I enjoy books on how people survived during WWII. One of the best is “Underground in Berlin: A Young Woman’s Extraordinary Tale of Survival in the Heart of Nazi Germany” by Marie Jalowicz Simon. She was a 20 year old Jewish woman who, incredibly, never left Berlin! Her resourcefulness and survival instincts were amazing. She was always looking for her next spot to hideaway, and when she sensed that her present situation was getting too uncomfortable, she would disappear and move on. She did this for 3 years.
My War by Hiroo Onoda - Japanese spy guerrilla fighter who continued to fight the war for thirty years after the Japanese surrender. Puts us briefly in the head of a person that doesn’t really exist much anymore. I couldn’t have held out for three months.
The Underground Man by Fyodor Dostoevsky - maybe could be re-titled ‘thoughts from mom’s basement’. The musings of a worn-out curmudgeon with no social skills or real meaning in his life. This was hard to read. Reminded me of some (of my) teenage behaviours that are (hopefully) behind me.
Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons - sci fi series about the rise and downfall of a materialistic society of the future. Unputdownable (IMHO) page turner that gets a few books in before it really hits you with some philosophy.
Ron Rash does great stuff. My favorite so far has been a colleciton of his short stories called "Burning Bright" https://b-ok.cc/book/4725249/eaf745
They're all loosely centered around Appalachia, in kinda the same way that Mr. Baruth's short stories are kinda about cars if you don't pay attention. I especially enjoyed "Dead Confederates", "Waiting for the End of the World" and "Falling Star". If you liked some of Mr. Baruth's darker fiction you may want to start with "Falling Star"
Hunter Thompson’s Great White Shark Hunt. Although Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is considered the classic (no thanks to Johnny Depp), Thompson was a masterful straight journalist before he slipped into [what I consider to be] solipsistic self-indulgence. GWSH is a collection of his “true” journalism that never fails to educate and amuse. A master before he invented Gonzo Journalism as a way to write fiction.
I've long thought that Hell's Angels was his best work, though I have to admit a fondness for F&L.
""We'll see," I said, moving around to the rear with the air- hose. In truth, I was nervous. The two
front ones were tighter than snare drums; they felt like teak wood when I tapped on them with the rod. But what the hell? I thought. If they explode, so what? It's not often that a man gets a chance to run terminal experiments on a virgin Cadillac and four brand- new $80 tires. For all I knew, the thing might start cornering like a Lotus Elan."
He was an even better sports writer when he wasn't fucked up. ESPN Page 2 stuff was great. I bet people didn't realize he wrote for ESPN in the early aughts
Stoner by John Williams. Perhaps not the greatest novel, but as a guide to biographical fiction and straightforward but poignant prose it is very good. Williams writes well and creatively, sounding erudite but not Melvillian without going full Hemingway.
Hit the classics. These are the novels describing the world our country and civilization were built on.
Start with the Iliad and the Odyssey, and then the Aeneid for the Trojan / Roman side of things. These three epics form the underpinnings of much of the canon of Western lit. The Fagles translations are great. The Odyssey and Aeneid are essentially the roughest road trips of all time.
Next, at least read Dante’s Inferno. It will prompt you to think on the nature of sin and your own life. Probably even if you don’t believe in God, since most people at least understand that bad behavior is destructive to self and society. I like the Durling - Martinez translation, which has great endnotes at each chapter. Pair this with Paradise Lost, and you’ll never think of Adam and Eve as rubes again. I’ve read the version edited by Kastan.
Finally, consider supplementing these suggestions with classics oriented podcasts. Young Heretics and The New Thinkery are my two favorites.
We definitely didn't read many of the classics, and I missed parts of the ones I didn't find interesting when I was 16 and an idiot. I'm currently working on reading the Odyssey because it seems like I shouldn't be able to call yourself a college educated grown up till I read and understand it.
Your hunch is correct. In high school we read Shakespeare, “classical” American lit, and even the best dystopian novels (1984 and Brave New World). I can’t remember any exposure to Greek or Roman lit. This was at a highly ranked high school and was good enough to get me into a top college.
If you want some “off beat” classics, try the Aaron Poochigan translation of Aristophanes’ four comedic plays - The Clouds, The Birds, Lysistrata, and the Women of the Assembly. He wrote essentially the Greek equivalent of late 2000s AD raunchy comedies.
As for classics, my favorite is The Sea Wolf. I've read it a bunch of times, and depending on my mood, I'll identify with a different character. Sometimes even Maude, the "helpless" damsel.
The Aubrey Maturin novels by Patrick O'Brian. "Desolation Island" (1978) is my personal favorite. Sounds like a boys own adventure doesn't it. It isn't. These books are simply in a class of their own in my opinion.
I try to run through these once about every 10 years. Just started on Fortune of War. The Truelove and the Mauritius Command were my favorite the last time through, Post Captain, and it's depiction of English domestic life really spoke to me in my old age this time.
I also indulge in these every ten years, but via the audiobooks. I particularly like the Simon Vance narration, as well as the Richard Brown, but opinions vary. I agree with starting with Post Captain and fitting Master and Commander in somewhere in the middle.
My favorites are HMS Surprise and The Surgeon's Mate. I refuse to read/listen to "21" since O'Brian did not get to finish it.
I can't imagine listening to 21, simply because it unfinished barely edited. I think you might enjoy it for what it is. It isn't like they brought in Kevin Anderson to finish it. It is a few unedited chapters that trails odd into handwritten notes. It almost feels like private reading , or at least I feel very aware that the author was a very private man and as someone who loves the work you are being let in. I don't think it will take away anything from what came before.
Allow me to post the opening paragraphs of 'Post Captain' (1972). How much O'Brian packs into this still amazes me 20 years after I first read it.
''Post Captain' (1972). Patrick O'Brian. Chapter 1"
At first dawn the swathes of rain drifting eastwards across the Channel parted long enough to show that the chase had altered course. The Charwell had been in her wake most of the night, running seven knots in spite of her foul bottom, and now they were not much above a mile and a half apart. The ship ahead was turning, turning, coming up into the wind; and the silence along the frigate's decks took on a new quality as every man aboard saw her two rows of gun-ports come into view. This was the first clear sight they had had of her since the look-out hailed the deck in the growing darkness to report a ship hull-down on the horizon, one point on the larboard bow. She was then steering north-north-east, and it was the general opinion aboard the Charwell that she was either one of a scattered French convoy or an American blockade-runner hoping to reach Brest under cover of the moonless night.
