Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson, by Jann S. Wenner and Corey Seymour

Hunter S. Thompson was a very strange person. A writer of undeniable talent, but strange nonetheless. This book is a collection of interviews stitched together in a single narrative. Hunter's life brought him into contact with a wide slice of life, so while many accounts are told by the expected family and friends, people as varied as Jimmy Buffett, Jimmy Carter, Jack Nicholson, and James Carville contributed as well. Considering that one of the authors, Jann Wenner, was Hunter's editor for over thirty years, the overall attitude towards Hunter was surprisingly negative. Admittedly Hunter was a lifelong drug and alcohol abuser which rarely makes for pleasant personalities, but I'd always thought he was more of a lovable character like Doonesbury's Uncle Duke for whom Hunter was the inspiration. Looks like that isn't so. "The thing about those unpleasant nights is that they didn't end. The unpleasantness wasn't a quick outburst." "For those of us who worked with him, it was essentially a really abusive relationship." "He demanded such an extraordinary amount of loyalty, commitment, and energy, and although he paid back a lot of that, he just sucked people dry." But basically he just comes off as crazy. "My first job was to get Hunter up in the morning. I knocked on his door, and there was a long, loud eruption of curses. ... It was just the life force announcing itself through Hunter's early-morning self." "And damn if he didn't raise the gun and fire from the hip and blow the door frame out that I was standing about six inches from my side." "When I had left the year before, Hunter had thrown my clothes out onto the driveway and set fire to them." This does not sound like someone with whom I'd want to spend a lot of time.

I'll never be a huge Hunter S. Thompson fan, but I did enjoy reading about him.

First Sentence:

We had guns in our cars.

Scholar, by L.E. Modesitt, Jr.

Scholar takes place in the Imager universe but is set centuries before Modesitt's first trilogy. Here the art of imaging is feared worldwide and people who possess the talent are often killed outright—but the seeds for the Collegium are planted. A recognizable world, but a very different society—I look forward to seeing the evolution of this environment through future novels.

One of the key points in the first trilogy was that an imager is a huge danger to himself, to the point of sleeping alone in a lead-lined room to prevent creating dangerous items via dreams. In Scholar, however, this doesn't seem to be an issue with the lead being a powerful imager and yet living on crowded boats, dormitories, and castles. Not sure if this is by design and will feature into future novels, or simply an oversight or writer's remorse. Time will tell!

First Sentence:

"You'd think the Tilborans would have more sense," snapped Bhayar.

Floodmarkers, by Nic Brown

Set in North Carolina when Hurricane Hugo came ashore, Floodmarkers is a collection of loosely connected character studies. What sets it apart from other similarly structured works like Winesburg, Ohio or Our Town is seeing how the stress of the hurricane affects everyone: as the flood rises, so do tensions. A pedophile whose secret is exposed by the water and a grandfather robbed by a gypsy are only two of the unique characters found within. Both disturbing and funny at the same time, this book isn't always upbeat but well-suited for a rainy afternoon.

First Sentence:

The lights were off but the glass door was unlocked and Cliff followed Matthew into the tanning salon.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, by Mark Twain

I like to take longer novels when I travel overseas as I haven't yet been sucked into the cult of the Nook and prefer a physical book. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court fits the bill (the edition I read clocked in at just shy of 500 pages) and having all the action set in the country to which I was traveling made it a perfect fit. I'd seen variations of this in other media—Bing Crosby's movie is probably my favorite quickly followed by the Looney Tunes version—but had never read the book. I knew the movie and especially the cartoon weren't exactly faithful to the source material going more for humor than satire, but I've always been interested in the original. While not as funny (hard to beat Bugs Bunny!) and surprisingly dark, I quite enjoyed it.

The basic plot has been rehashed by many writers since Twain's archetype (probably best by Leo Frankowski): a modern mechanic gets sent back in time to the Middle Ages and uses technology to attempt to change the world. Twain's hero, Hank Morgan, being a stereotypical American of the 19^th century despises hereditary classes like the monarchy and slavery. He also believes in his heart that science can be used to improve society; when he discovers himself suddenly in King Arthur's Britain he immediately uses his training and experience to both modernize and moralize the past. Advancement in technology used to bring about social change is clearly possible, but as Twain plots and history proves, the result is rarely predictable.

While society itself is the main antagonist, the Church is painted as the single biggest threat. People can learn and adapt, especially when the benefits of change are made plain, but religion is always happiest with the status quo—especially when that status quo keeps the Church in control. "I was afraid of a united Church; it makes a mighty power, the mightiest conceivable, and then when it by and by gets into selfish hands, as it is always bound to do, it means death to human liberty, and paralysis to human thought." Sadly, over a century after Twain wrote those words their truth is still evident in our culture. If we've learned anything since 1889 it is that our government can be just as smothering as religion when it comes to our natural evolution as a society.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court is a complex story and far from the simple children's classic I expected. On the surface is a sometimes funny tale about a man trapped in the past. Underneath that is a critical look at the way the world worked in ancient times, but below that lurks the inherent dichotomy of "the ends justify the means." Hank wants the common outlook of the people to rise above superstition and religious fervor and embrace the credo "all men are created equal," but then exploits this same superstition to gain power and control. I often found myself asking what I'd do in various situations, and not always liking the answers. If you want an enjoyable tale with humor and adventure or a deeper novel that challenges your beliefs, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court fits the bill.

First Sentence:

It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to to talk about.

