Daren

This is a novel, considered autobiographic, about a boy growing up in Britain during the blitz.
It isn't really a genre that I seek out, but Philip Temple is an author of whose books I own around a dozen, and have read about half. His more common genre is non-fiction and often about mountaineering and exploration. He was born in Britain but emigrated to New Zealand where he still lives.

This novel is pure nostalgia - not for me, as I have no connection with London, or Yorkshire during the blitz, but for the author, and those of his era. It is so well described, although described very simply through the eyes of a boy, it is not hard to be drawn into this in a nostalgic way.

The loneliness of living in Yorkshire with his grandparents, his mother living and working in London, but unable to have Sam with her; having only one friend up there; receiving letters from his mother. Over what is a short period it becomes apparent his aging grandparents are not up to looking after Sam for very long. Temple plays out the story of Sam's father, not giving away the details quickly, and cleverly only alluding to the situation. It isn't hard to draw the conclusion that Sam's mother may contribute to her relationship issues with men, as this story plays out.

This novel doesn't paint a happy picture of the Britain of this era, but it reads very realistically, very true. A country in financial trouble, dealing with the war drain. The people are tired, sick of rationing and being unable to afford to buy things they usually have. Work is hard to come by, and so is housing. Employers and landlords have the upper hand.

The next step for Sam is joining his mother in London, where she has rented a bachelors room, or a bedsit, where she and Sam are living in each others pockets. But things go awry and they must move out - and his mother gets a job in a hotel. Unfortunately for Sam this is a live-in position, and children are not welcome, so he starts at a boarding school for boys. He is not happy here, and begins a cycle of running away, testing the headmaster, who tries all manner of treatments to stop Sam - from punishment, to empathising, to bargaining; all to no avail.

There is more, but my intent is not give away all the storyline. I was surprised how successful this novel and the writing style were for me. The relationships Sam has with his mother, grandparents, friends and those at the school are all awkward. He struggles with his internal thoughts, he is stubborn, and jumps to conclusions - all very realistic, and well articulated in the painting of damaged characters.

An interesting read. 4 stars.

I enjoyed his more than I expected to - I thought it very cleverly written, and while I am typically late to the party with reading this, I see enjoyment of it varies fairly widely in my GR friends opinions.

Included in the enjoyable aspects were Griffin being an unpleasant protagonist - a scientist with the goal of using his discovery to further his own life, to cause trouble and even terror, and to protect the secrecy of his discovery at all costs. This story just would not have worked had he been a scientist with morals, who would perhaps seek glory, but would still have published his findings etc. I admit also that I found much amusement in the fact he was running about stark bollock naked when invisible.

HG Wells has shown again how future thinking he was - I am guessing this book was a revelation when published. He had a reasonable stab at justifying the science, and I thought he did well to consider all the aspects of invisibility from a practical perspective - for example the fact food remains visible until it becomes digested enough; blood becomes visible when it coagulates; and how limiting it is for him not to be able to carry anything eg money. There were plenty of unintended and unforeseen consequences as Griffin made his way.

And so with Griffin being, most of the time, his own worst enemy - the story rolls out until it's inevitable conclusion.

A quick and straight forward read, one which I appreciated at this time, the last few books I have read having taken longer than I might have liked to get through!

Perhaps a little generous, but 4 stars!

This is a great read, just a shame that it is not actually a true story!

For those unaware of the story, Rawicz claims that he was one of seven men who escaped from a Soviet prison camp in Siberia and travelled by foot over 4000 miles (6500km) through Siberia, Mongolia's Gobi Desert and Tibetan Himalaya into India, a journey taking eleven months. Records released by Russia show he was released as part of an amnesty and transported to the Caspian Sea and then a refugee centre in Iran. To muddy the waters more, in 2009 a Polish war veteran claims that the story is true, but it was he and not Rawicz who was the escapee.

Much has been called into question, and no records support the story have been discovered.

In terms of the story, it is a gripping story of superhuman endurance and great luck! There are so many occurrences that happen at very strategic points of their journey - usually just as they are at their utmost limits, some chance circumstance saves them - a couple of examples - they discover a stag with its antlers tangled in the roots of a tree, when they have been without food for a number of days; numerous times they come across people in remote locations - shepherds often, who generously provide food and shelter to the group.