Two minutes after that first hail the Charwell set her for and main topgallants - no great spread of canvas, but then the frigate had had a long, wearing voyage from the West Indies: nine weeks out of sight of land, the equinoctial gales to strain her tired rigging to the breaking-point, three days of lying-to in the Bay of Biscay at its worst, and it was understandable that Captain Griffiths should wish to husband her a little. No cloud of sail, but even so she fetched the stranger's wake within a couple of hours, and at four bells in the morning watch the Charwell cleared for action. The drum beat to quarters, the hammocks came racing up, piling into the nettings to form bulwarks, the guns were run out; and the warm, pink, sleepy watch below had been standing to them in the cold rain ever since - an hour and more to chill them to the bone.
Now in the silence of this discovery one of the crew of a gun in the waist could be heard explaining to a weak-eyed staring little man beside him, "She's a French two-decker, mate. A seventy-four or an eighty: we've caught a tartar, mate."
"Silence there, God damn you", cried Captain Griffiths. "Mr. Quarles, take that man's name"
Then the grey rain closed in. But at present everyone on the crowded quarterdeck knew what lay behind that drifting, formless veil: a French ship of the line, with both her rows of gun-ports open. And there was not one who had missed the slight movement of the yard that meant she was about to lay her foresail to the mast, heave to and wait for them.
The Charwell was a 32 gun 12 pounder frigate, and if she got close enough to use the squat carronades on her quarterdeck and forecastle as well as her long guns she could throw a broadside weight of metal of 238 pounds. A French line-of-battle ship could not throw less than 960. No question of a match, therefore, and no discredit in bearing up and running for it, but for the fact that somewhere in the dim sea behind them there was their consort, the powerful 38 gun, 18 pounder Dee. She had lost a topmast in the last blow, which slowed her down, but she had been well in sight at nightfall, and she had responded to Captain Griffiths's signal to chase: for Captain Griffiths was the senior captain. The two frigates would still be heavily outgunned by a ship of the line, but there was no doubt that they could take her on: she would certainly try to keep her broadside to one of the frigates and maul her terribly, but the other could lie on her bow or her stern and rake her - a murderous fire right along the length of her decks to which she could make almost no reply. It could be done: it had been done. In '97 for example, the Indefatigable and the Amazon had destroyed a French seventy-four. But then the Indefatigable and the Amazon carried eight long guns between them, and the Droits de l'Homme had not been able to open her lower-deck ports - the sea was running to high. There was no more than a moderate swell now; and to engage the stranger the Charwell would have to cut her off from Brest and fight her for - for how long?
"Mr - Mr Howell", said the captain. "Take a glass to the masthead and see what you can make of the Dee"
The long-legged midshipman was half way to the mizentop before the captain had finished speaking, and his 'aye, aye sir' came down through the sloping rain. A black squall swept across the ship, pelting down so thick that for a while the men on the quarterdeck could scarcely see the forecastle, and the water ran spouting from the lee-scuppers. Then it was gone, and in the pale gleam of day that followed there came a hail. 'On deck, sir. She's hull-up on the leeward beam. She's fished her...'
'Report,' said the captain, in a loud, toneless voice. 'Pass the word for Mr. Barr'
The third lieutenant came hurrying aft from his station. The wind took his rain-soaked cloak as he stepped on to the quarterdeck, and he made a convulsive gesture, one hand going towards the flapping cloth and the other towards his hat.
'Take it off, sir', cried Captain Griffiths, flushing dark red. 'Take it right off your head. You know Lord St Vincent's order - you have all of you read it - you know how to salute...' He snapped his mouth shut; and after a moment he said, 'When does the tide turn?'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Barr. 'At ten minutes after eight o'clock, sir. It is almost the end of slack-water now, sir, if you please'
The captain grunted, and said, 'Mr Howell?'
'She has fished her main topmast, sir,' said the midshipman, standing bareheaded, tall above his captain. 'And has just hauled to the wind.'
The captain levelled his glass at the Dee, whose topgallant sails were not clear above the jagged edge of the sea: her top-sails too, when the swell raised both the frigates high. He wiped the streaming objective-glass, stared again, swung round to look at the Frenchman, snapped the telescope shut and gazed back at the distant frigate. He was alone there, leaning on the rail, alone there on the holy starboard side of the quarterdeck; and from time to time, when they were not looking at the Frenchman or the Dee, the officers glanced thoughtfully at his back.
The situation was still fluid; it was more of a potentiality than a situation. But any decision now would crystallize it, and the moment it began to take shape all the succeeding events would follow of themselves, moving at first with slow inevitability, and then faster and faster, never to be undone. And a decision must be made, made quickly - at the Charwell's present rate of sailing they would be within range of the two-decker in less than ten minutes. Yet there were so many factors ... the Dee was no great sailor close-hauled on a wind; and the turning tide would hold her back - it was right across her course; she might have to make another tack. In half an hour the French 36-pounders could rip the guts out of the Charwell, dismast her and carry her into Brest - the wind stood fair for Brest. Why had they seen not a single ship of the blockading squadron? They could not have been blown off, not with this wind. It was damned odd. Everything was damned odd, from this Frenchman's conduct onwards. The sound of gunfire would bring the squadron up... Delaying tactics...
The feeling of those eyes on his back filled Captain Griffiths with rage. An unusual number of eyes, for the Charwell had several officers and a couple of civilians as passengers, one set from Gibraltar and another from Port of Spain. The fire-eating General Paget was one of them, an influential man; and another was Captain Aubrey, Lucky Jack Aubrey, who had set about a Spanish 36-gun xebec-frigate not long ago with the Sophie, a 14-gun brig, and had taken her. The Cacafuego. It had been the talk of the fleet some months back; and it made the decision no less difficult.
Captain Aubrey was standing by the aftermost larboard carronade, with a completely abstracted, non-committal look upon his face. From that place, being tall, he could see the whole situation, the rapidly, smoothly changing triangle of three ships; and close beside him stood two shorter figures, the one Dr Maturin, formerly his surgeon in the Sophie, the other a man in black - black clothes, black hat and streaming black cloak - who might had had Intelligence Agent written on his narrow forehead, or just the word spy, there being so little room. They were talking in a language thought by some to be Latin. They were talking eagerly, and Jack Aubrey, intercepting a furious glance across the deck, leant down to whisper in his friend's ear, 'Stephen, will you not go below? They will be wanting you in the cockpit any moment now'
Captain Griffiths turned from the rail, and with laboured calmness he said, 'Mr Berry, make this signal. I am about to...'
