I only acquired this book because the author of “Delights”, Ross Gay, recommended it as one of his favorite books. I almost quit reading it but kept going because I wondered why he loved this book. Perhaps if you watch a lot of movies (I am not a movie person), it would be better because Shields critiques a lot of movies, almost none of which I had ever even heard of. He also seems to prefer non-fiction and critiques a lot of non-fiction essay writers. To be honest even though I read hundreds of books, most of the books he mentions I have never read. His taste apparently differs greatly from mine. I have read Joan Didion, John Cheever, Gertrude Stein, Yeats, as he has and I do agree with him about the essay, “Killing an Elephant”. In this essay George Orwell describes a horrible event he experienced as a young man while working for the British in Burma (now Myanmar). I agree with Shields that this essay describes better the horrors of colonialism and racism better than most books written on those subjects.
What bothers me about this work by Shields is the relentless negativity. I consider myself to be a rather realistic person, often perhaps too blunt for my own good. Nevertheless, I do not view my life or that of others as nearly as hopeless and lonely as Shields seems to view it. Here is a quote from near the end of the book:
“I believe in art as pathology lab, landfill, recycling station, death sentence, aborted suicide note, lunge at redemption. Your art is most alive and dangerous when you use it against yourself. That’s why I pick at my scabs” and four pages later at the end: “I wanted literature to assuage human loneliness, but nothing can assuage human loneliness. Literature doesn’t lie about this–which is what makes it essential.” I know lots of folks talk about the plague of loneliness permeating society these days. He focuses on this relentlessly for 207 pages. Do most people feel this awful a lot of the time? Am I naive? How did I escape it?
Fascinated since childhood by the lands surrounding the Mediterranean Sea, I accidentally discovered this book when I had to go to a new LA County library because the one near me is closed for renovations. The book describes in detail the life of Mohammed and the controversy that ensued after his death as to who should be in charge. This dispute ultimately caused the division into Sunni and Shia which continues today. It also covers other less well known groups such as Ismailis, a missionary sect of Shia Islam, and Sufiis, Muslim mystics.
I found the book extremely informative in describing how a small group of Arabs managed to conquer most of the land south of the Mediterranean and the lands to the east and eventually convert Central Asia and a substantial portion of West Africa. It also details the reign of many of the more famous caliphs, wars among various Muslim ruling families, and the building of Alhambra. While most of Europe was still feudal and in the Dark Ages, many Muslim cities such as Cairo and Damascus were centers of scientific research and learning as well as the arts and literature. Unlike what many continue to believe, Muslim women often held jobs and sometimes positions of considerable power and had legal guarantees to property and inheritance when women in Europe did not.
“What are you willing to give up to alleviate someone else’s suffering?”
This book won the National Book Award for Non-fiction in 2025. I started reading it before book four but had to take a break. It is very serious and details a lot of dreadful recent and not so recent history. The author discusses in detail the gap between Western ideals and the reality the West enacts using examples from Gaza, his stint as a journalist in Afghanistan and other war torn places. He notes the betrayals of free speech, the betrayals of indigenous people, the betrayals of people of African descent. Some parts talk about reckoning and questions whether such will occur, who will remember, and will it matter and to whom.
El Akkad was born in Egypt, but grew up in Qatar and Canada as the family followed wherever his father was able to find work. He now lives in the US and states his current home is his 17th or 18th. His family had to move so much he remains uncertain.
This is a serious read for people who want to think about what has occurred in the last 20-30 years, what is occurring presently, and how all this will affect the future.
Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, a country boy who grew up in a remote, rainy, forested area in southern Chile, an area called Araucania, an indigenous name, became Pablo Neruda, a name he created so he could publish poetry without his father’s knowledge. His father and mother, who died less than a month after his birth, originally came from the wine country of central Chile. His father became a conductor for a ballast train in this southern region. His descriptions of his childhood are of a shy boy who loved nature in all its forms and books. Later, he wrote letters to girls for his friends. Yet, he says he wrote his first poem when he had barely learned to read. Overcome with emotion, he wrote a poem to his stepmother, the only mother he knew. When he showed it to his father, his father asked to know what he had copied it from.