The book starts with Rawicz in a holding prison in Moscow and a trial whereby he is found guilty of being a Polish spy and sentenced to 25 years of imprisonment. The first third of the book is the journey in poor conditions with thousands of other men on a train from Moscow to Irkutsk, then a 400 mile (650km) journey by foot north, towards the Arctic Circle to the prison camp, where the men are to labour.

Rawicz is relatively comfortable, having had some skills and been able to join a work group making skis for the Russian army. In this job he works indoors near a furnace and is given a far larger food allowance than general labourers. He is also able to fix and operate a radio for the commandant and his wife, and receives unlikely assistance from her in preparing for his escape.

The selection of the escape group was nerve wracking, the obvious risk being if someone turned them down they could also turn informer. Eventually the group is settled, and is made up on three Polish soldiers, a Lithuanian, a Latvian, and of all people, an American who had been living in Moscow working on the metro construction.

The story describes their preparations, then launches straight into their (fairly straight forward) escape and their superhuman journey as noted above.

Assessed as a work of fiction it is probably 3.5 stars - too many happy coincidences in my view.
Assessed if it were factual and a true story is would be amazing, and 5 stars.

As I grapple with the disbelief, and trust of the author being broken by, at the very least placing himself falsely in the story, and at worst concocting the entire story, I will settle at three stars.

In 1939 Hassoldt Davis is invited to join old acquaintances Armand Denis and Leila Roosevelt Davis and their team on and expedition to Burma (Myanmar) and China, then on to Africa to make a travel documentary of adventure and excitement. Davis was to be the stills photographer. They import vehicles, have a specialist cameraman and a specialist driver/mechanic and employ guides/assistants/interpreters of varying quality!

We start of well enough through Burma, visiting all the common sites (most of which I visited in 2007 during the 3 weeks I spent there). Leg rowers on Inle Lake, monks, a snake temple and other interesting asides. All the while they are awaiting their paperwork promised to allow them into China, of course, it never arrives. Regardless they set off along the road from the border, only to be stopped by landslides rendering the road impassable.

They return to India, where they are assessing their options - most likely having to follow the crowd into Tibet which was fairly common at the time, and feeling underwhelmed by the idea. They attended a party and are talking to a woman, sayin g they will setout for Tibet in the coming days. “But why Tibet, Mr Denis? Everyone has been there. Wouldn't you rather see Nepal?” “Heavens yes, but that's impossible, foreigners are simply not permitted in there...” “Perhaps it could be arranges anyway... you see my father is the Maharajah..” And Princess Saya Mala arranged it so.

This sounds awfully prestigious, but she is one of the King of Nepal's many offspring (to the point where much later in the book the King cannot recall which of his daughters requested their entry to Nepal!) Wikipedia lists seven of the Maharajah's children then states among others!

And so the expedition finds itself trekking overland to Kathmandu (or Khatmandu as it is referred to throughout this book), whereupon the wait for weeks to be acknowledged by the Maharajah, although he does gift them the use of a car and driver - a car they witnessed being carried by porters on the route from India!

After waiting several days for permission to film, being ‘supervised' by a strange official whose title was ‘Officer in Charge of Hospitality Department' and became simply ‘Hospitality' who was theoretically to facilitate their visiting all manner of places people and things, but whose catch phrase was “sssso sssssorry” and had many reasons why places were not accessible to them. Thankfully the driver provided by the Maharajah was much more able to assist in their often clandestine visits. Largely the expedition just pushed the limits, especially while the Maharajah chose not to meet with them.

They spent much time around Kathmandu and Pathan, visiting the important temples (Pashupatinath, Bodnath etc) and at the cremation ghats of the Bagmati River, attended festivals and other cultural events. There was however an undercurrent of violence and distrust of the foreigners which was interesting, given how friendly a place Nepal is nowdays. There is plenty to amuse throughout this book, including a decent number of photographs - black and white, of an array of topics from landscapes to portraits, temples and the like.

An interesting snapshot of another time in Myanmar and Nepal.

3.5 stars, rounded up.

Published in 1972, this is a brief book is made up of two parts - the narrative (about 150 pages), and the appendices (about 25 pages). The author is a London stockbroker, and we learn about his travels to Ethiopia - two very brief visits and a third of several months.

