Paris

Anniversary of a Tragedy

So, it is September 11th...  We all know what happened on this day in 2001.  We all know where we were on this day in 2001.  We all know about the tragic events that occurred and how they are still impacting our lives and world today.

Me - I was awake and getting ready to go to work.  At the time, I worked for an investment bank in San Francisco, and it was the first day of our annual investment conference (a very big deal at the time).  I had to be at work by 7am PT.  I had to wear a suit that day because of the conference.  As I was in the process of putting on make-up and deciding which suit to wear, I was watching the morning news to see what was going on in the world, and what the weather would be like so I would know what to wear.  When I turned on the news that morning at around 5:30am PT, I remember seeing on every channel, reporters showing a building in New York smoking and on fire.  They knew a plane had run into one of the World Trade Center buildings, but not why it ran into the building.  On the channel I was watching, the newscasters were speculating that perhaps an airport beacon wasn't working properly and led the plane to the building by mistake.  Then as I was pulling up my tights, I watched in horror as the 2nd plane slammed into the South Tower.  I stood there half clothed, mouth agape, tears streaming down my face.  My home phone rang a few minutes later and one of my co-workers told me not to come to work, as they were evacuating all landmark buildings in SF because they didn't know what else was going to happen.  At the time I worked in the TransAmerica Pyramid.  She told me the conference was cancelled indefinitely, and she would call me later and let me know what to do the next day, in terms of coming to work or not.  I called my friend, Amanda, whose sister lived in New York to make sure she knew what was going on and to be sure her sister was Ok.  Then I called my dad for some reassurance of something.  We stayed on the phone a while, mostly in silence, until the buildings started to collapse.  I watched that on live TV also.  At that point, I had to get away from the television, so I went out for a walk in my neighborhood, and pondered life and what was happening to thousands of innocent people and their loved ones.

Fast forward to today - September 10, 2014.  My husband and I had the final episode of season 1 of Cosmos with Neil deGrasse Tyson to finish and delete from the DVR.  The show played a quote from the late Caral Sagan that for some reason struck a chord for me.

Here is the quote by the brilliant Carl Sagan:

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

It makes me think - what the hell are we humans doing to each other?

I didn't know it until tonight, but in 1997 Carl published a book (among many other books) titled, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space.  That just might be my next book.

My life motto:  Treat others how you wish to be treated.

Wish more people could do that.

Earth is the tiny speck of light in the middle of the reddish stripe of light on the right side of the picture.  This photo was taken by cameras on Voyager 1, launched from Earth on September 5, 1977.  The picture was taken when Voyager 1 was 4 Billion miles away from Earth.  

We, all humans, are floating on a speck of sand in an infinite universe.

Flying Raccoons - an animal encounter

So, I thought it a good time for another animal encounter story (inspired by The Animal Dialogues, by Craig Childs).  On yet another camping trip to Morro Bay with my family when I was young, we noticed a lot of raccoons around the campground.  They were brave and bold, and would come into the campsite and eat your food.  One night, we were sitting around the campfire making s'mores (yum!).  We saw a few sets of reflective eyes around our campsite - yes, we were being stalked by raccoons.

My dad, always taking pictures of everything, decided he wanted to snap a few pictures of the raccoon stalkers.  Mind you, this was long before the digital photography age, and his camera was an actual 35mm film camera.

Mind you too, it was dark, there were no lights anywhere.  All we could see were the glowing eyes.

My dad takes his camera and crazily starts snapping away - pointing the camera up in the air and at nothing in particular.

My brother and I were laughing out loud because there was no way the raccoons were that high up - they couldn't fly.  Hence the flying raccoons.

This is a hard tale to describe in writing - it was much more hilarious in person (and in my head).

I love my dad and his zany photography antics.  When we got the pictures developed, of course there were none of any raccoons.

Los Angeles Stories, by Ry Cooder

After finishing The Martian, by Andy Weir around July 14, I picked up Los Angeles Stories by Ry Cooder.  The husband and I were killing time in North Beach (San Francisco) one evening waiting for Tosca Cafe to open and some friends to arrive (side note:  GO HERE - the drinks are absolutely AMAZING).  

