Random books from dekesolomon's library
The cat from Hué : a Vietnam war story by John Laurence
Edward R. Murrow: an American Original by Joseph E. Persico
Martin Chuzzlewit (New Oxford Illustrated Dickens) by Charles Dickens
The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton
The Well-Fed Writer : Financial Self-Sufficiency as a Freelance Writer in Six Months or Less by Peter. Bowerman
Imperial Masquerade by Lewis H. Lapham
Empire Express: Building the First Transcontinental Railroad by David Haward Bain
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About my libraryAt college I was a double major, History and English. I had to buy 28 books for my first semester. Of course there are 8 semesters in a 4-year program. By the time I finished my BA, I had quite a stack of books. And I enjoyed my reading so much that selling my books back to the bookstore never seemed an attractive option to me. Like Charles W. Eliot, I had a BA on my bookshelf. A couple years later, I earned a Master's degree in magazine journalism and I had an MA on my bookshelf. So my library started with stacks of textbooks.
I expect that's often the case. I mean one way to think of higher education is as an environment in which, to survive, you have to read a lot and write about what you read. Four years of that discipline gets to be a habit. Twenty years after graduate school, I woke up one night in a panic because I just KNEW I had a term paper due in the morning and I hadn't even started the research.
So I buy a lot of books. So I can read them. So I can write about them. So I can become a better reader. So I can read more books. So I can.... Am I the only person here who sometimes suspects that he must be some kind of weirdo lab rat? Is liberal education really just a sneaky federal subsidy for publishers and bookstore owners and the paper industry?
In college I found that when (for whatever reason) professors clean out their offices, they typically throw hundreds of books out into the hallway. Whoever wants the books can pick up as many as they like. I used to hang around during the first couple days of a semester break hoping for one of those deals.
At graduate school, I started haunting the second-hand bookstores that cluster around the university campus. I didn't shop for specific items, however. I was a notion buyer, and that's the kind of library I ended up with.
Twenty years later I find myself -- for the first time in my life -- permanently settled. I will probably die in the house I now occupy, if that's ten years from now or tomorrow morning. Also for the first time in my life, I'm paying serious attention to my book collection.
When I moved in here I had about 650 books by nearly as many authors concerned with nearly as many subjects. About half of them were paperbacks, and some of the hardcovers were in pretty rough condition. So what I'm engaged in at the moment is culling and shaping my collection.
I've decided that all of the paperbacks have to go. The titles that I care about are being replaced with hardcovers -- a few at a time as I can afford them -- in 'very good' or better condition. Titles I don't care for are not being replaced: they're going out the door to library book sales in one or another of the towns nearby. That's how I started with a collection of 650 books but now have a library of only 495 volumes. My priority now is to build a collection of hardcovers by my favorite authors that fit into the categories I like best: History, biography, journalism, fiction, criticism, classical mythology, classical lit, writers and writing.
While my collection grows and takes shape on the wall behind me, I sit at the keyboard and hone my critical skills by writing reviews. My desk faces a picture window on the north side of the house. My books perch on the south wall of the same room: they provide inspiration while they cover my back and warm my spirit.
So here I sit in a room full of books: My tea is hot. There's a batch of banana bread in the oven; the smell of it fills the kitchen and drifts into my room through the open door. Bonnie, my cat, is asleep at my elbow. Who could ask for more than I've got at this moment is a greedy SOB.
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Real nameDeacon "Deke" Solomon
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Currently readingFrom Quebec to New Orleans: The story of the French in America ... Fort de Chartres, by Joseph H. Schlarman
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In reading your comments I realized that I had not posted my review of Fraser's war memoirs on LT. I have now done so, but to save you the trip, I am posting it below.
You are correct I have not served in the military. My comments were not directed towards the camaraderie he described that I don't doubt for one second, but rather more towards Fraser's relation of how the fighting part of the war impacted him and his mates. He attacks Paul Fussell's excellent book on WWII. From other war memoirs that I've read, Fussell's view is far more common than Fraser's.
