wahistorian's Reviews (506)

An exciting adventure tale, made even better by Sancton’s attention to detail and his desire to bring the sensory experiences alive for the reader. No fewer than 10 crew members chronicled the earliest expedition to Antarctica, so the author had plenty of primary sources to work with. He does a heroic job of recreating the claustrophobia and despair as the sun sets and the ‘Belgica’ and its crew are trapped in pack ice for the Antarctic winter. But most interesting are the moments of resiliency and determination, as Roald Amundsen and especially Dr. Frederick Cook grapple with insanity among the crew, scurvy, boredom, bad food, rats, and the overwhelming desire to *do* something to help themselves. The extent of the crew’s scientific contributions isn’t really obvious until the postscript, but otherwise this is a detailed and well-written narrative of a compelling quest.

Continuing on with my post-Soviet Russia reading, Krastev’s ‘The Light That Failed’ is one of the most insightful books I’ve read yet. When the USSR failed and broke apart, numerous western observers predicted “the end of history,” in which liberal democracy unequivocally took over as the best model of governance. Krastev examines Eastern European countries’ disillusionment with imitating western democracies, with the emphasis on imitation and the many reasons that pretending to adopt Western values was unsuccessful. This book explores demographic change and its connections to the rise of racism and xenophobia, populism and authoritarianism, in short the general parlous state of the world. His chapter on Donald Trump’s presidency is possibly the best analysis I’ve ever read on that clusterfuck, and still somehow he manages to end on a positive note. Writing about what he calls “the end of the Age of Imitation,” he believes “what it signifies, rather, is the return not to a global confrontation between two missionary nations, one liberal and the other communist, but to a pluralistic and competitive world, where no centers of military and economic power will strive to spread their own system of values across the globe” (204-205). This might be the best we can hope for.

This is a beautifully written story of two generations of family members in post-Communist Hungary, both struggling to reconcile their differences in worldview. The book opens with the death of Iza’s father Vince, leaving Iza with the problem-to-be-solved of what to do with mother. Iza, a well-respected rheumatologist who left her country cottage long ago for big city Budapest, is convinced she knows what’s best for “the old woman” and sweeps her off to her city flat, leaving her dog and most of her possessions behind. As the story unspools, Szabo approaches Iza and her mother from every angle, as seen by neighbors, Iza’s ex-husband Antal, and her boyfriend Domokos. What emerges is a cold, difficult professional woman who has forgotten the human touch in her quest to make change, improve life, and preserve her quality of life. The characters are so subtly drawn that the book is like a master class in telling a story sensitively from multiple viewpoints. A hidden gem.

My first James M. Cain, although of course I have seen the movie ‘Double Indemnity’ multiple times. This book was unputdownable, not least because it is quite different than the film: the characters are all there, but their relationships and motivations are different. One thing that hasn’t changed is that insurance agent Walter Huff and murderous wife Phyllis Nirdlinger are like two scorpions in a bottle from the first time they met. Cain packs a lot of information in 115 pages, with a complex story told in tight, simple language. I’ll definitely read more Cain.

A series of “sources”—novelistic sections, folk songs, first-person accounts, newspaper accounts—recreate the lives of the people of Ukraine as they resist Russian oppression and terror, centered on the Maidan protests of 2014. Vividly depicts what the Ukrainians have been through since WWII—Russian occupation, forced labor and unjust imprisonment, Victor Yanukovich, the Orange Revolution, Chernobyl, the Maidan massacre, the sexual exploitation of women—but also the resilience and determination of those who have resisted and continue to do so. What happens to a people who live under corrupt governments unconcerned with human rights or dignity? They find ways to love and live and create dignity for themselves. They deserve our help *and* we need to be vigilant against our own would-be dictators.