At this moment the ship of the line fired a gun, followed by three blue lights that soared and burst with a ghostly effulgence in the dawn: before the last dropping trail of sparks had drifted away downwind she sent up a succession of rockets, a pale, isolated Guy Fawkes' night far out in the sea.
'What the devil can she mean by that?' thought Jack Aubrey, narrowing his eyes, and the wondering murmur along the frigate's decks echoed his amazement.
'On deck,' roared the lookout in the foretop, 'there's a cutter pulling from under her lee'
Captain Giffiths's telescope swivelled round. 'Duck up' he called, and as the clewlines plucked at the main and foresails to give him a clear view he saw the cutter, an English cutter, sway up its yard, fill, gather speed, and come racing over the grey sea, towards the frigate.
'Close the cutter,' he said. 'Mr Bowes, give her a gun'
At last, after all these hours of frozen waiting, there came the quick orders, the careful laying of the gun, the crash of the twelve-pounder, the swirl of acrid smoke eddying briefly on the wind, and the cheer of the crew as the ball skipped across the cutter's bows. An answering cheer from the cutter, a waving of hats, and the two vessels neared one another at a combined speed of fifteen miles an hour.
The cutter, fast and beautifully handled - certainly a smuggling craft - came to under the Charwell's lee, lost her way, and lay there trim as a gull, rising and falling on the swell. A row of brown, knowing faces grinned up at the frigate's guns.
'I'd press half a dozen prime seamen out of her in the next two minutes', reflected Jack, while Captain Griffiths hailed her master over the lane of sea.
'Come aboard,' said Captain Griffiths suspiciously, and after a few moments of backing and filling, of fending-off and cries of 'Handsomely now, God damn your soul' the master came up the stern ladder with a bundle under his arm. He swung easily over the taffrail, held out his hand and said, 'Wish you joy of the peace, Captain'
'Peace?' cried Captain Griffiths.
'Yes, Sir. I thought I should surprise you. They signed not three days since. There's not a foreign-going ship has heard yet. I've got the cutter filled with the newspapers, London, Paris and country towns - all the articles, gentlemen, all the latest details,' he said, looking round the quarterdeck. 'Half a crown a go'
There was no disbelieving him. The quarterdeck looked utterly blank. But the whispered word had flown along the deck from the radiant carronade-crews, and now cheering broke out on the forecastle. In spite of the captain's automatic 'Take that man's name, Mr Quarles,' it flowed back to the mainmast and spread throughout the ship, a full throated howl of joy - liberty, wives and sweethearts, safety, the delights of land.
And in any case there was little real ferocity in Captain Griffiths's voice: anyone looking into his close-set eyes would have seen ecstasy in their depths. His occupation was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke: but now no one on God's earth would ever know what signal he had been about to make, and in spite of the severe control that he imposed upon his face there was an unusual urbanity in his tone as he invited his passengers, his first lieutenant, the officer and midshipman of the watch to dine with him that afternoon.
I wish I could enjoy reading them all for the first time again! I'd actually start with Post Captain, the second book, as the first one is more dense and better appreciated when you are more familiar with O'Brian's work.
I made the mistake of starting to read these books ... by which I mean, I got completely hooked. I enjoy how details are revealed via various, non-linear means -- by later narration in letters, or via stories told between characters upon being reunited, etc. There are nuances that are easy to miss. It is hard to comprehend how people of the time managed to do so much. I particularly enjoyed Maturin's hike thru the Andes in "The Wine Dark Sea."
I am amazed at how, overall in the series, ships and characters somehow manage to meet up time and time again with no real way of communicating over time and distance. The systems they had in place somehow worked without GPS and mobile phones.
Cities in Flight by James Blish was a book given to me by my father when I was teen, because he loved it when he was. Going for three generations in a year or two.
I really liked James Clavell's Asian Saga, but Shogun is the best of the group. Most everything I read (so far as novels go) is of the low-brow potboiler variety, so I read a bunch of Crichton (Jurassic Park, Timeline, Sphere, State of Fear) when I was younger, and Jeffrey Deaver. I remember a lot of Crichton's books, but not so much of Deaver's.
I love reading Hemingway. Having failed to finish A Farewell to Arms in high school it's one of my favorites now.
I read Mishima Yukio's Sea of Fertility tetralogy, and it must have been pretty good since I still remember it. I tried reading Murakami Haruki's 1Q84 in English but I hated the translation so much I quit. The Japanese original is better but much more of a slog since it's slightly above my level, to be honest. I should go back to it and finish it while I'm giving plasma. Last time I read that version there it caught the attention of the curious female techs working there...
It was tough to get into some of the other novels. I don't think I've read King Rat, and Gaijin and Nobel House started really slowly for me. Whirlwind was interesting, except for the Canadian pilot and his Iranian wide, I hated them, they were too whiny. I like Taipan nearly as much as I liked Shogun.
I don't know if the reading list is open to non-fiction, but I'd like to suggest "The Accidental Superpower" by Peter Zeihan. Was a real eye-opener.
The central premise is that the USA is an exceptional nation, not merely because it was founded upon the ideas of the 18th century enlightenment thinkers, but also the blessings of geography and demographics.
Notable takeaways: we have the largest system of navigable waterways in the world, largest contiguous piece of arable land in the world, oceans to east and west to serve either as trade routes or as buffers from invasion, the only developed nation that _doesn't_ have an inverted population pyramid, and if we choose, energy self sufficiency from shale oil. No other nation is as blessed as we are.
The book, published in 2014, eerily predicted that Russia *had to* invade Ukraine between 2020-25 or its declining population would lose the ability to ever do so. We're now seeing Russia fading from history right before our eyes.
Currently I'm reading his latest book "The End of the World is Just the Beginning". It posits that most of the rest of the world's prosperity is due to the good graces of the USA (and its Navy) enforcing maritime tranquility. As the USA increases its isolationist stance, and other nations must fend for themselves, most nations may fail. (Surprisingly picking USA, Japan, France, Turkey and Argentina as the winners.) We'll be sitting pretty as the last remaining superpower with our food security, energy security, geographic barriers, and stable demographics. Sobering read. But on the plus side, "Made in USA" is going to become much more important over the next decade.
Is today's Navy, which has trouble with, ahem, avoidable contact with commercial vessels and couldn't put a ship's fire out (a basic need for navies going back centuries) when it was moored at dock, really up to the task of defending maritime tranquility? Today's American military seems more interested in rainbow flags, being woke, and rooting out "extremists" (aka conservatives) in the ranks than in killing our enemies and breaking their stuff. No wonder they can't meet recruiting goals.
