Hearts of Darkness
Author: Frank McLynn 1992 359 pp
My rating: 3*
Started November 31 2008, Finished December 3 2008.
“To face hostile tribesmen, to witness the horrors of the slave trade, and to endure Africa’s diseases would have pushed to the limit the mettle of the bravest adventurer alive. When we add to this the ordeal by wild animals faced by the white pioneers in Africa, it is hard not to conclude that in their insouciant disdain for danger, the explorers were either a genuine breed of supermen or perhaps clinically insane.” (300)
This study of the history of African exploration is organized as and reads like an academic monograph which is a shame as this approach results in details of the explorations themselves receiving short shrift. The first section of the book covers each of the significant explorations in a prosaic fashion (“explorer X went from A to C via B”) omitting most of the details of the attendant adventures which are what make such accounts compelling; the maps that accompany this section leave much to be desired, lacking captions, dates and track arrows. The in-depth examination of the difficulties encountered by Stanley in his three year long crossing of the continent, the subject of the chapter entitled “An Object Lesson in Obstacles” provided the level of detail and human drama that I desired and was for me the highlight of the book. The chapter on “Explorers and Imperialism” seemed particularly muddled.
In spite of these major shortcomings, I give this book an overall positive grade because it still manages to convey a sense of the continuous hardship experienced on virtually every expedition and instill a strong sense of disbelief in the reader that anyone who survived such an ordeal would be willing to have any more to do with the continent, let alone return for ever more ambitious explorations, as nearly every explorer did.
Galton’s Art of Travel, published in 1855 “advised mountaineers to carry a cat with them as a barometric gauge, since felines were alleged to go into convulsions at precisely 13,000 feet about sea level”. (56)
Livingston’s last journey in 1873: “The crossing of the Chambezi brought torments from mosquitoes, poisonous spiders and ants to compound the pain from dysentery and haemorrhoids.”
Stanley’s 1874 expedition “ … saw a veritable roll-call of African diseases: dysentery, bronchitis, pneumonia, ophthalmia, rheumatism, sciatica, asthma, dropsy, emphysema, erysipelas, elephantiasis.” (99)
The first coast to coast crossing of Africa, completed by Stanley in 1877 took 999 days. (101)
Cloth, beads and wire were the staples of African commerce … (138)
For Africans labour’s role was primarily social: that of strengthening a kinship group by shared experiences or consolidating a hierarchy for reasons of social system. (155)
Stanley would not even allow his porters to stagger away into the jungle to die of smallpox; he insisted that they carried their loads until they dropped dead. (155)
In the eighteenth century it was estimated that between 24 and 75 per cent of the military died in their first year on the Guinea coast. (228)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Great Bridge
Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge
Author: David McCullough 19722 562 pp
My rating: 4*
Started November 5 2008, Finished November 20 2008.
“In another time and in what would seem another world, on a day when two young men were walking on the moon, a very old woman on Long Island would tell reporters that the public excitement over the feat was not so much compared to what she had seen “on the day they opened the Brooklyn Bridge.” (542)
This book of is a piece with McCullough’s history of the construction of the Panama Canal, The Path Between the Seas; readers who enjoyed either book are likely to enjoy the other. Of historians I’ve read, McCullough does as good a job as anyone of both poring through the archives and identifying the compelling storylines in order to make history both authoritative and readable. This book which details the building of the Brooklyn Bridge in 1870s and 80s has two major components: the technical details of building the bridge -- one of the great engineering challenges of its time -- and the personnel and personal elements behind it, particularly the struggles of the eccentric genius, John Roebling who conceived and designed the bridge but died (of lockjaw!) before construction began, and his son, Washington, who possessed a remarkably different and complementary set of gifts than his father and who, as “chief engineer”, oversaw virtually every detail of construction during the 14 years required, even though he was a housebound invalid for almost all of that time.
A particular highlight for me was Chapter Nine’s recounting of existence in the pressurized caissons wherein the bridge’s foundations were laid despite the ravaging effects of “caisson disease” (the bends) which were previously unknown to mankind.
A couple of minor complaints:
The book could have used more technical illustrations to depict construction techniques that the author made great attempts to describe in words; this is a case where a one of the former would have been worth a lot of the later.