We wandered into City Lights Bookstore and browsed around.  I happened upon Los Angeles Stories and read the first few pages.  It was intriguing and I wanted to read more, so of course, I bought the book.  I started reading it on July 26th, and finished it on August 30th.  It took a little longer than other books for me to read, partly because it was strange, and partly because I wasn't reading it as much at night because I was tired, and because it was so strange.  Upon reflection, I guess I should have known it would be strange after reading the note on the back of the book:

"What's that you say?  Nothing ever happens in Los Angeles?  Ask your downtown friends and neighbors, working folks you pass on the street - the cross dressing piano player, the Filipino labor agitator, the Mexican bolero singer, or the steel guitar-playing dental technician - buy them a cup of coffee and they'll tell you their stories.  Sit down, take a load off, try some pork fried rice.  Dig it and pick up on it, it happened like this.

Ry Cooder is a guitarist, singer and composer known for his interest in roots music, and for his collaborations with traditional musicians from many countries, including the Buena Vista Social Club.  He has composed soundtracks for more than twenty films, including Paris, Texas.  This is his first published collection of stories."

Um, yeah.  Strange, intriguing, weird, bizarre.  Yes, all of those things and more.  But for some reason, after reading the first few pages while killing time in the book store, I wanted to read more.

I grew up in Los Angeles, so I have a soft spot for books set in the area because it is interesting to me to read about other peoples' takes on the area, and it always lends a more visual setting to books when I know and have been to places that are being described in the book - it makes it seem all the more real.

The book begins:

"1940:  I work for the Los Angeles City Directory, a book of names, addresses, and job descriptions.  I am one of many.  Our job is to go out and collect the facts and bring them back.  Other people take our work and put it in the Book, but we do the important part.  Los Angeles is a big city, and the City Directory, is a big book...

I made the aquaintance of a Mr. John Casaroli.  Mr. John, as he was known, was a retired opera singer and teacher.  I listed him as Casaroli, John, vcl tchr, New Grand Hotel 257 Grand Ave.  It turned out we got along, and I was often a guest in his apartment.  One evening I arrived there to find police and onlookers crowded around what looked like a body on the sidewalk.  The police said Mr. John had jumped from the roof just minutes before and was dead.  They asked me if I was an 'associate' of his, and I explained that he was my friend and I'd been invited for a spaghetti dinner.  They took me to police headquarters and I was questioned for an hour.  When I asked why, the officer told me it was routine.  That's when I learned that Mr. John had made a will and left his record player and all his records and Italian poetry books to me."

Each of the 8 short stories in the 232-page book has to do with musicians, some kind of crime, and how the main character deals with it or gets out of a bind.  The stories are gritty, colorful, and full of details.  It wasn't until the end of the book that I realized that some of the characters in each of the stories had small supporting roles in other stories.  Some of the stories were more engaging than others, but they were all quite strange.

There is one about a cross-dressing piano player (a woman dressing as a man) who falls for a young girl (who thinks the piano player is a man), and the young girl ends up killing someone, and the main character of the story, Al Maphis, and the piano player, Billy Tipton, need to get her (Betty  Newlands) out of Arizona and away from the cops.  So Al drives her to Los Angeles and gets her in with a band that plays at a Filipino club...

"I introduced Johnny to Betty.  He was suave, Latin-esque.  He huddled with Betty in a booth, making diagrams in the air with his hands: I go from here, you come from there.  They went onstage and did some steps.  Johnny spun her around.  He threw her down and picked her up.  Betty was a cheerleader, she got it.  He counted off "Hernando's Hideaway" - a pop tango for straight-life moms and pops.  Johnny gave it the twist - a domestic scene from the dark side of town.  The man is aroused, the woman is coy.  He slaps her around a little just to get a mood going.  He preens, checks his attitude.  They embrace, they dance, she stabs him in the crotch with a big prop knife.  Olé, thank you ladies and gentlemen, especially you, ladies."