Excellent points Ronnie. I think the problem with both, collisions and fires has more to do with the inability to meet the recruiting quotas in the first place, making the recruiters (and the Navy) accept people they wouldn't have in the past. That's assuming they can get enough interest to begin with.
This leads to inadequately manned ships (collision), and/or to fire sabotage possibly because of the less-than-acceptable personnel.
Many of the kids ('cause I'm almost twice their age) I've talked to, who are currently in the service are primarily interested in getting "free" training that will help them "make coin" when they get out. Problem is, not everyone in the service can get that type of training. Perhaps their expectations when entering service were ... misaligned. Yes, yes, I am aware that recruiters can over-butter on promises, as well.
Finally, I think that China has been doing a fine job, by itself, or through its proxies, in forcing our Pacific fleet op tempo up to the point where it's difficult to maintain operational readiness, especially with insufficient personnel to man the ships.
The Navy's current troubles pale in comparison to the matchless blue ocean power it is capable of projecting anywhere, anytime, and in any condition. The skill and technical prowess to operate a single supercarrier, let alone a fleet, along with SSNs and SSBNs cannot be replicated.
I hope you're right, but I can't see much ahead for America but civil war and blood in the streets. Half of the country is unwilling to let the other half live. Everybody knows this; they just can't agree on which half is the aggressor.
Just finished Zeihan's "The End of the World is Just the Beginning" and "Disunited Nations." Both great reads. Glad I live in the Midwest, where it rains, the seasons change, and food grows.
"Published in 1952, Invisible Man was perhaps the first novel by a Black man to present his people as intellectually powerful, ambitious, and (most critically) subject to all the usual human failings."
Mathematician and culture warrior James Lindsay points out that in the 1950s and 1960s, before identity politics took over the civil rights movement, black protesters carried signs that read "I Am A Man", emphasizing their basic humanity.
I'm not sure that Ellison could be published today. Acknowledge that black people can do bad stuff? Heaven forfend.
Schizophrenic Duke philosophy PhD and UCLA professor Matthew Harris would more likely get published. You can read his manifesto, Death Sentences, here:
This article discusses how Cornell, Duke, and UCLA passed Harris along due to black privilege despite the fact that the guy is certifiably nuts. Interestingly it frames the story as him being a threat to women when in fact he's essentially a racist who pretty much wants genocide against everyone who isn't black.
As you have mentioned before, just about anything by Neal Stephenson (although the later Baroque Cycle novels got a little long toward the end, and the most recent one about anthropomorphic climate change was a little preachy, albeit with great dialogue and characters); I repeatedly return to Cryptonomicon--so many clever passages, and his characters are so full of actual character. Also, The Generals, by Thomas Ricks. After retiring from 23 years of service, I started following another authors reading list based on his time as a naval officer (Jack Carr--early reading list on his blog is exceptional, tremendous resource of both history and fiction), and, while it's tremendously disheartening to see yourself as a tool of the lizard people ("Mongo just pawn in game of life"), it's eye opening to finally understand just how badly things are going for the US military, and The Generals helps explain many significant whys for this.
Anton Myrer's Once an Eagle is also a magnificent tome, and, although fiction, is driven by the very real concept of how a leader should be (unfortunately, we are beset on all sides by the Massengales of the world).
Finally, not much of a read but as an old school coffee table book with mind-blowing photos and really cool details in a few descriptive paragraphs, I highly recommend any of the Vickers guides, although I'm partial to Kalashnikov vols I and II. Well worth the cost--massive format, OG bindings, and thick, glossy stock with tremendous photos. Plus, big-ass book about guns--you are either going to love it or hate it.
Cryptonomicon was such an important book to those of use who were doing Linux at the turn of the century. My business partner and used to get in tremendous arguments about "Van Eck phreaking", or something like that.
Cryptonomicon remains Stephenson's best work. He has in the year's since suffered from poor editing IMHO and grown ever more long-winded. Fall: Or Dodge In Hell was a hot mess, and do not get me started on the ending to Seveneves (the Diggers and Pingers? Let's just give them a couple of pages...).
Oh, one more--Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West, Cormac McCarthy. Spare prose somehow leads to some of the most terrifying descriptions of mindless violence, man's inhumanity to man, etc. Most of his books follow some sort of theme that seems to lead to resolution / redemption, then everyone dies. This one is no different, and probably not for the sensitive.
It's one of his oddest books, characters, and endings (so far). I recently wrapped up his Border Trilogy and it's much more conventional.
He wrote the screenplay for 'The Counselor' and I highly recommend it. Like Woody Allen and the Coens, his stories attract quality actors.
I was on a Michel Houellebecq kick for a while, 'Platform' most recently. His characters are generally pitiful degenerates, but he's pretty good for a laugh.
'Camp of the Saints' is a must in the setting of the recent border caravans.
Churchill's Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare by Giles Milton was a quick and fun read, if you're into WWII history. I totally should have been a dashing, impeccably-dressed saboteur instead of an engineer.
I enjoy books on how people survived during WWII. One of the best is “Underground in Berlin: A Young Woman’s Extraordinary Tale of Survival in the Heart of Nazi Germany” by Marie Jalowicz Simon. She was a 20 year old Jewish woman who, incredibly, never left Berlin! Her resourcefulness and survival instincts were amazing. She was always looking for her next spot to hideaway, and when she sensed that her present situation was getting too uncomfortable, she would disappear and move on. She did this for 3 years.
The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
I'm saving this list to my books folder .
I read a lot and faster than most so I'm always on the hunt, my geezer budget means I mostly troll the "Little Free Libraries" all over So. Cal. .
-Nate
My War by Hiroo Onoda - Japanese spy guerrilla fighter who continued to fight the war for thirty years after the Japanese surrender. Puts us briefly in the head of a person that doesn’t really exist much anymore. I couldn’t have held out for three months.
The Underground Man by Fyodor Dostoevsky - maybe could be re-titled ‘thoughts from mom’s basement’. The musings of a worn-out curmudgeon with no social skills or real meaning in his life. This was hard to read. Reminded me of some (of my) teenage behaviours that are (hopefully) behind me.
Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons - sci fi series about the rise and downfall of a materialistic society of the future. Unputdownable (IMHO) page turner that gets a few books in before it really hits you with some philosophy.
Just bought Hyperion and will read through them. Thank you!