A three sentence footnote on P390 briefly mentions that “about one out of every four [bridges] build” in during the period when the Brooklyn Bridge was under construction “failed.” Given that this is a book about building by far the most ambitious bridge ever constructed at that point, the issue of contemporary bridge failures deserves more than a brief footnote.
[Roebling Sr.] drank vile concoctions of raw egg, charcoal, warm water, and turpentine (39-40)
Hegel on America: “It is a land of hope for all who are wearied of the historic armory of old Europe.” (42)
By the time it would be finished, in 1871, Tweed’s courthouse would cost more than thirteen million dollars, or nearly twice the price paid for Alaska. (133)
Horatio Allen “who had never built a suspension bridge [and] who knew little about the subject” was a high-paid “consultant” on the bridge (147)
Roebling Jr.: History, teaches us that no man can be great unless a certain amount of vanity enters into his composition … For a man to be important it is also necessary to have a good opinion of one’s self, even if for no other purpose than to impress others.” (149)
The day before elections the Executive Committee would grant to each of the families of the deceased payments of $250, or a little better than three month’s wages. (260)
Roebling Jr.: “not once in all fourteen years [of construction] did he ever set foot on the bridge.” (515)
Author: David McCullough 19722 562 pp
My rating: 4*
Started November 5 2008, Finished November 20 2008.
“In another time and in what would seem another world, on a day when two young men were walking on the moon, a very old woman on Long Island would tell reporters that the public excitement over the feat was not so much compared to what she had seen “on the day they opened the Brooklyn Bridge.” (542)
This book of is a piece with McCullough’s history of the construction of the Panama Canal, The Path Between the Seas; readers who enjoyed either book are likely to enjoy the other. Of historians I’ve read, McCullough does as good a job as anyone of both poring through the archives and identifying the compelling storylines in order to make history both authoritative and readable. This book which details the building of the Brooklyn Bridge in 1870s and 80s has two major components: the technical details of building the bridge -- one of the great engineering challenges of its time -- and the personnel and personal elements behind it, particularly the struggles of the eccentric genius, John Roebling who conceived and designed the bridge but died (of lockjaw!) before construction began, and his son, Washington, who possessed a remarkably different and complementary set of gifts than his father and who, as “chief engineer”, oversaw virtually every detail of construction during the 14 years required, even though he was a housebound invalid for almost all of that time.
A particular highlight for me was Chapter Nine’s recounting of existence in the pressurized caissons wherein the bridge’s foundations were laid despite the ravaging effects of “caisson disease” (the bends) which were previously unknown to mankind.
A couple of minor complaints:
The book could have used more technical illustrations to depict construction techniques that the author made great attempts to describe in words; this is a case where a one of the former would have been worth a lot of the later.
A three sentence footnote on P390 briefly mentions that “about one out of every four [bridges] build” in during the period when the Brooklyn Bridge was under construction “failed.” Given that this is a book about building by far the most ambitious bridge ever constructed at that point, the issue of contemporary bridge failures deserves more than a brief footnote.
[Roebling Sr.] drank vile concoctions of raw egg, charcoal, warm water, and turpentine (39-40)
Hegel on America: “It is a land of hope for all who are wearied of the historic armory of old Europe.” (42)
By the time it would be finished, in 1871, Tweed’s courthouse would cost more than thirteen million dollars, or nearly twice the price paid for Alaska. (133)
Horatio Allen “who had never built a suspension bridge [and] who knew little about the subject” was a high-paid “consultant” on the bridge (147)
Roebling Jr.: History, teaches us that no man can be great unless a certain amount of vanity enters into his composition … For a man to be important it is also necessary to have a good opinion of one’s self, even if for no other purpose than to impress others.” (149)
The day before elections the Executive Committee would grant to each of the families of the deceased payments of $250, or a little better than three month’s wages. (260)
Roebling Jr.: “not once in all fourteen years [of construction] did he ever set foot on the bridge.” (515)
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Devil Wears Prada
Author: Lauren Weisberger 2003 360 pp
My rating: 2*
Started November 19 2008, Finished November 23 2008.