Colorful, strange, detailed.  John Lee Hooker makes an appearance in the story about Betty.

This book is eclectic, like most musicians are, I gather.  I liked it though, in a strange sort of way.

I don't give this book two overwhelming thumbs up, nor do I give it any thumbs down.  If you are in the mood for something strange, and off the beaten track, something the likes of you haven't ever read before, this may be just the thing for you.

Until next time..

The Martian, by Andy Weir

After finishing Nothing to Lose, by Lee Child on May 31, I had a small book hiatus.  I usually read at night before going to sleep, and during most of June, I was simply too tired to start a new book at bedtime.  I also did not have anything teed up that I was chomping at the bit to read.  The husband read about a new book in the Mercury Newspaper by an author that worked at the company I recently started working at.  Andy Weir was a software engineer, and an author on the side.  The husband thought the book sounded cool, and was intrigued that I worked with the author, so he picked it up.  During the time when he was reading it, he would be laughing out loud quite often, but would never tell me what was so funny.  Upon finishing the book, he announced that I was to read it now, please.  So, on June 29th, I picked up The Martian and started reading it.

The book starts, literally on page 1 with:

I'm pretty much fucked.  That's my considered opinion.  Fucked.  Six days into what should be the greatest two months of my life, and it's turned into a nightmare.

Um, so yeah, there is a lot of cussing in the book.  But it is funny.

The book is about a group of astronauts who land on Mars.  There is a big dust storm, and the astronauts have to abandon their camp and high tail it back to their ship.  In the commotion and chaos of getting out of their living quarters and back into the ship that takes them from the surface of Mars back to their ship in the space around Mars, Mark Watney, a somewhat salty botanist/engineer, gets skewered by an antenna.  His co-astronauts frantically try to find him in the blinding Martian dust storm before the wind knocks over their ship (their only escape), but are unable to.  They tried everything they could to locate them, but were unsuccessful.  Very reluctantly, they had to leave the surface of Mars without Watney.  Unbeknownst to them, he did not die.  His space suit did begin to depressurize, but the small hole was sealed by his congealed blood.  His suit re-pressurized and pretty much saved him.

The book is basically about Watney's life on Mars and his antics and adventures to try and save himself.  He is literally all alone on Mars and has no way to communicate with Earth nor with his co-astronauts.  He is fucked.  Or so we thought...  Watney is one crafty dude.

At one point, he had a zany idea on how he could possibly communicate with Earth / NASA by using the abandoned Pathfinder ship and accompanying Mars rover, Sojourner.  Being the computer engineer he is, Weir, of course figured out how to incorporate tech-speak into his book:

So, I'll have to use ASCII.  That's how computers manage characters... How do I know which values go with which characters?  Because Johanssen's laptop is a wealth of information.  I knew she'd have an ASCII table in there somewhere.  All computer geeks do.

The way the story is told is very clever - it is told by Watney in a series of journal / blog / log entries he writes while trapped on Mars.  Watney is not only crafty, but he's really funny too (and apparently doesn't follow instructions):

My conversation with NASA about the water reclaimer was boring and riddled with technical details.  So I'll paraphrase it for you:

Me: "This is obviously a clog.  How about I take it apart and check the internal tubing?"

NASA: (after five hours of deliberation) "No. You'll fuck it up and die."

 So I took it apart.

In another portion of the book, Watney has to drive a very long way from one part of Mars to another, but he has no navigation equipment, maps, or anything to help him find his way.  In addition to being crafty, funny, and fucked, Watney also has a knack for either directly or indirectly screwing things up.  Once his saving grace, the jerry-rigged Pathfinder / Sojourner communication with NASA becomes useless because of a small mishap by Watney.  So, he's all alone again on Mars and has to high tail it to where the next mission to Mars was going to land in order to have the remotest chance at rescue.  So, he made a sextant:

Latitude and longitude.  That's the key.  The first is easy.  Ancient sailors on Earth figured that one out right away.  Earth's 23.5-degree axis points at Polaris.  Mars has a tilt of just over 25 degrees, so it's pointed at Deneb.