In his opening pages, Macdermot acknowledges that he has “... fallen between two stools...” which makes it sound like a night at the pub where your legs don't keep up with your intake of pints... or is that just me? “This is neither a serious anthropological survey, nor an exciting personal drama embellished... by exaggeration, if not down-right lies. Instead, this story incorporates what I believe to be some valid facts about the Nuer> Not being a qualified anthropologist , I could hardly hope to do more.” This is a refreshing approach, and nicely self-deprecating.

I don't know much about the Ethiopian tribes, other than the Danakil via Wilfred Thesiger's (excellent, but from me unreviewed) book. However Macdermot does a good job of general description and an explanation of their culture and basic way of life. His initial trips a short and merely establish for the author that he wants to return and spend more time there. He saves and plans and hires the same guide he used for the second trip - Thomas, a Yugoslavian man who is living locally and has a good local knowledge. On arrival for his long trip however, Thomas was nowhere to be found, having disappeared off into the bush some months before!

Soon after, Macdermot was approached by what he describes as a “... most unlikely character... His name was Doereding, and to this day I have not forgotten his strange appearance... Doereding came up to us carrying a battered umbrella. He had a round face, permanently bloodshot (I suspected from drink) and an often truculent expression. From time to time this disappeared as he chuckled with delight. In perfect English he introduced himself and said he understood there was someone who wished to visit his people; that he, Doereding, would be willing to escort him.”

The umbrella was to become something of a trademark of Doereding, who was to become Macdermot's interpreter and helper for the duration of his stay.

In some respects it was beneficial that Thomas was not available, as he was more aligned with other tribes not friendly with the Nuer, nor did he speak the language. As it was Macdermot had to forge his way with the village he first approached, but was well received and ended up being given permission to attend and photograph various festivals, rites and the like, as well as just becoming involved in everyday life.

Macdermot writes in chapters loosely themed, but maintains a consistent overall narrative. I found it engaging all the way through, and thought it wise to separate the appendices from this general narrative. The five appendices provide background notes on the war in South Sudan.

4 stars

Until I purchased this book I had never heard of Hector Bolitho. Turns out he was a prolific author, born in Auckland, NZ who travelled a lot and settled in Essex, considering himself (as many colonials of the time did) British.

As a British man, he travelled to the USA to join a lecture circuit (on quite what we are not really told) and this book is his diary of that travel basically on the eve of World War II. There are various references about people disapproving of ‘what Hitler was doing over there in Germany', but no strong prediction of any war.

It took a while to warm to Bolitho, within a few pages he has told some foreign travelling companions that he ‘speaks only English'. When asked what he does in France he replies that he speaks it louder, and when in Germany louder still, and when he visits Tehran he yells English - then admits he has not visited Tehran. This was an off-colour way for an author to introduce himself as a travel author, I thought. There were other petty arrogances displayed, but eventually he settled down and became, if anything, a bit rose-tinted glasses viewed in America.

He met many generous people, with their time and hospitality, taking him places far out of their way, even across the border to Mexico for a 2 day bender (well, maybe not a bender). He hails many people as the most intelligent or most friendly or most accommodating or most...

As I say lots of positives, and wedged in amongst what he sees and does he briefly discusses the mechanics of his lectures, but not his topics or much more. He does detail his travel and so forth. There were various cultural references of the time lost on me, but not interesting enough for me to seek out.

Ultimately it was a brief read, of only moderate interest. Very dated and falls into that ‘snapshot of time' sort of book which might hold appeal for others.

2.5 stars, rounded down.

This book was a great find, despite its slightly sensationalist title, it delivers in spades.

Charles Millar had a unique childhood, raised in the Dutch East Indies and Dutch New Guinea, his father a solider there. According to the introduction, his mother was the first white woman to visit Dutch New Guinea and he established the Dutch military post in Merauke. Dutch New Guinea is now known as Indonesian Papua, he west half of Papua New Guinea.

In this book Charles returns to Papua, with a new American bride on his arm and a selection of cameras to record the headhunting tribes living deep in the jungle. He selected his men from a chain gang of murderers sent there to serve out their sentences, and fifty large natives, and towed their canoes behind his steam launch heading up river.

To describe all the action, even all the tribes that Miller and his his wife Leona encounter would be too difficult, and I didn't take notes while I read. The writing if very good, there is always something happening and it all catches the eye of the author. There were plenty of times of tension, where a false move would have made his head an ornament for the natives, but lighters, matches, fireworks and highly flammable cine tape all made his a powerful witch doctor to be respected - and of course his guns.