Just bought "My War," thank you for the recommendation it seems right up my alley.
Ron Rash does great stuff. My favorite so far has been a colleciton of his short stories called "Burning Bright" https://b-ok.cc/book/4725249/eaf745
They're all loosely centered around Appalachia, in kinda the same way that Mr. Baruth's short stories are kinda about cars if you don't pay attention. I especially enjoyed "Dead Confederates", "Waiting for the End of the World" and "Falling Star". If you liked some of Mr. Baruth's darker fiction you may want to start with "Falling Star"
Hunter Thompson’s Great White Shark Hunt. Although Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is considered the classic (no thanks to Johnny Depp), Thompson was a masterful straight journalist before he slipped into [what I consider to be] solipsistic self-indulgence. GWSH is a collection of his “true” journalism that never fails to educate and amuse. A master before he invented Gonzo Journalism as a way to write fiction.
Agreed. The Great Shark Hunt is my favorite of HST's.... as you may be able to tell.
I've long thought that Hell's Angels was his best work, though I have to admit a fondness for F&L.
""We'll see," I said, moving around to the rear with the air- hose. In truth, I was nervous. The two
front ones were tighter than snare drums; they felt like teak wood when I tapped on them with the rod. But what the hell? I thought. If they explode, so what? It's not often that a man gets a chance to run terminal experiments on a virgin Cadillac and four brand- new $80 tires. For all I knew, the thing might start cornering like a Lotus Elan."
He was an even better sports writer when he wasn't fucked up. ESPN Page 2 stuff was great. I bet people didn't realize he wrote for ESPN in the early aughts
Stoner by John Williams. Perhaps not the greatest novel, but as a guide to biographical fiction and straightforward but poignant prose it is very good. Williams writes well and creatively, sounding erudite but not Melvillian without going full Hemingway.
Overall, favorite authors are Dickens and Camus, with a special place for (in American lit) Thoreau, Hawthorne, Vonnegut, and Pirsig.
Hit the classics. These are the novels describing the world our country and civilization were built on.
Start with the Iliad and the Odyssey, and then the Aeneid for the Trojan / Roman side of things. These three epics form the underpinnings of much of the canon of Western lit. The Fagles translations are great. The Odyssey and Aeneid are essentially the roughest road trips of all time.
Next, at least read Dante’s Inferno. It will prompt you to think on the nature of sin and your own life. Probably even if you don’t believe in God, since most people at least understand that bad behavior is destructive to self and society. I like the Durling - Martinez translation, which has great endnotes at each chapter. Pair this with Paradise Lost, and you’ll never think of Adam and Eve as rubes again. I’ve read the version edited by Kastan.
Finally, consider supplementing these suggestions with classics oriented podcasts. Young Heretics and The New Thinkery are my two favorites.
I have to think that most of my readers have gone through all of that, but who knows? For readers under 40 I bet the canon was completely different.
We definitely didn't read many of the classics, and I missed parts of the ones I didn't find interesting when I was 16 and an idiot. I'm currently working on reading the Odyssey because it seems like I shouldn't be able to call yourself a college educated grown up till I read and understand it.
Your hunch is correct. In high school we read Shakespeare, “classical” American lit, and even the best dystopian novels (1984 and Brave New World). I can’t remember any exposure to Greek or Roman lit. This was at a highly ranked high school and was good enough to get me into a top college.
If you want some “off beat” classics, try the Aaron Poochigan translation of Aristophanes’ four comedic plays - The Clouds, The Birds, Lysistrata, and the Women of the Assembly. He wrote essentially the Greek equivalent of late 2000s AD raunchy comedies.
As for classics, my favorite is The Sea Wolf. I've read it a bunch of times, and depending on my mood, I'll identify with a different character. Sometimes even Maude, the "helpless" damsel.
The Aubrey Maturin novels by Patrick O'Brian. "Desolation Island" (1978) is my personal favorite. Sounds like a boys own adventure doesn't it. It isn't. These books are simply in a class of their own in my opinion.
I try to run through these once about every 10 years. Just started on Fortune of War. The Truelove and the Mauritius Command were my favorite the last time through, Post Captain, and it's depiction of English domestic life really spoke to me in my old age this time.
I run through them about once a year to every 18 months. I keep finding new nuances and details in them every time I read them.
O'Brian was a truly gifted author.
I also indulge in these every ten years, but via the audiobooks. I particularly like the Simon Vance narration, as well as the Richard Brown, but opinions vary. I agree with starting with Post Captain and fitting Master and Commander in somewhere in the middle.
My favorites are HMS Surprise and The Surgeon's Mate. I refuse to read/listen to "21" since O'Brian did not get to finish it.
I can't imagine listening to 21, simply because it unfinished barely edited. I think you might enjoy it for what it is. It isn't like they brought in Kevin Anderson to finish it. It is a few unedited chapters that trails odd into handwritten notes. It almost feels like private reading , or at least I feel very aware that the author was a very private man and as someone who loves the work you are being let in. I don't think it will take away anything from what came before.
Thanks! Appreciate the advice, and enjoyed the K.A. comment!
That's the Master and Commander fellow, right?
That's the fellow, Jack!
Allow me to post the opening paragraphs of 'Post Captain' (1972). How much O'Brian packs into this still amazes me 20 years after I first read it.
''Post Captain' (1972). Patrick O'Brian. Chapter 1"
At first dawn the swathes of rain drifting eastwards across the Channel parted long enough to show that the chase had altered course. The Charwell had been in her wake most of the night, running seven knots in spite of her foul bottom, and now they were not much above a mile and a half apart. The ship ahead was turning, turning, coming up into the wind; and the silence along the frigate's decks took on a new quality as every man aboard saw her two rows of gun-ports come into view. This was the first clear sight they had had of her since the look-out hailed the deck in the growing darkness to report a ship hull-down on the horizon, one point on the larboard bow. She was then steering north-north-east, and it was the general opinion aboard the Charwell that she was either one of a scattered French convoy or an American blockade-runner hoping to reach Brest under cover of the moonless night.
Two minutes after that first hail the Charwell set her for and main topgallants - no great spread of canvas, but then the frigate had had a long, wearing voyage from the West Indies: nine weeks out of sight of land, the equinoctial gales to strain her tired rigging to the breaking-point, three days of lying-to in the Bay of Biscay at its worst, and it was understandable that Captain Griffiths should wish to husband her a little. No cloud of sail, but even so she fetched the stranger's wake within a couple of hours, and at four bells in the morning watch the Charwell cleared for action. The drum beat to quarters, the hammocks came racing up, piling into the nettings to form bulwarks, the guns were run out; and the warm, pink, sleepy watch below had been standing to them in the cold rain ever since - an hour and more to chill them to the bone.