Later, he moves to Santiago to attend university, always poor, always wearing black, always carrying books. He joins a Student Federation and becomes acquainted with other young poets. He writes, “I saw a refuge in poetry with the intensity of someone timid.” After he struggled paying for the printing of his first book, he wrote, “…the writer’s task…must be a personal effort for the benefit of all.”
He wins a literary prize at school, his books are popular, and he finds himself acquiring a job at a Chilean consul in Rangoon but to get there he and a friend end up in France and Portugal, then Japan, then Singapore, before finally arriving at his destination. Thus, began his life as a consul official in places all over the world, including Spain just before and at the beginning of Franco’s rise to power.
After witnessing so much poverty, so many conflicts benefiting the rich, he becomes an avid supporter of the Chilean Communist Party–a form of communism unlike what most think of when they think of communism. The communism he and his friends support includes working on behalf of the poor, the common laborer, the disenfranchised against the wealthy elite who controlled most Latin American countries during his lifetime and in many cases still do.
He states, “I want to live in a world where beings are only human with no other title but that, without worrying their heads about rules, a word, a label…I want the great majority, the only majority, everyone, to be able to speak out, read, listen, thrive…I have taken a road because I believe that road leads us all to a lasting brotherhood…an inexhaustible goodness…”
Later, he chose to live at Isla Negra, a sort of hideout especially in winter where he could write. Then he returned to Chile. He helped his friend Salvatore Allende campaign for the presidency of Chile. After Allende became president, he appointed Neruda to be ambassador to France. In 1971, Neruda won the Nobel Prize. In 1972, the US blockaded Chile and Neruda returned and completed the final edit of his memoirs. He was welcomed back with a ceremony at the National Stadium in Santiago with a huge crowd in attendance. In 1973, a military coup, supported by the US, overturned the government and assassinated Allende. Less than one month later, Neruda died. Shortly thereafter, news spread worldwide that his two houses in different parts of Chile had been ransacked and vandalized by the new government and its forces.
Last week a writer friend commented on the notion that writers are known for wearing turtlenecks. That’s news to me even though I am a writer and I wear turtlenecks plus multiple layers. I’m cold. I’m cold at least half of the year even here in Southern California. This comment caused me to count mine. It seems I own 25 turtlenecks–white, off-white, various shades of beige and brown but none dark, several black, two red, two orange, two coral one of which one is darker than the other, two striped (one black and white, one tan and creme), deep green, two hot pink, and one sheer in shades of black and brown and creme and a sort of burgundy color. Another is a color I am not even sure how to describe which I will call pale peach. Since I’ve been the same size for decades, I am guessing some of these border on the ancient but not worn out. I never dry them in the dryer. Drying clothes in the dryer wears them out faster and changes their color.
About one-third of the way through his “Memoirs”, Pablo Neruda talks about a poet friend of his in Spain who wore turtlenecks which Neruda claims was a huge no-no at the time. What does he say poets should wear? Black from head to toe. He had been wearing black practically since birth. His mother died from tuberculosis a month after he was born. Perhaps the endless rain and endless mud he describes in the area of southern Chile where he grew up made wearing black the most practical color. Doubtless the poverty he witnessed as a young man working as a poor employee of tiny Chilean consulates in places like Ceylon (now SriLanka), Indonesia, and India did not inspire him to wear colorful clothes. Then not long after he arrives in Spain, Franco comes to power and one of his best friends, Federico Garcia Lorca is assassinated. As for me, when I am not wearing colorful clothes, I wear black, not due to rain or mud or sadness. The reason I am drawn to black mystifies me–another thing to ponder.
Not sure this qualifies as a turtleneck but it comes close.
The daughter of a diplomat and historian explores books in her father’s library one evening and discovers an ancient book and a bunch of yellowing letters. These letters are those of one of her father’s advisors in graduate school, a man who suddenly disappeared. The center of the book contains a strange dragon drawing. This discovery leads her on a quest to find out more about her father’s past and the fate of a mother she has never known.