To say that the tribes were headhunters goes with out saying, but the raid which Miller was obliged to accompany one tribe on was described in great detail and was one of the most gruesome and fearful things I have read in some time. Perhaps this book wasn't received to the acclaim it deserved may be down to the violence and bloodlust of the raid and some of the ceremonies he describes. But there was also much described of the way of life of these tribes which makes Miller somewhat of a anthropologist. Certainly he had a knack for language, picking up several to add to those he already knew from his childhood.

As he moved from village to village and tribe to tribe he changed his guides to take him on to the next, but he retained his Malays and some of the original men from Merauke; the Malays loyal, the rest ‘mostly' loyal. The below quote one I noted down.

p83/84

... I arranged my caravan so that every third or fourth man was either a Malay or a trusted murderer from the Merauke chain gang. These men I armed with rifles. Their pride in my confidence in them was the best insurance I could have. Any native developing an overwhelming attachment for his burden had no opportunity to run off with it as long as my Malays and Javanese killers were on the job. I want to emphasise again that the natives are not to be trusted any further than you can broad-jump in a bag. They don't steal in our meaning of the word. They just walk off with the stuff and never come back. They have about the same sense of right and wrong as a magpie. They mean no particular harm, they are just following the only law they know; take what you can get while you can get it, and beat it while the beating is good.

As much a brochure as a book, at 80 pages, but for me it was worth the read and the photos.
I visited Abu Simbel in 1995, and loved it - the scale, the drama and the wonder of the engineering.

In the case you are unaware, the High Dam or the Awan River was a massive irrigation scheme, designed to control the release of water to prolong the growing season, with the bonus of hydro electric power generated by the release of the water. The High Dam raised the level of the lake it created upstream, and this was destined to flood the two magnificent temples at Abu Simbel created by Ramses II in the 13th Century BC.

The solution to this problem, arrived at by UNESCO, was to relocate the temples to higher ground. As the temples were carved from the mountain side, disassembly consisted of large scale engineering project - the temples were very carefully cut into one thousand and forty two blocks, all requiring lifting by crane and reassembling and grouting. Because it was necessary to recreate the setting of the temple - carved into a mountain - the engineers also needed to create a mountain! A vast concrete dome was created to carry the weight of the ‘mountain' so that it would not crush the temple.

This book explains it, in albeit oversimple terms, but also has some excellent photographs of record.

But I have jumped ahead a little. First the book provides an overview history of Egypt (upper and lower), some of the Pharos, and some of the culture (chapter 1). It then rolls in Nubia (upper and lower) with a similar explanation of the interactions with Egypt over time (chapter 2). Chapter 3 and 4 provide detailed descriptions of the Great and Small temple at Abu Simbel. Chapters 5 and 6 describe the saving and relocation of the temples.

I mentioned above that the description was in simple terms. This book may well be in translation, or perhaps it is aimed at readers for whom English is not their first language; perhaps it has been dumbed down to suit readers of all ages. The wording is incredibly simple and it has a repetitive form where a short simple sentence is made, and immediately followed by a simple definition of a word in the prior sentence.
For example: “Then, to lift the blocks, mechanical crane was used. A crane is a tall machine which is used to lift heavy objects.” or “Bulldozers pushed piles of sand up to the chests of the sitting statues. A bulldozer is a large machine which is used for moving heavy objects.”

In spite of this awkward style, I still enjoyed this little book, which set me on a road of reminiscing of my time in Egypt.

3.5 stars, rounded down.

This book was unfortunately paired with two other quite slow reads for me. While only a thin volume, it has a quite small font and dense line spacing, meaning that its 178 pages are easily comparable to 250 page book of larger type. It was published in 1996.

The content was excellent, and very detailed, and while there were some in-depth aspects that interested me less than other areas, there is little doubt the author did a great job of immersing herself in the community and learning much more about Aboriginal culture than most who make the attempt.

Monica Furlong was a British author and journalist (she passed away 2003) who had shown interest in the Aboriginal people, and was invited to Balgo or Balgo Missionary near the border of Western Australia and the Northern Territory, where it has access to both the Great Sandy Desert and the Tanami Desert. The Aboriginals who live there are the Kukatja (or Gugadja) people.

Luurnpa, the Kingfisher, is the totemic ancestor of the Kukatja people. The Aboriginal name for Balgo is Wirrumanu. Wirrumanu is the name of the track made by the luurnpa in the Dreaming when he led the people from waterhole to waterhole.