Making a sextant isn't hard.  All you need is a tube to look through, a string, a weight, and something with degree markings.  I made mine in under an hour.

So I go out every night with a homemade sextant and sight Deneb.  It's kind of silly if you think about it.  I'm in my space suit on Mars and I'm navigating with sixteenth-century tools.  But hey, they work. 

I kept expecting for this to turn out to all be a dream - like Watney was just some dude dreaming about being an astronaut.  But, thankfully, it didn't turn out that way.  The book had many twists and turns, and near death experiences for Watney.  But it also had a great conclusion.

The book really sucks you in.  It was difficult to put down, even when I was doing the falling-asleep-head-nod-read-the-same-page-over-and-over-again-thing.  I just wanted to see how it ended.

I finally got there this past Saturday.  I was not disappointed.

I am disappointed that Andy Weir is no longer working at the company.  I did meet him once and overheard him saying his book was optioned and might possibly be made into a movie!  So, that's pretty exciting.

Pick this book up - you won't be disappointed.  And, you might learn a thing or 2 about being an astronaut, Mars, and how to make viable soil with your poop, reclaimed water, and sheer will.

Next up - either a book about Los Angeles, or a book about Paris...  Stay tuned!

Camping and Animals - an animal encounter

So, I was talking with a co-worker today about what each of us did over the weekend.  I spent Saturday night in the City with some friends, eating, drinking, dancing, and frolicking.  She spent the weekend camping.  I almost laughed out loud when she said she was camping.  I think my exact response to her was, "Camping, like sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag, and cooking food over a camp fire camping?"  She laughingly said, "Yes, and I even helped set up the tent!"  She is definitely a person whom I would not expect to voluntarily go camping.  She said she had a great time.  They went for a hike to a lake, and it looked so majestic that she just jumped in with her clothes on!  That part sounds fantastic to me.

Hearing her tale of camping made me remember one camping trip (of many) when I was young.  I actually grew up camping all over California with my family - some of it was car-camping in spots that had hot showers, toilets, and running water.  Some of it was driving into the middle of the Mojave Desert and pulling off the road and pitching a tent - no toilet (unless you consider the hole you dig in the ground a toilet), no running water, no defined campground, nothing.  Well, one of these trips was to Morro Bay - a small town on the central California Coast, close to San Luis Obispo.  I loved camping there.  One of the day trips we would take was to Montaña de Oro - an area that has beach access, and hiking along the bluffs above the beach.  On this particular trip, we were hiking along the bluffs, and my brother and I had to use the bathroom.  There was one spot with a pit toilet - literally an outhouse with a toilet seat and a big, yucky, smelly, nasty hole in the ground.  So, there were 2 stalls, and my brother and I were each in one, and for some reason, I looked down before I sat down, and saw a snake writhing in the filth.  Yes, a snake slithering around in the ickiness in the pit toilet.  Scared the crap (not literally) out of me.  I think I screamed and my brother jumped out of his stall to see what the problem was.  I pointed out the snake.  We both were too freaked out to use the pit toilet.

I can't remember how old I was when that happened, but it scared and scarred me for life.  Now, literally any time I use the restroom, I check the toilet for snakes.  I have some unfathomable fear that a snake will jump up out of the toilet bowl and bite me in the ass.  Mind you, that has never happened, and I have never again seen a snake in a toilet, but judging by a quick google image search of "Snake in toilet", and the enormous amount of images the search produced, snakes do, in fact, go in toilets, and it is possible for one to bite you in the ass.

Look before you sit people.  That is all.

Nothing to Lose, by Lee Child

It is a double-book blog day today...  From Craig Childs to Lee Child - two VERY opposite books.  After finishing Craig Childs' The Animal Dialogues on May 10, I started Lee Child's Nothing to Lose and finished it last night - May 31.  The books couldn't be any more different.