The letters involve the evil history of Vlad the Impaler who is the person behind the legend of Dracula. Vlad the Impaler was ruler of what is now part of Romania. In his efforts to retain power and fight off the Turks, whom he hated, his cruelty became legend. Often he impaled his enemies alive on stakes driven through their bodies and lined them up by the hundreds along the roadsides.
Combining reality and the legend of Dracula and vampires, this book’s main character, the daughter of the historian, leads the reader from London to Amsterdam to Istanbul to various parts of Romania and Bulgaria in search of the truth of her father’s past and the supposed death of her mother. Although it is a vampire story (I am not a vampire fan), it is much more; it is a fascinating trek through a part of history few know much about and about which little has been written.
Note: I doubted I would finish it by year’s end because this novel is 642 pages long. However, I found the story and history so compelling that I finished it before Christmas.
A young woman, Alexandra, travels to Sofia, Bulgaria, for a job as an English teacher in part to help her recover from the strange disappearance (and probably death) of her brother. She has barely arrived when she helps an elderly couple and the man with them. By accident she ends up with an urn of ashes in a bag when her luggage and theirs gets a bit mixed up. The ashes are inside an ornately and unusually carved box with the name Stoyan Lazarov engraved on it. She sets out to find them with the help of a young cab driver.
As they set out on this journey, they discover they are being followed but have no idea why. The cab driver whom she calls Bobby has keen observation skills which mystify her at first. They find part of the family and then unfortunate things occur to many they meet who are relatives or are connected to the man whose name is on the box. Without initially realizing it, they become involved in Bulgarian politics and political corruption as they try to unravel the story of the box and the man whose ashes it contains.
As I read this novel, which is both a lesson on the horrible Soviet occupation of Bulgaria and human determination and resilience, I became entranced with the history and culture of Bulgaria. If you want a glimpse into another culture and its history and the beauty of the Bulgarian landscape, I highly recommend this book. It is also a mystery story that keeps the reader going.
The author also wrote an earlier book called “The Historian” which is a novel about the history of Vlad the Impaler who is the real person behind the Dracula stories. I plan to read that novel as well.
This is a sort of travelogue, memoir, and recipe book. The author begins in Odessa and travels south from there to the port of Constanza in Romania as well as various other seaside towns in Bulgaria, then to Istanbul. After spending more time there she heads east to all the ports and some inland cities near Turkey’s Black Sea coast.
I hope to learn new information and become a little more enlightened when I read–especially when reading non-fiction. This book did not disappoint. Here are a few of the things I learned:
-Odessa is a very old and once a very international city. At one point it had the second largest Jewish population in Europe. Now only about 1/3 of the residents are Jewish. Many of the restaurants serve traditional Jewish food even if not Jewish. Once in the past, Mark Twain visited there and made it famous for its ice cream.
-In Constanza, Romania, she witnessed a huge Navy Day celebration with booming gun salutes. Once upon a time, this city was famous for its Casino which now is just a glorious ruin. Here a breakfast mainstay is polenta with a mushroom topping. The author apparently liked the food because this section contains more recipes.
-Varna is the main seaport city in Bulgaria. The author’s main quest here was to see the gold, yes, gold. Once upon a time, this city was a major Roman port. Now the Museum of Archeology houses a spectacular collection of ancient gold. “Breastplates, bracelets, burial gifts, regal-looking head pieces, figurines, and pendants–all gold–shone for attention. The silent Midas room was deafening, ringing out with finery, treasure and opulence. And the loudest, biggest treasure of all, was the smallest. Tiny pendant earrings, almost inconceivably old, dating back 6000 years….these earring are the oldest ‘worked gold’ in the world. They belonged to the first known culture to craft golden artifacts, and they lived here, on Bulgaria’s section of the Black Sea in what some archeologists consider the oldest prehistoric town. But it was not gold that made this area wealthy; it was salt which was mined nearby. The world salary comes from the Latin word ‘salarium’–a Roman soldier’s stipend to buy salt.