Rachel Waring, an unmarried woman of a certain age (some might call her a spinster), is ecstatic when her Aunt Alicia’s bequest of a house enables her to leave her London flat to settle in Bristol. She quits her job and leaves behind her long-term flatmate Sylvia for what she imagines will now be complete liberation from her disappointing childhood, her dull position, and Sylvia’s endless complaining and smoking. Rachel imagines a life of unbridled passion and kindness and creativity, while acknowledging that she may not have what it takes to sustain such a life: the wit, the courage, the self-awareness. She really tried to make the life she wants, but somehow, unmoored from responsibility, Rachel begins a descent into madness in which nothing is as it seems to the reader. Like her alter ego, Vivien Leigh / Blanche Dubois, Rachel wants to depend on the kindness of strangers—usually men—but whether vicar or druggist or handyman, they all seem to let her down. Stephen Benatar has created the most fascinating and sad unreliable narrator, yet we’re still rooting for her all along not to have her fantasies shattered.

A comprehensive exploration of the six worst nuclear disasters in history—or really the worst accidents, because the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are not included here, but the disastrous “Castle Bravo” test in the Bikini Atoll in 1954 is. Plokhy expertly analyzes disasters in England, the U.S., Ukraine, and Japan, and concludes that human venality and the inevitability of accidents in this complex technology make nuclear power the most dangerous 10% of our international energy mix. Accidents at Chernobyl and Fukushima are of course the worst, resulting in releases of radioactivity that still have global effects today; both left the surrounding land uninhabitable and also polluted air and water. Each resulted in serious antinuclear movements that slowly faded from memory. Fukushima may have longer effects, however. The author cites as an example Germany’s commitment to decommission its nuclear power plants by 2022. “If a Fukushima-type disaster could happen in a technologically developed and…highly organized society like Japan, then it could happen in Germany as well,” German officials believed (274). It remains to be seen how the Russian invasion of Ukraine affects the nuclear landscape; as I write this, Russians have occupied the largest European nuclear facility in Zaporizhzhia and are operating from it as a frontline military base.

I read this book thanks to the ‘Overdue’ podcast—they weren’t thrilled, I loved it. Greene’s slim novel is a satire on Cold War spying that points up the absurdity of much of spycraft, but also how easy it was, post-WWII, to be swept up in the paranoia. An unassuming British vacuum cleaner salesman, James Wormold, is inadvertently recruited as an operative in 1958 Havana, just four years before the Cuban Missile Crisis. The assignment seems like an easy way to earn extra money to give his daughter Milly all the advantages she wants. But before he knows it, he’s managing a real staff and risking the lives of real operatives he’s never met. Greene was a consummate literary stylist, slowly creating an insidious world that takes over Wormold’s life. The supporting characters—drinking buddy Dr. Hasselbacher and slimy Police Captain Segura—are deftly drawn. The novel is entertaining, but Greene has a larger point: “I don’t care a damn about men who are loyal to the people who pay them in organizations…. I don’t think even my country means all that much,” Wormold admits. “There are many countries in our blood, aren’t there, but only one person. Would the world be in the mess it is if we were loyal to love and not to countries?” (197).

I had difficulty with this book and I’m not sure why except that it lacked any kind of argument or through line. The author traces Graham Greene’s time working in British intelligence, his travels, and his contacts with other intelligence operatives, to build a picture of the experiences that he brought to writing ‘Our Man in Havana.’

A NYT panel recently selected this as one of the best books about New York City, and it definitely captures bougie mid-Sixties Manhattan: the cocktail parties, the theater talk, even the setting, a grand old Victorian pile called the Bramford (not quite The Dakota), famous for its sinister residents. When newlyweds Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse move in, they’re willing to overlook the rumors, and they’re quickly drawn into the circle of their strange neighbors, Roman and Minnie Castavets, a relationship that ultimately destroys Rosemary’s dreams, but makes Guy’s come true. It’s fascinating slow-building story of the unraveling of trust in a relationship. Written a few years after Betty Friedan’s ‘The Feminine Mystique’ expressed the discontent of millions of women with the narrow roles assigned to them, this book takes that argument in a horrifying direction: when Rosemary finds out she was impregnated by her husband in what was essentially a rape, she’s disturbed but doesn’t question her marriage. After that, she’s controlled and manipulated by a diabolical cabal, and only begins to makes sense of it all when her friend Hutch dies mysteriously. Meanwhile, Guy’s acting career takes off—“Gotta run now and get famous!” he tells her, after the supposed stillbirth of their baby (223). Rosemary’s baby—and Rosemary herself—are the sacrifices that create Guy’s success, a story that would sounded familiar to many women. A sequel would have been intriguing.