11.22.63, by Stephen King

It has been a long while since I've read a Stephen King novel; I loved his early works, but after a string of disappointments with It, Needful Things, and The Dark Half I'd largely stopped reading him. I came across this just before one of my trips to the UK, and the tag on the cover caught my imagination: "The day that changed the world—11.22.63—what if you could change it back?" With the date of JFK's assassination as the title there isn't much surprise as to what the topic of the book is, and this event is one of the hotspots of alternate history so many authors have taken a run at this before. King takes a very fresh look at the time though, both in what the effects of changing the past would be and in how time travel itself might work. I quite liked the idea that the timeline would push back, resisting changes to the "natural" timeline. As readers we know how the assassination came about, so having history itself as the antagonist made for a more suspenseful read than a traditional villain.

King has his normal nods to his other books here, most visibly the town of Derry (where It took place) paying a large role and a cameo by a certain white-over-red Plymouth Fury. While he clearly deeply researched Kennedy and Dallas in the early 1960's, one notable error was the appearance of bumper stickers reading "Don't Mess With Texas" in that era; as far as I know that phrase was made famous in the mid 1980's. Overall, though, this is a very entertaining read and a welcome return to greatness for King.

First Sentence:

I have never been what you'd call a crying man.

Seven Wonders, by Adam Christopher

Novels following superheroes are becoming more common; some are great, and some aren't. Seven Wonders falls somewhere in the middle, but leaning very heavily toward the "great" side of the equation.

The Seven Wonders is the bastion of justice, a group of the best heroes that has nearly eradicated crime. The last remaining supervillain, the Cowl, opposes them. The battle between these two has raged for years, but despite a seven-to-one manpower advantage for the forces of good a stalemate reigns. Into this world an average man develops amazing powers, and decides to join the battle. Interestingly, neither side is thrilled with this...

This is a strong book, with characters that are unique enough for the reader not to simply sub in "Superman," "Batman," or "The Joker" when encountering a new hero or villain. The plot starts off with a superpowered bank robbery, and then grows from a earthbound fantasy to an interstellar one. As we reach the climax things get weird enough that it nearly lost me, but the ending is satisfying enough. There is just enough adult language throughout that I would hesitate recommending this to a young reader, but overall a great escapist read.

First Sentence:

It wasn't until the following week that Tony realized he could fly.

Bill Veeck, by Paul Dickson

Before our current world of billionaire team owners, Bill Veeck owned several different baseball teams, including the White Sox two different times. I do enjoy baseball, but am a bit embarrassed to admit I didn't know who Bill Veeck was. After reading this excellent biography, it turns out I may not have known his name but was well aware of his legacy.

Veeck was famous for being a relentless promoter, always looking for a unique innovation or publicity stunt to attract new fans to baseball. He was one of the first owners to broadcast games on the radio, installed the first "exploding scoreboard" in the country, and started the trend of putting names on the backs of jerseys. He fought in WWII (losing his leg in combat) and there saw black and white men working together; from then on he became a stout proponent for integration making him very unpopular with his fellow owners. In 1942 he attempted to purchase the Phillies with the intent of stocking the roster with the very best of the Negro League players, but was thwarted by then Commissioner of Baseball Kenesaw Landis. Veeck did eventually help pioneer integration, signing Larry Doby as the first African-American in the American League and the second in baseball after Jackie Robinson. Sadly, despite all the good things he did for baseball, Veeck is better known for his outlandish stunts.

One of my favorite baseball stories has always been about the time a little person was called to the plate in a major league game. Turns out this not only is true, but Bill Veeck was the mastermind behind it. Eddie Gaedel was less than four feet tall, but Veeck signed him to play in 1951 for the St. Louis Browns wearing number ⅛. When Eddie walked to the plate the opposing Tigers objected, but with a valid contract the umpire allowed the batter. With a strike zone of maybe two inches Gaedel was walked on four straight pitches and was immediately replaced with a pinch runner. The next day the American League President voided the contract and banned "midget" players from the sport, but the previous game was deemed official and history was made.

Another less humorous promotion was Disco Demolition Night in 1979. The idea was that people would bring disco albums into the stadium and they'd be destroyed between games of a double header. Unfortunately it didn't go quite as planned as may if not most of the overflow crowd were not actually baseball fans but anti-disco rockers and the event devolved into a riot. "It was an incredible scene. There were bonfires of burning records on the streets, and records thrown Frisbee-style into the air were slicing down. ... All hell then broke loose. Anti-disco forces stormed the field and refused to leave. They ran the bases and then stole them all, including home plate. The batting cage was pulled loose and destroyed, along with other field equipment. People from the upper deck slid down the foul pole to get onto the field." Hard to imagine Jerry Reinsdorf or corporate-sponsored MLB allowing that today.

Veeck truly loved baseball; hanging out in the Wrigley Field bleachers singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" he was once quoted as saying, "This is the epitome of pleasure." A love of the sport didn't make him the success he became though; he had a set of twelve commandments that guided his professional and personal life. The first two in particular hit home with me: "1. Take your work very seriously. Go for broke and give it your all. 2. Never ever take yourself seriously." I haven't taken the time to codify my beliefs, but if I did I'd like to think these tenets would be found at their core.

First Sentence:

The first Bill Veeck—William L. Veeck Sr.—was born in Boonville, Indiana, a small village near Evansville, on January 20, 1876, the son of Dutch parents.