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.

I picked this one up off our shelf of Church books one morning when I couldn’t sleep. I think I needed the boost Elder Holland gives in it. For all it’s worth, However Long and Hard the Road, by Jeffery R. Holland is essentially an extended pep talk: You can do it, keep it up, try harder, don’t give up. Which is something I really needed to hear. That, and to be reminded that everyone has trials and they’re there to make us stronger.

A much-needed (re)read for me.

Every so often, I read a non-fiction book that entertains me while it educates. America’s Women by Gail Collins was one of those. It’s a basic portrait of women’s lives from pre-colonial times to the present. Yes, she highlights the women who made names for themselves — Elizabeth Stanton, Abigial Adams, Annie Oakly, Eleanor Roosevelt — but this book is so much more than that. It’s a view of what life was like for a Puritan woman, or a Victorian woman, or a slave woman, or an immigrant woman. It made me very glad that I didn’t give birth in the early 19th Century. I admired those who endured hardships, who tried to make the world a better place. It reminded me of the need to keep journals and correspondence with other women. Most of all it made me proud to be a woman. An excellent book.

Seven Days of Possibilities: One Teacher, 24 Kids and the Music that Changed Their Lives Forever, by Anemona Hartocollis is the (true) story (I don’t read much non-fiction, thought I’d mention that this one is) of Johanna Grussner. She’s a singer from Aland — an island off the coast of Finland and Sweden — who moved to America to go to school and ended up teaching music at PS 86 in the Bronx. The title gives the book high expectations, but it’s not that pretentious. I liked it — it was an interesting story of how one person can affect the lives of many, especially if she has the will and the means — but the writing style bugged me. It’s not exactly something I can put my finger on; I just didn’t like the way Hartocollis put the story on paper. It’s a decent story though.