Nothing to Lose, is another in the series of Jack Reacher books by Lee Child.  Though most of the Jack Reacher tales follow a similar formula, they are each still very entertaining.  I started this on right before leaving in a trip to Europe with my husband (3 cities and a wedding in 10 days).  Talk about a whirl-wind trip!  But this blog is about the book, not the trip.  This one took me a little longer than normal to finish, but it was worth the extra time.

Jack Reacher, the ever-wandering nomad, finds himself in a very small town in Colorado called Despair.  He is kicked out of Despair for being a vagrant.  He is dropped off at the town line and picked up by another police officer from neighboring town, Hope.  Hope and Despair - there is a lot of that in this book.  The officer from Hope, an attractive lady (of course), and Reacher start to build a friendship over the fishy things happening in Despair.

Never one to leave something along, and never one to walk away from a perplexing situation, Reacher begins to dig around in Despair to figure out why they are so set on keeping outsiders out of their little town.  The lady cop from Hope explains that Despair is a "company" town that doesn't take to outsiders.  They don't want outsiders taking jobs away from their residents, who all seem to work at the recycling plant or other services (restaurant, gas station, and rooming house) in the town.

He was thinking about Despair, and he was wondering why getting him out of town had been more important than keeping him there and busting him for the assault on the deputy.

Many fishy things are discovered by Reacher during his stays in both towns, and he can't leave without figuring them out.  I can't go too much into detail on what goes on (I don't like spoilers), but here are a few things to give you some idea of what this book beholds:

• a young, broke girl waiting for Reacher in a diner, who more or less bolts when she finds out he used to be a military cop
• another young, broke girl in the diner who lets Reacher buy her some meals
• a religious fanatic who owns the "recycling plant"
• a man, bigger than Reacher, who regularly wields a very large wrench

He waved his two employees forward.  The plant foreman kept his hands loose at his sides and the big guy slapped the wrench in and out of his palm, wet metal on wet skin.

• wandering aimless in the desert
• a random Military Police outpost
• love-making

He bent and kissed her again.  Moved his hand and caught the tag of her zipper and pulled it down.  She was naked under the dress.  Warm, and soft, and smooth, and lithe, and fragrant... He carried her in and put her down and her dress slipped from her shoulders and fell.  They kissed some more and her hands tore at the button on his pants.  A minute later they were in her bed.

• bar brawls (several of them)
• a nosy motel worker
• lots of MacGyver-ing
• Reacher kicking ass
• More of Reacher Kicking ass
• And, Reacher figuring out everything and moving on

Reacher took the borrowed phone out of his pocket and dropped it on the bed.  Followed it with the registration, from the old Suburban's glove box.  Asked Vaughan to mail both things back, with no return address on the package.  She said, "That sounds like the start of a farewell speech."  "It is," Reacher said.  "And the middle, and the end."

 Jack Reacher books are all entertaining.  They are pretty quick reads, and all have some elements that are really easy to figure out, some that are surprising, and some twists and turns that aren't expected.  I've enjoyed the ones I have read so far, and look forward to seeing what other shenanigans Reacher will get himself into, and what impossible situations he will MacGyver himself out of.  Until the next one...

The Animal Dialogues, by Craig Childs

After finishing Angry Black White Boy, by Adam Mansbach, I started reading The Animal Dialogues: Uncommon Encounters in the Wild, by Craig Childs, on March 24.  I finished this book on May 10.

I got this book on a visit to my parents' house in Southern California. It was in their ever-growing and ever-changing "done reading & up for grabs" book pile.

Inside the book was a little paper that my dad wrote. It said "I read these chapters... Frenetic, Fast, Energetic." That certainly set the tone for the book for me. I'm an animal lover - so was very interested in reading this book about "uncommon encounters in the wild."

What I learned from this book - Craig Childs is a bit of a lunatic. Some of his encounters were quite sweet. Some of them were quite stupid. He sure takes chances in his life - walking barefoot through the Mexican desert during the summer and dodging rattle snakes. Trying to rescue a trapped raccoon from a watering hole. To traipsing through mountain-lion territory, walking through bear territory, and voluntarily living in a Tipi for an extended period of time. Definitely not things I would choose to do.