Now in the silence of this discovery one of the crew of a gun in the waist could be heard explaining to a weak-eyed staring little man beside him, "She's a French two-decker, mate. A seventy-four or an eighty: we've caught a tartar, mate."
"Silence there, God damn you", cried Captain Griffiths. "Mr. Quarles, take that man's name"
Then the grey rain closed in. But at present everyone on the crowded quarterdeck knew what lay behind that drifting, formless veil: a French ship of the line, with both her rows of gun-ports open. And there was not one who had missed the slight movement of the yard that meant she was about to lay her foresail to the mast, heave to and wait for them.
The Charwell was a 32 gun 12 pounder frigate, and if she got close enough to use the squat carronades on her quarterdeck and forecastle as well as her long guns she could throw a broadside weight of metal of 238 pounds. A French line-of-battle ship could not throw less than 960. No question of a match, therefore, and no discredit in bearing up and running for it, but for the fact that somewhere in the dim sea behind them there was their consort, the powerful 38 gun, 18 pounder Dee. She had lost a topmast in the last blow, which slowed her down, but she had been well in sight at nightfall, and she had responded to Captain Griffiths's signal to chase: for Captain Griffiths was the senior captain. The two frigates would still be heavily outgunned by a ship of the line, but there was no doubt that they could take her on: she would certainly try to keep her broadside to one of the frigates and maul her terribly, but the other could lie on her bow or her stern and rake her - a murderous fire right along the length of her decks to which she could make almost no reply. It could be done: it had been done. In '97 for example, the Indefatigable and the Amazon had destroyed a French seventy-four. But then the Indefatigable and the Amazon carried eight long guns between them, and the Droits de l'Homme had not been able to open her lower-deck ports - the sea was running to high. There was no more than a moderate swell now; and to engage the stranger the Charwell would have to cut her off from Brest and fight her for - for how long?
(cont....)
"Mr - Mr Howell", said the captain. "Take a glass to the masthead and see what you can make of the Dee"
The long-legged midshipman was half way to the mizentop before the captain had finished speaking, and his 'aye, aye sir' came down through the sloping rain. A black squall swept across the ship, pelting down so thick that for a while the men on the quarterdeck could scarcely see the forecastle, and the water ran spouting from the lee-scuppers. Then it was gone, and in the pale gleam of day that followed there came a hail. 'On deck, sir. She's hull-up on the leeward beam. She's fished her...'
'Report,' said the captain, in a loud, toneless voice. 'Pass the word for Mr. Barr'
The third lieutenant came hurrying aft from his station. The wind took his rain-soaked cloak as he stepped on to the quarterdeck, and he made a convulsive gesture, one hand going towards the flapping cloth and the other towards his hat.
'Take it off, sir', cried Captain Griffiths, flushing dark red. 'Take it right off your head. You know Lord St Vincent's order - you have all of you read it - you know how to salute...' He snapped his mouth shut; and after a moment he said, 'When does the tide turn?'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Barr. 'At ten minutes after eight o'clock, sir. It is almost the end of slack-water now, sir, if you please'
The captain grunted, and said, 'Mr Howell?'
'She has fished her main topmast, sir,' said the midshipman, standing bareheaded, tall above his captain. 'And has just hauled to the wind.'
The captain levelled his glass at the Dee, whose topgallant sails were not clear above the jagged edge of the sea: her top-sails too, when the swell raised both the frigates high. He wiped the streaming objective-glass, stared again, swung round to look at the Frenchman, snapped the telescope shut and gazed back at the distant frigate. He was alone there, leaning on the rail, alone there on the holy starboard side of the quarterdeck; and from time to time, when they were not looking at the Frenchman or the Dee, the officers glanced thoughtfully at his back.
The situation was still fluid; it was more of a potentiality than a situation. But any decision now would crystallize it, and the moment it began to take shape all the succeeding events would follow of themselves, moving at first with slow inevitability, and then faster and faster, never to be undone. And a decision must be made, made quickly - at the Charwell's present rate of sailing they would be within range of the two-decker in less than ten minutes. Yet there were so many factors ... the Dee was no great sailor close-hauled on a wind; and the turning tide would hold her back - it was right across her course; she might have to make another tack. In half an hour the French 36-pounders could rip the guts out of the Charwell, dismast her and carry her into Brest - the wind stood fair for Brest. Why had they seen not a single ship of the blockading squadron? They could not have been blown off, not with this wind. It was damned odd. Everything was damned odd, from this Frenchman's conduct onwards. The sound of gunfire would bring the squadron up... Delaying tactics...
The feeling of those eyes on his back filled Captain Griffiths with rage. An unusual number of eyes, for the Charwell had several officers and a couple of civilians as passengers, one set from Gibraltar and another from Port of Spain. The fire-eating General Paget was one of them, an influential man; and another was Captain Aubrey, Lucky Jack Aubrey, who had set about a Spanish 36-gun xebec-frigate not long ago with the Sophie, a 14-gun brig, and had taken her. The Cacafuego. It had been the talk of the fleet some months back; and it made the decision no less difficult.
Captain Aubrey was standing by the aftermost larboard carronade, with a completely abstracted, non-committal look upon his face. From that place, being tall, he could see the whole situation, the rapidly, smoothly changing triangle of three ships; and close beside him stood two shorter figures, the one Dr Maturin, formerly his surgeon in the Sophie, the other a man in black - black clothes, black hat and streaming black cloak - who might had had Intelligence Agent written on his narrow forehead, or just the word spy, there being so little room. They were talking in a language thought by some to be Latin. They were talking eagerly, and Jack Aubrey, intercepting a furious glance across the deck, leant down to whisper in his friend's ear, 'Stephen, will you not go below? They will be wanting you in the cockpit any moment now'
Captain Griffiths turned from the rail, and with laboured calmness he said, 'Mr Berry, make this signal. I am about to...'
At this moment the ship of the line fired a gun, followed by three blue lights that soared and burst with a ghostly effulgence in the dawn: before the last dropping trail of sparks had drifted away downwind she sent up a succession of rockets, a pale, isolated Guy Fawkes' night far out in the sea.
'What the devil can she mean by that?' thought Jack Aubrey, narrowing his eyes, and the wondering murmur along the frigate's decks echoed his amazement.
