The image of a fierce Mongol horseman riding the harsh plains of his native land with an enormous eagle perched on one arm, the two of them searching for prey that includes fox, hare and even wolf is one that has haunted writer Steve Bodio for decades.
The popularity of this self-absorbed, naïve dreck should astound me. It doesn’t considering the current woeful state of New York publishing.
Anyone who reads “Balls to the Wall” will gain a true, bloody taste for a slice of contemporary life that is all American, nasty, perverted, occasionally heroic.
How do we understand the natural forces that literally shape our world? How, over time have we attempted to explain sometimes spectacular, sometimes mysterious events?
Some years ago, back in the days of its relative anonymity, fly fishing was considered an arcane art practiced by mildly addled, eccentric cranks.
At the risk of being cold-hearted, though after reading this book I don’t seem to care all that much, there are times I wonder why people who are at least reasonably accomplished authors make the effort to write certain books, not to mention why these less-than-stellar titles ever see the light of print.
Where do I start with Annie Proulx? Where does anyone start with Annie Proulx? Certainly not at the beginning. She wouldn’t like that. Conventional approaches to anything appear to at once annoy and to bore the Wyoming writer.
In The Athena Factor W. Michael Gear explores the compelling and in many ways horrifying world of biotech engineering, principally in the form of DNA research and manipulation. While this book is fictional, what the author describes is not.
American Atlas is something of a road book with the protagonist a rich guy around thirty who stands to inherit the family business that makes lots of money selling frozen pies.
Unfortunately the book, while delivering a few marginal insights into Hitler’s character, motivations and global strategies, seems largely a one-dimensional narrative that more resembles a loss of contact with reality than a recounting of anything worthy of notice.
Burke’s life has provided ample experience to draw from for his mysteries that feature world-wise and often world-weary characters that have come to the points in their existences where doing the right thing, helping others and standing up to evil sometimes just seems like the path of least resistance.
The Yellowstone steadily flows down to the Missouri, then Mississippi and finally the Gulf of Mexico, always as gravity’s companion – this movement is the essence of all rivers. The repetitive nature of the day to day routine out here is hypnotic, rapidly washing away anxiety and, finally, useless ego. An unaccustomed serenity and well-being pervades as the canoe tracks its own way with slight help from me. Everything is now the river and its fertile, riparian corridor with all of the creatures who depend on this water to live moving in synchronicity.
To take on one of Dorsey’s books is to suspend notions of political correctness (thankfully) and the sadly homogeneous behavior associated with society’s coercing decency. The novels are an energized romp through the craziness of modern Florida with humorously illuminating excursions into the Sunshine State’s past, and oh if only high school history texts had been as fun to read.
In his first book in more than thirty years Rhodes proves with ease why when he stopped writing after a paralyzing motorcycle crash in 1977 he was considered one of this country’s finest writers.
Aside from providing an easily assimilated scientific and historical overview, The Gulf Stream describes and mammoth natural system that helps drive the living organism that is earth. In these regards Ulanski has done his job as a writer.