Childs writes:

This book is a collection of my own encounters, staring at animals for as long as they would stay. The experiences are translated, now made out of words, like trying to build the sky out of sticks. Verbs and nouns do not always change to the weather as they should. They may not dry out and crack on hot days. Even my eyes have betrayed me as I have watched a tiger shark, losing its shape and its direction, and my ears have been misled as I have listened for a mountain lion in a canyon.

The life of an animal lies outside of conjecture. It is far beyond the scientific papers and the campfire stories. It is as true as breath. It is as important as the words of children.

During his time in his Tipi, Childs was tormented by an infestation of mice. He somewhat reluctantly decided to get a cat, as "tipis, by design, are no good at keeping mice out."

I loved my cat [named Sazi], of course. I was able to unload heaps of unconditional affection onto him, petting and scratching, kneeding his worthless hide with all the fondness and frustration I could muster...When I came home late I would see his head, peering through a hole he had carved in the snowdrift that leaned on the door. We were companions of some sort. We stalked deer together in the summer. I would be down on my stomach, crawling along, and he stayed with me, dropping back so as not to startle them. But the mice, Sazi. Eat the mice.

Childs has encounters with all kinds of animals, from mice to cats, bears to rattle snakes, goats, all manner of birds, porcupines, fish, and even mosquitoes. Some encounters are more dangerous than others. It isn't as if he sought out to stalk a jaguar - he somewhat happens upon these encounters.

Childs was walking in early-winter in southeast Utah and saw a raven fly overhead. Childs started following the raven into an "empty bay of cliffs half a mile away." Childs tells the reader:

Ravens are mobbers. They frequently gang up on invaders, generally the likes of hawks, eagles, or owls, pecking the back of the head, getting in their faces and screaming. They even attack one another if a particular raven, or a minority of ravens, gets out of line. They are skilled at delivering torment, combining sound, motion, and direct attack with open talons from all angles to drive out or at least befuddle a trespasser...

I felt something the size and weight of a pebble hit my back. I looked behind me. Another raven flew in, and with a quick motion, transferring a pebble from its talon to its beak, it let a small projectile fly into the air. The pebble barely missed me, leaving a dimple in the sand near my knee.

Sometimes it takes Childs slightly more than a hint from the animal to take his leave. But, being a naturalist, his goal is to observe animals for as long as possible, and then continue on his way.

A mountain lion is at the water hole... It does not know that I am here. I come on it from behind, staring a beeline down its long tail, which is laid flat against the ground... The lion walks away, into a mesh of junipers that leads into the ponderosa forests and the high desert beyond. The wind shifts a few times, distributing my scent all over. I wait for several minutes, then walk to the water to get a good identification on fresh mountain lion tracks, to take measurements, and write it all down... If I know the mountain lion, it is half a mile away by now, getting well out of my range. I don't see it anywhere. I scan the perimeter with a rigid movement like a cautious deer coming to drink. At first I see nothing. Then it is there, behind me. It has circled to my back. Eyes are in the shadows of a couple of low junipers, thirty feet away... Instead of running, it stands. Without a pause for thought, it moves out from under the shadows so that both of us are in the same sunlight... It begins walking straight toward me.

Childs makes it out of this encounter unscathed and not eaten by the mountain lion. Reading all of the encounters that Childs has similar to this, I wonder - what is this guy thinking? Why would be put himself in the path of animals that could easily and readily kill him. But then I think, it must be majestic to be so close to these wonderful and beautiful animals, and I can understand the draw (ok, only slightly understand the draw).

I don't seek encounters like Childs does, but I have had my fair share of them in the course of life. I was pleasantly reminded of many of them while I was reading this book.