'On deck,' roared the lookout in the foretop, 'there's a cutter pulling from under her lee'
Captain Giffiths's telescope swivelled round. 'Duck up' he called, and as the clewlines plucked at the main and foresails to give him a clear view he saw the cutter, an English cutter, sway up its yard, fill, gather speed, and come racing over the grey sea, towards the frigate.
'Close the cutter,' he said. 'Mr Bowes, give her a gun'
At last, after all these hours of frozen waiting, there came the quick orders, the careful laying of the gun, the crash of the twelve-pounder, the swirl of acrid smoke eddying briefly on the wind, and the cheer of the crew as the ball skipped across the cutter's bows. An answering cheer from the cutter, a waving of hats, and the two vessels neared one another at a combined speed of fifteen miles an hour.
The cutter, fast and beautifully handled - certainly a smuggling craft - came to under the Charwell's lee, lost her way, and lay there trim as a gull, rising and falling on the swell. A row of brown, knowing faces grinned up at the frigate's guns.
'I'd press half a dozen prime seamen out of her in the next two minutes', reflected Jack, while Captain Griffiths hailed her master over the lane of sea.
'Come aboard,' said Captain Griffiths suspiciously, and after a few moments of backing and filling, of fending-off and cries of 'Handsomely now, God damn your soul' the master came up the stern ladder with a bundle under his arm. He swung easily over the taffrail, held out his hand and said, 'Wish you joy of the peace, Captain'
'Peace?' cried Captain Griffiths.
'Yes, Sir. I thought I should surprise you. They signed not three days since. There's not a foreign-going ship has heard yet. I've got the cutter filled with the newspapers, London, Paris and country towns - all the articles, gentlemen, all the latest details,' he said, looking round the quarterdeck. 'Half a crown a go'
There was no disbelieving him. The quarterdeck looked utterly blank. But the whispered word had flown along the deck from the radiant carronade-crews, and now cheering broke out on the forecastle. In spite of the captain's automatic 'Take that man's name, Mr Quarles,' it flowed back to the mainmast and spread throughout the ship, a full throated howl of joy - liberty, wives and sweethearts, safety, the delights of land.
And in any case there was little real ferocity in Captain Griffiths's voice: anyone looking into his close-set eyes would have seen ecstasy in their depths. His occupation was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke: but now no one on God's earth would ever know what signal he had been about to make, and in spite of the severe control that he imposed upon his face there was an unusual urbanity in his tone as he invited his passengers, his first lieutenant, the officer and midshipman of the watch to dine with him that afternoon.
Have long seen these and need to read this. Thank you.
I wish I could enjoy reading them all for the first time again! I'd actually start with Post Captain, the second book, as the first one is more dense and better appreciated when you are more familiar with O'Brian's work.
Will start with Post Captain.
The first reading of a good book is amazing, but what you learn from re reading is also special
To paraphrase Blaine and Antoine from "In Living Color", he writes like Jane Austen... from a male point of view.
I made the mistake of starting to read these books ... by which I mean, I got completely hooked. I enjoy how details are revealed via various, non-linear means -- by later narration in letters, or via stories told between characters upon being reunited, etc. There are nuances that are easy to miss. It is hard to comprehend how people of the time managed to do so much. I particularly enjoyed Maturin's hike thru the Andes in "The Wine Dark Sea."
I am amazed at how, overall in the series, ships and characters somehow manage to meet up time and time again with no real way of communicating over time and distance. The systems they had in place somehow worked without GPS and mobile phones.
Cities in Flight by James Blish was a book given to me by my father when I was teen, because he loved it when he was. Going for three generations in a year or two.
I really liked James Clavell's Asian Saga, but Shogun is the best of the group. Most everything I read (so far as novels go) is of the low-brow potboiler variety, so I read a bunch of Crichton (Jurassic Park, Timeline, Sphere, State of Fear) when I was younger, and Jeffrey Deaver. I remember a lot of Crichton's books, but not so much of Deaver's.
I love reading Hemingway. Having failed to finish A Farewell to Arms in high school it's one of my favorites now.
I read Mishima Yukio's Sea of Fertility tetralogy, and it must have been pretty good since I still remember it. I tried reading Murakami Haruki's 1Q84 in English but I hated the translation so much I quit. The Japanese original is better but much more of a slog since it's slightly above my level, to be honest. I should go back to it and finish it while I'm giving plasma. Last time I read that version there it caught the attention of the curious female techs working there...
I read Shogun but didn't go any further... I took Japanese in school but never became any kind of reader, sadly.
It helped I lived there for so long. Without that experience I'd never have the ambition or the time to get any kind of proficiency in it.
His novella King Rat was a terrifying author allegory. It is terrifying. It is as far from his screenplay for The Great Escape as I can imagine.
It was tough to get into some of the other novels. I don't think I've read King Rat, and Gaijin and Nobel House started really slowly for me. Whirlwind was interesting, except for the Canadian pilot and his Iranian wide, I hated them, they were too whiny. I like Taipan nearly as much as I liked Shogun.
I don't know if the reading list is open to non-fiction, but I'd like to suggest "The Accidental Superpower" by Peter Zeihan. Was a real eye-opener.
The central premise is that the USA is an exceptional nation, not merely because it was founded upon the ideas of the 18th century enlightenment thinkers, but also the blessings of geography and demographics.
Notable takeaways: we have the largest system of navigable waterways in the world, largest contiguous piece of arable land in the world, oceans to east and west to serve either as trade routes or as buffers from invasion, the only developed nation that _doesn't_ have an inverted population pyramid, and if we choose, energy self sufficiency from shale oil. No other nation is as blessed as we are.
The book, published in 2014, eerily predicted that Russia *had to* invade Ukraine between 2020-25 or its declining population would lose the ability to ever do so. We're now seeing Russia fading from history right before our eyes.
Currently I'm reading his latest book "The End of the World is Just the Beginning". It posits that most of the rest of the world's prosperity is due to the good graces of the USA (and its Navy) enforcing maritime tranquility. As the USA increases its isolationist stance, and other nations must fend for themselves, most nations may fail. (Surprisingly picking USA, Japan, France, Turkey and Argentina as the winners.) We'll be sitting pretty as the last remaining superpower with our food security, energy security, geographic barriers, and stable demographics. Sobering read. But on the plus side, "Made in USA" is going to become much more important over the next decade.