-She goes to Istanbul and then on to Turkey’s Black Sea towns, Amasra, several a bit inland, Sinop, Trabzon, and Rize. Sinop has a particularly good harbor. There is a saying that the Black Sea has three safe harbors, July, August, and Sinop. This is in an area often targeted by Cossacks who crossed the Black Sea to raid these more prosperous areas. The town also houses an infamous prison where Russian convicts taught Turkish cellmates how to make model ships for which the town is now famous.-More than 3/4 of the world’s hazelnuts are grown in this area of Turkey. However, that did surprise me as much as the tea, yes, tea. When I think of Turkey, I think of that thick, strong Turkish coffee. However, Turkey is the fifth largest grower and exporter of tea in the world. The tea grows in the fog and mist on steep slopes that end at the sea. Several photos in the book illustrate the lush green mountains covered in tea bushes.
-When I think of Hagia Sophia, I think of the spectacular building in Istanbul, the one that has withstood invasions and earthquakes. But there is another one. On the western edges of the city of Trabzon, there is a smaller, more tranquil Hagia Sophia, one of the Black Sea area’s most spectacular monuments. It was built as a church in the 13th century, converted to a mosque, then to a cholera hospital, then a museum and finally back to a mosque in 2013. The ceiling and walls are covered with frescoes that for a long time no one knew existed until they were restored.
In addition to all the tales of her adventures and the ordinary people she meets, the book is filled with recipes that are specialties of the areas she visited. I’ve taken some ideas from several to experiment with new dishes like combining Swiss chard and sultanas (golden raisins) with chopped onions and garlic sautéed in olive oil and served over Basmati rice.
The last two books of hers that I read were set in the more recent times when Salvador Allende and later Pinochet were presidents of Chile. This one dates back to the 1800s and the Chilean Civil War. In 1866 a nun of Irish descent living in San Francisco has a passionate affair with a Chilean aristocrat and becomes pregnant. He abandons her; their daughter becomes the woman in the title of this novel. She is raised by a loving step father, an intellectual teacher from whom she learns to be independent and defy societal norms. At a young age she becomes the writer of short pulp fiction novels using a fake male name. The income from these helps her family live a reasonably good life.
Bored with writing these lucrative little books, she convinces a San Francisco newspaper to hire her as a journalist where she works along with a more seasoned journalist, Eric Whelan. Eventually, the two are sent to Chile to cover the civil war and violence occurring there. She sees this as not only an opportunity to satisfy her adventurous spirit but also an opportunity to find her biological father. She encounters dangers, almost gets killed, and sets off to find herself in the far southern reaches of the Chilean wilderness, learning from the indigenous people who live there how to survive in remote mountains.
Note: One of the places she goes was nearly impossible for non indigenous people to find during the 1800s and many never made it. Today, it is a popular area for hiking, camping, and exploring nature.
What a delightful, entertaining book! The title refers to her basement kitchen in Edinburgh, Scotland, where she lives when she is not wandering the globe. Each chapter highlights a certain place in her travels, in this case Ukraine, various countries in Central Asia, e.g. Uzbekistan, Russia, and the city of Istanbul, which she says is one of her favorite cities to visit especially in winter when tourists are gone. In one chapter, “Russian Railway Pies”, she and her husband ride the train from Moscow to the eastern shore of Russia–the Trans Siberian Railway journey. They did this in winter when the temperature in some places they stopped were as low as 50 below zero.
Each chapter contains her experiences in an individual country or city. She describes the places in detail, the people she meets, the food she eats. She also relates her feelings regarding these places, many of which she had previously visited, how they have changed over the years for better or worse–worse in the case of Russia, what they mean to her. In each chapter she always goes back to her kitchen, her dog, hiking the Scottish highlands, and her cooking, usually a recipe where she is trying to re-create a food she ate in one of these places she loves.
This is her most recent book, published in 2024. She also has a series of books about particular places where the entire book is dedicated to that particular place. Mostly, she has travelled in Central Asia, Russian, the Balkans, Turkey. I enjoyed this book so much, I plan to read another one about her other adventures. She is not just on these adventures for fun but also as a career so she knows many journalists, diplomats, officials in these places.
writingontherim 