One of my favorite (and most positive) encounters was on a solo trip to Maui some years ago. I was laying on the beach at the hotel, and I overheard another guest saying she had spotted a bunch of turtles while she was out snorkeling. Sea turtles are my favorites! I just love them. So, I decided to go take a look. I snorkeled out a ways and didn't see anything. I came upon a very large coral outcropping and because I have an innate fear of swimming over coral when there is not much water above it (deriving from a scary childhood experience swimming over coral at Hanauma Bay on O'ahu) to get around it, I would have had to swim a lot farther. I wasn't worried about swimming out farther, but since I was alone, if something happened and I didn't come back, no one would know. So, I decided to embrace one of my mottoes "safety first" and turn around and head back to shore. Right when I did that, I looked down and saw a lone sea turtle about 25-feet below me. I was so excited! I dove down to get closer and saw it eating some sea grass. I followed it for quite a while. It surfaced a few times, and I was close enough to see its little turtle teeth, and hear it inhale a breath of air. It was so serene, and I was so happy to be in the presence of this beautiful turtle. We swam together for probably 45 minutes. Before I knew it, we were back at shore in ankle-deep water. It looked at me, then turned and swam back out to sea. I personally think the turtle was my ocean escort, taking me back to shore. It was an amazing experience.
 
My dad even shared one of his animal encounters (written on the inside cover of the book). If you can't decipher his writing, here is what it says:

Zion National Park - 9/1/12. We beat the yellow jackets at their own game - dinner on the terrace. The bait: a bowl of honey, 3 cherry tomatoes, 1 packet of sprinkled sugar granules & voila! (I can't make out the rest)

I think that Childs' book is a nice reminder to keep our eyes open and take in the experiences around us. I'm not sure that all of us "normal" people will have the kinds of experiences that Childs does, but we all have experiences with animals of some sort in our surroundings. Take a look out your window - do you see any birds? What do they do? Look down - see any ants, spiders, caterpillars? The world around is is awe inspiring - but we won't see it if we aren't looking.

This book is a collection of short stories. It is the type of book that you can pick up and put down and then pick up again when the mood strikes. Childs has certainly had some crazy adventures. He has inspired me to share some of my own animal encounters. I will write about them here periodically.

Angry Black White Boy, by Adam Mansbach

After finishing the Fifth Assassin by Brad Meltzer, I started reading Angry Black White Boy or, The Miscegenation of Macon Detornay, by Adam Mansbach on February 28th, and just finished it this morning.  My husband read this book and considers it one of his favorites.  He gave it to me in my last pile of 3 book options and was quite surprised to see me reading it.  To be honest, I was quite surprised to BE reading it.  This is not a type of book that I would normally pick up for myself.  All along, Husband constantly joked with me about how I would write this one up.  I'm still scratching my head about it, even as I type...

The title alone is somewhat off-putting to me.  Angry Black White Boy.  How does one even try and discuss a book of this nature without offending someone?  I, personally, was offended by the book, and some of the language in it.  When dealing with the subject of race relations, there is always a precarious and very fine line that you need to not cross.  Adam Mansbach gives that line the finger and just goes for it.

This book (fiction) chronicles a period of time in the life of Macon Detornay, a white boy who loves Black culture.  

But we're all white people devils?  Could there be exceptions?  What about that dude Paul C., who'd engineered Eric B. & Rakim's album?  ...   From Macon's confusion had bubbled anger.  How dare black people not see him as an ally, not recognize that he was down?  He retaliated by studying their history, their culture: He was a thirteen-year-old whiteboy in a Malcom X T-shirt, alone at the first annual Boson Hip Hop Conference, heart fluttering with intimidation and delight as scowling bald-headed old schoolers pointed at his chest, demanding, 'Whatchu know about that man?' Which was exactly what he'd wanted, why he'd worn it.  He ran down Malcom's life for them, watched them revise their expressions with inward elation, nodded studiously at their government assassination theories, rhymed when the chance presented itself.  Tagged other graffiti writers' blackooks and wondered what it would take to be scratched from the devil list for good.

Macon moves to New York from Boston to attend Columbia University.  He rooms with Andre, the great grandson of a black baseball player who played on the same team as Macon's great grandfather.  This pairing was by Macon's design.  Macon takes a job as a cab driver and begins robbing his white passengers.  Reports of the robberies hit the press, but they report them as perpetrated by a Black cab driver.  Macon, for some reason, is upset by this and feels the need to set the record straight.  So, he robs another white passenger and insists that the passenger get a good look at him so that he can more accurately describe Macon to the police.  Macon inevitably gets arrested.