I am still sitting on the fence when it comes to the missionaries. I acknowledge they do a huge amount of good for the Aboriginal communities, who really have few other people standing up for them in a country which has an appalling record of dealing with their indigenous people. However I see little benefit to the Aboriginals who are converted to follow a religion so foreign to their culture. I concede though, on balance, that they do far more good than they do harm.

This quote (P134) stood out to me:

The anthropologist TGH Strehlow, by no means uncritical of missionary endeavours in Australia, nevertheless made the startling claim, that ‘the missions were the only agency that held up the complete physical annihilation of the Aboriginal race in this country from the beginnings of white settlement till the time when more enlightened Government policies were instituted in Australia.' Despite Christian bigotry and narrowmindedness, repression and ignorance, there was also a sense of human dignity and worth, and a devotion and love, however misguided at times.

An interesting and broad overview of Haiti as visited by the author in (presumably) the early 1930s, the book having been published in 1935. Translated from German, it reads well.

An adventurous fellow, the author travels over much of Haiti, by boat (close border with the Dominican Republic), public and private transport and even by horse on a few occasions. He travels with locals who offer to host him or alone, but either way manages to involve himself in local goings on, visiting the tourist spots a little, but mostly off the main routes and into the more remote areas where he is exposed to the voodoo and culture of the natives, including their sexually charged dances and voodoo rituals. The time the author spends with white men who have lived long term in Haiti provide some of the more interesting experiences.

While the book perhaps loses its way a little in the middle third, which is a long chapter called Polychromata and contains short essays on various topics. The first third focusses on travel and culture, with a mix of history. The final third focuses more on the history of King Henri Christophe and on voodoo. King Christophe was involved in the revolution (against French rule) and rose to power as others fell away. He started in promising fashion, but soon became a ruthless and unpopular leader. Loederer visits Christophe's Citadelle Laferriere (referred to a La Ferriere in the book) - a fortress on a mountaintop, complete with dungeons and a mausoleum occupied by Christophe, as he committed suicide while the people and army were rioting and baying for his blood. Loederer writes this history as an engaging story. The last part of the book picks up on the title and deals with voodoo and black magic, culminating in the voodoo fire festival.

Worth mentioning, as they were a highlight, are Loederer's woodcut artworks in the book - there are around forty, most an entire page, and he shows good talent. There are plenty of buildings and landscapes, but the best are African men and women, mostly nudes, and often pictured in dance.

A short quote to finish.
P273

“Voodoo is supreme. The Christian missionaries of a dozen different denominations may go on fighting to suppress the ancient dances and rituals. They will never succeed. Haiti is, and always will be - Haiti!”

Recognised as the best first five-eight in the world, Dan Carter is an international legend as well as a local one. As a fan of Dan Carter I tempered my expectations for this book, and was glad I did so.

Interesting, and still worth the read, but not a lot of groundbreaking stuff in here. Duncan Grieve has done a pretty good job of finding Dan's voice in the writing, but hard to go past the decision to stop the story at the end of the RWC2019 Semifinal. That really just clips the end of the narrative.

Beyond that, Dan provides some behind the scenes details of his Canterbury, Crusaders and All Blacks teams, a bit of his family background and a torturous catalogue of his injuries and rehabilitation processes.

I honestly hadn't realised just how injured he was and how much he had to fit a few games of rugby in between injuries.

3.5 stars, rounded down.

To travel the length of the Amur River is quite some journey. Rising in the highly protected province of Khentii, in Mongolia, northeast of Ulan Baatar its course passes from Mongolia then between Russia and China forming the border, before turning northeast back into Russia to discharge into the Strait of Tartary, near Sakhalin Island. A length of 4,444 kilometres (2,763 miles).

For anyone this journey would be quite an undertaking, Colin Thubron carried this out in his 80th year. That seems genuinely incredible to me, although his intimate knowledge and experience from many years of travelling in both Russian and China certainly helped.

He makes reference to a certain point where he realises that the people he is with at the time (somewhere in the Russian wilderness, if I recall correctly) are seeing him as an elderly man, wondering why he is there, and why he is undertaking what to them seems like a pointless journey. I suppose at that point he wondered that himself. Each time he found a mirror Thubron found himself looking older that the last time, his clothing more disheveled and worn.