Is today's Navy, which has trouble with, ahem, avoidable contact with commercial vessels and couldn't put a ship's fire out (a basic need for navies going back centuries) when it was moored at dock, really up to the task of defending maritime tranquility? Today's American military seems more interested in rainbow flags, being woke, and rooting out "extremists" (aka conservatives) in the ranks than in killing our enemies and breaking their stuff. No wonder they can't meet recruiting goals.
https://townhall.com/columnists/kurtschlichter/2022/07/21/the-next-republican-president-must-fix-the-military-first-n2610493
Excellent points Ronnie. I think the problem with both, collisions and fires has more to do with the inability to meet the recruiting quotas in the first place, making the recruiters (and the Navy) accept people they wouldn't have in the past. That's assuming they can get enough interest to begin with.
This leads to inadequately manned ships (collision), and/or to fire sabotage possibly because of the less-than-acceptable personnel.
Many of the kids ('cause I'm almost twice their age) I've talked to, who are currently in the service are primarily interested in getting "free" training that will help them "make coin" when they get out. Problem is, not everyone in the service can get that type of training. Perhaps their expectations when entering service were ... misaligned. Yes, yes, I am aware that recruiters can over-butter on promises, as well.
Finally, I think that China has been doing a fine job, by itself, or through its proxies, in forcing our Pacific fleet op tempo up to the point where it's difficult to maintain operational readiness, especially with insufficient personnel to man the ships.
The Navy's current troubles pale in comparison to the matchless blue ocean power it is capable of projecting anywhere, anytime, and in any condition. The skill and technical prowess to operate a single supercarrier, let alone a fleet, along with SSNs and SSBNs cannot be replicated.
Cf. Germany https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/german-army-chief-fed-up-with-neglect-countrys-military-2022-02-24/
I hope you're right, but I can't see much ahead for America but civil war and blood in the streets. Half of the country is unwilling to let the other half live. Everybody knows this; they just can't agree on which half is the aggressor.
Just finished Zeihan's "The End of the World is Just the Beginning" and "Disunited Nations." Both great reads. Glad I live in the Midwest, where it rains, the seasons change, and food grows.
"Published in 1952, Invisible Man was perhaps the first novel by a Black man to present his people as intellectually powerful, ambitious, and (most critically) subject to all the usual human failings."
Mathematician and culture warrior James Lindsay points out that in the 1950s and 1960s, before identity politics took over the civil rights movement, black protesters carried signs that read "I Am A Man", emphasizing their basic humanity.
I'm not sure that Ellison could be published today. Acknowledge that black people can do bad stuff? Heaven forfend.
Schizophrenic Duke philosophy PhD and UCLA professor Matthew Harris would more likely get published. You can read his manifesto, Death Sentences, here:
https://files.catbox.moe/cd0tsi.pdf
His PhD theis says pretty much the same thing, only with fewer N words and more academic language:
https://dukespace.lib.duke.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/10161/19820/Harris_duke_0066D_15289.pdf
This article discusses how Cornell, Duke, and UCLA passed Harris along due to black privilege despite the fact that the guy is certifiably nuts. Interestingly it frames the story as him being a threat to women when in fact he's essentially a racist who pretty much wants genocide against everyone who isn't black.
https://apnews.com/article/ucla-threats-matthew-harris-ab139c76790058ccb3bba0cb7b5feda8
As you have mentioned before, just about anything by Neal Stephenson (although the later Baroque Cycle novels got a little long toward the end, and the most recent one about anthropomorphic climate change was a little preachy, albeit with great dialogue and characters); I repeatedly return to Cryptonomicon--so many clever passages, and his characters are so full of actual character. Also, The Generals, by Thomas Ricks. After retiring from 23 years of service, I started following another authors reading list based on his time as a naval officer (Jack Carr--early reading list on his blog is exceptional, tremendous resource of both history and fiction), and, while it's tremendously disheartening to see yourself as a tool of the lizard people ("Mongo just pawn in game of life"), it's eye opening to finally understand just how badly things are going for the US military, and The Generals helps explain many significant whys for this.
Anton Myrer's Once an Eagle is also a magnificent tome, and, although fiction, is driven by the very real concept of how a leader should be (unfortunately, we are beset on all sides by the Massengales of the world).
Finally, not much of a read but as an old school coffee table book with mind-blowing photos and really cool details in a few descriptive paragraphs, I highly recommend any of the Vickers guides, although I'm partial to Kalashnikov vols I and II. Well worth the cost--massive format, OG bindings, and thick, glossy stock with tremendous photos. Plus, big-ass book about guns--you are either going to love it or hate it.
Cryptonomicon was such an important book to those of use who were doing Linux at the turn of the century. My business partner and used to get in tremendous arguments about "Van Eck phreaking", or something like that.
Yeah, if only that were the worst thing we had to worry about anymore with regard to our privacy (Isn't that right, Alexa?).
Cryptonomicon remains Stephenson's best work. He has in the year's since suffered from poor editing IMHO and grown ever more long-winded. Fall: Or Dodge In Hell was a hot mess, and do not get me started on the ending to Seveneves (the Diggers and Pingers? Let's just give them a couple of pages...).
Exactly right!
Oh, one more--Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West, Cormac McCarthy. Spare prose somehow leads to some of the most terrifying descriptions of mindless violence, man's inhumanity to man, etc. Most of his books follow some sort of theme that seems to lead to resolution / redemption, then everyone dies. This one is no different, and probably not for the sensitive.
Is that the one with the Judge? Where they are making gunpowder on the hill? That was terrifying.
Indeed, waiting for the urine to dry as the Comanches approached.
It's one of his oddest books, characters, and endings (so far). I recently wrapped up his Border Trilogy and it's much more conventional.
He wrote the screenplay for 'The Counselor' and I highly recommend it. Like Woody Allen and the Coens, his stories attract quality actors.
I was on a Michel Houellebecq kick for a while, 'Platform' most recently. His characters are generally pitiful degenerates, but he's pretty good for a laugh.
'Camp of the Saints' is a must in the setting of the recent border caravans.
I will check out his stuff. Bonus, I'm going to do my best to use 'pitiful degenerates' in a sentence at work this week.
+1 for Blood Meridian... fantastic book but not for the faint of heart.
Churchill's Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare by Giles Milton was a quick and fun read, if you're into WWII history. I totally should have been a dashing, impeccably-dressed saboteur instead of an engineer.
Just for the outfits, really, and a trusty Applegate-Fairbairn by your side!
I work with a former SEAL who once described, in detail, what he could do and how quickly he could do it with one of those. Yeesh.
The knife, I mean.