Up until the point where Macon gets arrested, I had serious doubts about whether I would finish this book.  It is chock full of the "N" word, a word that I don't like to hear, let alone read.  Macon is written as that white guy who wishes he wasn't.  He makes reference to all kinds of rappers and rap lyrics, and graffiti and graffiti artists.  These are things that I'm not expert in, so it was hard for me to follow and really relate to.

However, once Macon was arrested, the proverbial shit hit the fan, and the book took on an entirely different, and actually somewhat comical and outlandish turn.  The press has a field day with a white man robbing white taxi passengers, and Macon becomes the person du jour.  His roommate Andre, Andre's friend Nique, and a token white girl, Logan, band together and come up with the idea for "The Race Traitor Project" and along with it, "The Day of Apology" whereby white people are called upon to apologize to black people for years of oppression and slavery and racism.  Prior to Macon talking to any press or taking any interviews, Andre, Nique and Logan tried to prepare him:

Macon had consented to a lengthy crash course in interview skills, and until the break of day the team had tradeoff-peppered him with questions and advice to illustrate what Nique called the Basic Presidential Principles.  Macon had learned the Reaganesque technique of responding to hard-nosed inquiries with tangential homespun anecdotes instead of facts, the Nixonian gambit of talking shit while simultaneously claiming high moral ground and a non-shit-talker, myriad Clintonian methods of sidestepping a repeated and reworded question, and the general tactics involved in subverting the agenda of any interviewer and saying what you damn well pleased regardless of circumstance or status.

Needless to say, this "Day of Apology" gets completely out of hand, and New York City becomes one large riot ground with all kinds of violence, looting, and even killing.  Mansbach's description of the shenanigans and the riot are very detailed and realistic, and I could actually imagine the things he wrote happening.  They brought back my memories of watching the Rodney King / Los Angeles riots on television when I was just out of high school.  Mansbach makes reference to those riots several times in the book, and the riots play a large part in Macon's history:

...above Nique's bed was framed a blurry black-and-white freeze-frame of a scene Macon had never forgotten: six of L.A.'s Finest, so murky that they might be figments of imagination, swinging billy clubs with pickax motions as if the huddled mass of Rodney King might be a craggy slab of granite or an arid patch of land.

     "Nice Picture."  [said Macon].

      Nique turned and scowled.  "Nice? Either you got a real limited vocabulary or a serious problem.  Ain't nothing nice about the shit."

      Macon shook his head.  "No, I mean, of course not. I-- What I meant was..."  He gave up on speaking and pushed the left sleeve of his T-shirt to his shoulder.  Tattooed on Macon's biceps in small green characters was 4-29-92.  It was the day the verdict had been handed down, the day Los Angeles had burned.  Andre and Dominique peered in to read it, then looked up at Macon.

...  Nique looked from Andre to Macon and then back to Andre.  He ran a hand over his smooth-shaved head.  "Who is this dude, Dre?" he asked with cinematic incredulity and perfect comic timing, the results of an upbringing replete with four movie channels and unlimited TV privileges. "Mufucker got a Rodney King tattoo? Shit, I thought I was black." 

Some very strange things happen in the last few chapters of the book - the whole book is strange, in my opinion - but the end gets even stranger.  The grandson of another baseball player that played against Macon's and Andre's great grandfathers makes an appearance.  He is a psychiatrist who dabbles in a kind of brain-washing of sorts.  There is an elaborate scheme between the doctor and Nique and Andre to get Macon to do something that blows up in their face.  The ending is quite abrupt and left me shaking my head in disbelief.  Disbelief that what happened in the book actually happened, and disbelief that this is how the book ended.

This book is interesting.  Would it be the first book I recommend to someone to read?  No.  Would I recommend someone NOT read this book?  No.  I say, read it with a grain of salt.