The Amur River - I had heard of it before picking up this book, I know it ran through Siberia and
Manchuria, I knew of the Amur Tiger (having read The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival, by John Vaillant). I didn't know much more about the route and the history entwined around the locations, but once we got into the journey, I realised I did know a lot of what happened in this area, with Russia, Japan and China all taking control at one time or another.

There is certainly a lot told in this book, much more history, context, culture, people and peoples stories than the actual travel, which slowed down the reading significantly for me - not that this was a negative, but it did take me a really long time to get through it all. The indigenous groups feature heavily in this remote part of Russia and China, although on both sides of the river there has been much assimilation. Travelling by a mixture of means - lots of boat travel, bus and private vehicles, even horses, helps mix up the narrative.

We meet and learn much about Thubron's guides - he takes on a number, each of whom are familiar with the stretch of river that they accompany him on. Each has a deep history - family history, personal history and a knowledge of the wider local history. Many introduce him to other people who have more to contribute. His experience in Russia had made his wary of likely visa problems, police corruption, FSB interference and the like - he practically expected to be prevented from progressing at almost every turn, only for things to find a way of working out.

There is certainly a lot of depression and sadness to this book. These parts of Russia certainly, and less so China are in decline. There are many forgotten people, and aspects of society here. Many of the people he meets are depressed, alcoholic and unemployed. They eek out their survival, the poach fish out of season, they take endangered species. The winter is harsh and long, it wears people down, isolates and cuts them off in their small villages already in decline. Their children move to the cities for schooling and seldom return, certainly not to live. There are often only minor threads of positive to be found in the narrative. I understand that this has affected some other readers opinion of this book.

I have read many of Colin Thubron's books and enjoyed almost all of the nonfiction. The last two I have read (this and To a Mountain in Tibet) I have found slower going - but perhaps that was the case with his other books - I read them long ago. I know his fiction (for me at least) it to be avoided at all costs - I found it terrible).

While it contains only one map, it is a well executed one, although it could have been split over more pages. Surprisingly no photographs are provided - in the paperback edition anyway.

This was a slow but enjoyable read, and four stars reflects that adequately.

Ion Idriess sets this book in the small Kimberley town of Derby, (in the remote northern Territory of Australia) during the annual wet season. Each year the men of the Kimberley, from ‘over the range' and ‘along the Fitzroy' gather in Derby to sit out the torrential rains. They drink, tell yearns, share their pioneering stories, share their losses and successes. Idriess spent the wet season there in 1934, with many of the characters he knew, but more that he met, and he shares these stories with the reader.

The chapters in this book are inter-related, and some follow each other sequentially, but not all. The stories jump around a lot - some are stories of the wet season and the antics the men get up to with Idriess present, but most are stories from the time outside of the wet season.

There are a few characters who are present throughout long tracts of this book - Womba Billy is the most memorable, and perhaps the most interesting. A white fella, but brought up by an Aboriginal family he speaks many Aboriginal languages, as well as pidgen English and English, and has the respect of the Aboriginal people and therefore an insight into their lives. Without doubt these stories and interactions were the highlight of the book for me.

As anyone who follow my reviews will know I am a big Idriess fan, and for the first time with one of his many books, that I haven't been enthralled for page one. It look me a long while to put my finger on what the issue was, and then it dawned on me - I wasn't able to build an interest in enough of the characters. Until we got onto a Womba Billy chapter we were quickly introduced to characters before chopping to another story after perhaps a half a page. Often the chapter might contain 6 or 8 small vignettes, not related. As often as not the vignette ends in the death of the protagonist - the Kimberley is a dangerous place, frontier lands if you like, these men were pioneering raising stock out here, and the munjon or wild Aboriginals are plentiful. Beyond the Kimberley are the King Leopold Ranges - land even more remote than the Kimberley!

Because of this patchiness, and because there was a fair few humorous drunken escapade stories (which were a bit lame in todays context) this book failed to engage me the way I expect from this author, and as such was a 3.5 star read. Because of his other excellent books I feel obliged to round this down to only 3 stars. This is still worth the time in reading, absolutely, but it just doesn't reach the highs of his other works by comparison.