Regards,
Doug Wood
My Quartered Safe review:
"George MacDonald Fraser's flawed, but interesting and entertaining recollection of his service in Burma during the latter stages of WW II are well worth reading on their own merit and especially so for his legion of Flashman: A Novel readers. Some slice of that readership will be particularly interested to see whether the memoir reveals just how much Flashman reflected the real thinking of the author. Fraser expressed his disdain for such modern "PC" readers in a piece excerpted in The Daily Mail around the time of his death in 2008 from another memoir he wrote about his experiences as a movie screenwriter called The Light's on at Signpost. Ouch.
Fraser's recollections come with a few drawbacks worth noting. For some reason, Fraser felt compelled to explain why he was writing this book. One would think that a book about a famous author's service in Burma would not really require such explanation. I suppose what he really meant was "why was he writing it after all those years?" - the personal history was not published until 1992 and had been written recently from memory and not based on any contemporaneous notes or early draft.
Fraser explains that firstly he is recording what may be the "last great battle in the last great war". Such an utterance of sodden nonsense is disappointing coming from the author of the Flashman books - that, if anything, establish humanity's ready willingness to blow one another's brains out (See e.g. Flashman and the Redskins). He fears that the battle has been forgotten, but gives a hint of his real motive when he laments the changed "attitudes to war". Fraser also notes that he is offering a soldier's view of the Burma campaign rather than the already well-told officer's view.
Fraser slips off the rails, however, when he further justifies his book by an attack on Paul Fussell's Wartime: Understanding and Behavior in the Second World War - or rather a review of that book. As becomes clear in reading Fraser's war memoir, he and Fussell experienced war - or recall their war experiences - in profoundly different ways (Fussell wrote Wartime in 1989.). Fussell was severely psychologically damaged by his war experiences (as well as physically wounded). Fussell set out to knock down many of the myths of WW II, the so-called Good War, and Fraser is outraged by such attitudes (not outraged enough to have actually read the book, however). Fraser is intent on preserving as many of the myths as possible (which he denies are myths). More unsettling is Fraser's adamant unwillingness to accept that other soldiers experienced the war in starkly different terms (He flatly states Fussell presents "a view which is false".).
Fraser's tale focuses on his 8-man 'section' (equivalent to a US squad) of his platoon. He does not use the soldiers' actual names for reasons that are not entirely convincing. Like Flashman, Fraser was working from memory, but unlike Flashy, Fraser does not have an omniscient editor adding historical footnotes and correcting his lapses of memory. Not using real names does not add to the reader's confidence.
One final bit of carping: Fraser was clearly offended that views of war had changed, even among soldiers, and just will not let it drop. He cites modern soldiers' confessing fear in battle to the "disgusting inquisition of war reporters". In his day, that "was simply not done." Perhaps so, at least in his own section, but Fraser should heed his own counsel. He has earlier warned against trying to view WW II experiences through the outlook of today; he should have inferred the corollary that viewing current actions through the outlook of 70 years ago is just as likely to lead to misunderstanding and incomprehension.
Nonetheless, as a devoted fan of the Flashman books, I think other devotees will also enjoy the book. Fraser's trademark dexterous use of the language employed by his Cumberland 'marras' (mates) brings the characters vividly to life. He introduces the reader to topics little known but of historical importance (aside from the Burma campaign itself there is the battle of Imphal and Kohima that stopped the 1944 Japanese invasion of India). The writing is crisp and a joy to read. In addition to Fussell's Wartime, I would also suggest that the reader try E.B. Sledge's memoir With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa. Readers may also enjoy Fraser's lesser known works of historical fiction based on his later WW II experiences in the Middle East, The Complete McAuslan: All the Hilarious McAuslan Stories in One Volume. "
posted by dougwood57 at 12:41 am (EST) on Nov 22, 2009
posted by Banbury at 12:18 pm (EST) on Nov 13, 2009