One way to realize just how trivial and silly us Americans are: read Wild Swans, and then follow it up with this book by Haven Kimmel. Wild Swans: full of tragedy, integrity and survival. Girl Named Zippy: full of petty big sisters, Quakersand “evil” old women named Edythe. Not exactly much of a comparison there. Still, it wasn’t a bad book, as memoirs about childhoods in towns of 300 go. Not great, either. If I had an interesting childhood, spent in a town of under 300 (rather than in sizeable cities in California, Utah and Michigan) then I probably could have written a book and gotten it published, too. But I didn’t. Oh, well. I could have, though.

Why not?

Sorry.

This book was fascinating. I learned a bunch about France, what makes the French tick, French history, the social structure, the comparisons between France and the rest of Europe and France and North America, and the list goes on. The problem, though, was that this book, by Jean-Benoit Nadeau (I don’t know how to do the funky accents, sorry) and Julie Barlow, was terribly dense and difficult to get through. I waded through chapter after chapter after chapter about the French government and civil bureaucracy before I finally bailed on the book. I’m sure there were interesting chapters at the end (like, possibly, “The World According to France” or “The Meaning of Europe”) but I could care less. I’m Franced out.

The first section, on the Spirit of the French, is really worth reading, though. As Canadians, Nadeau (who’s a Quebecker) and Barlow went to France with the unique position of being both able to converse with the French on their own terms and having North American perspective. So, it made for some fascinating tales and encounters with people they met. (Like, I had no idea that the French guard their names so closely; they rarely introduce themselves the way we think of as introductions over here, and only tell their names after “getting to know” someone. ) I’m not sure I ever got the answer to “Why we love France but not the French” (the book’s subtitle), though. It’s almost too bad that the authors got so bogged down in the political chapters. This could have been a great book.

I generally try to operate under two principles when it comes to books. One: I try to read the ones that have come recommended to me. Every once in a while, I manage to find a good book on my own, but it’s not exactly a common occurrence. Two: I only buy books I like or have come highly recommended to me.

I broke both of those when it came to Holy Cow, by Sarah MacDonald, and instantly regretted it.

In fact, I only got 3 chapters into it before I decided that this woman is a first-class snit (well, something else, really, but I want to at least be polite), and hates India and everything about it. I suppose that was the point of the book: she hates India at first but comes to love everything about the country. But, you know, I don’t care.

Thankfully, I still had the receipt and was able to get my money back.

I read Ruth Reichl’s memoir (the first one), Tender at the Bone, ages and ages ago. I don’t really remember what it was about; what I do remember is that it was absolutely delicious to read. Garlic and Sapphires is the same. It’s the tale of her time as restaurant critc at the New York Times; the places she ate, and the disguises that she used so she could remain anonymous. And it’s absolutely delicious to read. I know I wouldn’t eat 1/3 of the food she describes, and I’ve never even ventured into a restaurant where it’s $100 a person to eat there (though my husband has). But, just reading about it was interesting, enjoyable, and oh so satisfying. And the best part is that, in addition to all this yummy reading (which is so much better for you than the eating, right?), she includes recipes. My three favorites (which I need to try): New York Cheesecake, Nicky’s Vanilla Cake, and Aushak (which are Afghani dumplings). An excellent, truly satisfying read.

Acutally, the full title is Setting the World Ablaze: Washington, Adams, Jefferson and the American Revolution. It’s a scholarly book (I’m impressed I got through this one; I usually find scholarly books too dry) by historian John Ferling. And, surprisingly, it was fascinating. The first chapter or two — the set up of the years leading to the Revolutionary War — were pretty dull, but once the war started it picked up in both pace and interest. I kept commenting to Russell that Ferling must have really liked the war, because it showed in the writing. And, by the end, I was totally amazed that the Americans won the war. By all accounts, the colonies should have lost. I guess if I knew that, I totally forgot it.

But this book is first and foremost a portrait of three central leaders of the Revolution. Ferling made Washington out to be, well, human. Which, Russell tells me, isn’t anything new. Ferling asserts that Washington was ambitious and vain, but came through honorably when he needed to. He also totally believed in the idea of a republic. As a general, he was great in the beginning of the war, being assertive and daring when he needed to. But as the war wore on, he became cautious and over-reliant on the French. And obsessive about attacking New York. Still, in the end Washington came off as a pretty decent figure.

Not so much for Jefferson. Ferling had one thing good to say about him: the man could write. And that’s about it. He was a lousy leader, he was a spoiled rich Virginia planter, he was racist and unenlightened. Made me wonder about the spin that surrounded Jefferson. How on earth did he become so respected? (As a side note, Ferling doesn’t much like Franklin, either.)

And then there’s Adams. Ferling’s thesis here was that Adams, while ambitious, was easily the most hard-working, diligent, honest leader who did everything in his power to assure the independence of the colonies. I got the impression that Ferling believes that Adams has gotten a bad historical reputation over the years and was doing everything in his power to reverse that. And it worked; I have more respect for John Adams now.

The ending chapters had the same fault as the beginning, except they were blissfully shorter. He did deal with the issue of slavery at the end, and how each of the three dealt with it (and they came off the same way: Washington was human, but noble in the end; Adams, stalwart; and Jefferson, a racist flake). A good read.

I figured I needed to jump on the bandwagon and see what all the fuss about Sister Hinckley was. Okay, now I know. She was a wonderful lady, and a good example, and this book, put together by her daughter Virginia Pearce, captures that pretty well. There were times when I wished they had more from Sister Hinckley and less from people saying how great she was. But, overall, it’s a wonderful, uplifting book about a wonderful, uplifting lady. I really enjoyed her talks at the end. Not laden with doctrine, but nice little snapshots of the way she thinks and speaks. I wish I had had a chance to hear her talk; when President Hinckley visited Memphis a couple years back, she refused the invitation to speak. Now I’ll never get that chance, except through books like this.

Sometimes it pays to just wander the stacks at the library. That’s what I was doing when I came across this interesting and beautifully illustrated book by Kevin Crossley-Holland (illustrated by Peter Malone). I should say, first that it’s a youth non-fiction book. Still, it’s an engaging and well-researched guide to the basics of Arthurian lore. Crossley-Holland “translates” the Olde and Middle English so to be more accessible, and really covers every aspect (including some of the more obscure tidbits) of King Arthur and the stories that surround him. I found it fascinating, but then as I’ve said before, I’m one of those who are drawn to the Arthurian legend. Even if you’re not, it’s a great starter book to the world of King Arthur.

Amira suggested this one by Jill Ker Conway way back when, and I’m glad I finally got around to reading it. Conway led a very insteresting, and possibly uniquely Australian childhood, and it was fascinating reading about it. I enjoyed her vivid descriptions, both of the landscape around her and of the people she came in contact with in her life (a phrase she used in describing a friend — “dazzling cornflower eyes” — really struck me). I was amazed at the horribleness of her mother. It took Conway years to realize that her mother was being, in our current language, abusive and get the nerve to get out of the relationship (which isn’t easy when it’s your own mother!). Still, it never occured to her mother that she was being that way. Which led to some interesting reflection on Conway’s part. As did being a woman in a very male society. Her account of her discrimination when applying to and her ultimate rejection from the Australian Department of External Affairs was very insightful. A good book.