“… incredibly unfunny, uninteresting, wholly uninspired …” (310)
This may be the first book I’ve ever read which can be classified as pure chic lit and now there is another genre I will avoid. From the standpoint of general literary worth, specifically quality of prose and development of believable, three dimensional characters, this roman a clef is easily the worst fiction I’ve blogged so far. However, it is saved from a really savage rating by it’s overall readability -- it generates just enough interest to keep the pages turning -- and by its one interesting character, the loathsome Miranda Priestly, the narrator’s boss, editor of a big deal fashion magazine who is apparently closely modeled on Anna Wintour of Vogue where the author once interned. This book would probably appeal to fashionistas -- the Sex in the City crowd -- but not to literistas, which is somewhat ironic since the narrator/protagonist, Andrea, repeatedly claims she is not of the fashion world while expressing a devotion to and desire to work for The New Yorker. It seems unlikely that Devil’s prose which consistently reads like a cross between email and journal entries would qualify her for a writing job at that magazine with its state-of-the-art writers. Some samples of Prada’s uninspired and hackneyed prose:
“Lily’s New Year’s party was good and low key.” (96) If she’d tried, Weisberger would have been hard pressed to find a less descriptive adjective than good.
“The boy genius who’d first been published at the ripe old age of twenty.” (118) An Ivy League English major ought to have sense enough to avoid a bled-white phrase like “ripe old age.”
Further complaints are that the protagonist’s supporting cast, her boy friend and best friend, and her relationships with them are unconvincingly depicted and subject to the whims of plot convenience. The book’s climax when Miranda suddenly appreciates Andrea’s devoted slavery to her every whim and offers to help her obtain a position at The New York occurs at the same time as Andrea’s friend is hospitalized after a drunken car wreck is purely contrived melodrama. The ensuing fully predictable happy endings are Hollywood pat.
Like everything else at Elias-Clark designed to make employee’s lieves better, it just stressed me out. (129)
Miranda … had deliberately created a persona so offensive on every level that she literally scared people skinny. (217)
Author: Lauren Weisberger 2003 360 pp
My rating: 2*
Started November 19 2008, Finished November 23 2008.
“… incredibly unfunny, uninteresting, wholly uninspired …” (310)
This may be the first book I’ve ever read which can be classified as pure chic lit and now there is another genre I will avoid. From the standpoint of general literary worth, specifically quality of prose and development of believable, three dimensional characters, this roman a clef is easily the worst fiction I’ve blogged so far. However, it is saved from a really savage rating by it’s overall readability -- it generates just enough interest to keep the pages turning -- and by its one interesting character, the loathsome Miranda Priestly, the narrator’s boss, editor of a big deal fashion magazine who is apparently closely modeled on Anna Wintour of Vogue where the author once interned. This book would probably appeal to fashionistas -- the Sex in the City crowd -- but not to literistas, which is somewhat ironic since the narrator/protagonist, Andrea, repeatedly claims she is not of the fashion world while expressing a devotion to and desire to work for The New Yorker. It seems unlikely that Devil’s prose which consistently reads like a cross between email and journal entries would qualify her for a writing job at that magazine with its state-of-the-art writers. Some samples of Prada’s uninspired and hackneyed prose:
“Lily’s New Year’s party was good and low key.” (96) If she’d tried, Weisberger would have been hard pressed to find a less descriptive adjective than good.
“The boy genius who’d first been published at the ripe old age of twenty.” (118) An Ivy League English major ought to have sense enough to avoid a bled-white phrase like “ripe old age.”
Further complaints are that the protagonist’s supporting cast, her boy friend and best friend, and her relationships with them are unconvincingly depicted and subject to the whims of plot convenience. The book’s climax when Miranda suddenly appreciates Andrea’s devoted slavery to her every whim and offers to help her obtain a position at The New York occurs at the same time as Andrea’s friend is hospitalized after a drunken car wreck is purely contrived melodrama. The ensuing fully predictable happy endings are Hollywood pat.
Like everything else at Elias-Clark designed to make employee’s lieves better, it just stressed me out. (129)
Miranda … had deliberately created a persona so offensive on every level that she literally scared people skinny. (217)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)