This was an interesting one - I had clearly not read the blurb before starting as I was getting major deja vu, thinking that I was sure I hadn't read this before, but aspects of it were familiar. Turns out I read a book called [b:The Galapagos Affair 12402623 The Galapagos Affair John Treherne https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1328818208l/12402623.SY75.jpg 4461199], which was written way after the fact, but used this book and another from another island inhabitant as source material. I didn't enjoy that book much (2 stars), but I didn't review it at the time.I have somewhat jumped ahead though. Some vague spoilers below, but I have stayed away from the good stuff!In August 1932 the author and her husband, along with this son (her stepson) landed on Floreana, an island in the Galapagos Island group. They were a German couple who longed for a simpler life, and managed to arrange their staying there with the Ecuadorean government. There were another two people on the island, also German. He was an eccentric nudist vegetarian doctor, named Friedrich Ritter and a supposed disciple Dore Strauch, who were there without their respective spouses and have a complex and frictional relationship! They were, can you believe, not the most strange occupants as the self-styled Austrian Baroness Wagner de Bosquet turned up not long after, with three (German) men in tow and began requisitioning things and taking goods and gifts left for the Wittmer's!I don't think I can explain the plot of the above more than to say people die in circumstances that vary depending on who tells the story, others disappear without trace. The book mentioned above tries to untangle the web, but this book tells only the Wittmer's version of things.But more than these bizarre interactions, this is the story of this intrepid family starting (literally) from scratch, clearing scrub to plant vegetables and living in a cave while building a house from timbers cut from the available trees, and just finding a way to survive. They couple are genuinely very hard working, share all their trials and tribulations not being selective about sharing the things they did wrong or failed at, but equally celebrated their successes.Written from her diaries and not published until 1959 (in German, translated and published in English in 1961), it covers a huge timespan, as they couples son (the eldest of their two children born on the island) is married at the end of the book in the late 1950s.Famous visitors include the US President at the time Franklin D. Roosevelt and Thor Heyerdahl. Over the years the couple made strong connections with Americans from Multi-millionaire yacht owners to the military who used the Galapagos as naval and surveillance bases in the pre-war years, but thankfully they were recognised as not supporting the Nazi regime and were very well supported through the war years.There was loads going on that I haven't mentioned, and this was a really engaging read. The translation was obviously done well, as the flow of the narrative was maintained throughout.The one thing not addressed in this book is the damage done by settlers life on this island - but more than them by the cattle, pigs and dogs introduced (before these settlers) on one of the most remarkable island groups in the world.I thought this really interesting for a wide range of reasons!4 stars

Four short stories from Raymond Chandler that pre-date his Philip Marlowe series of novels.
There is some prototyping for Marlowe going, and there are some interesting twists and turns in these.

The back of this slim paperback says:

‘When in doubt, have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand', wrote Raymond Chandler once. In these four stores of the wild modern west, doors open, guns speak, blood spurts, knees buckle. When the doors won't open, the hood push the muzzle of a chopper through the peep panel and rake the room from end to end. And men take a little time to die.

Smart Alec kill

Pick-up on Noon Street

Nevada Gas

Spanish Blood

Geoff Howard is a parish priest from Manchester. On Christmas Eve 1974 he departed from Beni Abbes in Algeria- his destination was Kano in Nigeria.

The wheelbarrow of note in the book title is a “Chinese Wheelbarrow” - not that I have ever heard of, or seen one. It has a large central wheel and a box locker each side. They come with a mast and a sail, which is said to take part of the load from the operator, but this was proven by Howard to be more hindrance than help, as it is obviously very direction-dependent, and it makes no sense to tack like a yacht when pushing a wheelbarrow! The sail and mast were quickly abandoned in favour of brute force.

Beni Abbes to Kano is some 1946 miles (a little over 3130km); Geoff Howard, the mad bugger, pushed his Chinese Wheelbarrow all this way (less the 1km in which he rode in a truck in a moment of weakness). It took him 94 days, for an average of over 20 miles a day (32km).

That he was assisted by two British soldiers who were in a Land Rover and accompanied him most of the way makes it sound easier - but this was a safety consideration, and he made his own complex rules about how and when they could assist. He was to carry all his own equipment and food, water, supplies etc between towns - ie self sufficiency, but he did meet up with them to camp each night. They generally did not stay in towns, but backtracked a few miles to camp in relative peace, in which case they loaded up the wheelbarrow and were able to share food that night (as they would have done had they stayed in the town). Mechanical repairs and medical assistance could be rendered when the Land Rover passed by (he set off early in the morning, they passed him around lunchtime or later and he determined how many more miles they would travel before camping). He was able to take food or supplies offered by others on the road, and the locals were generous with small food offerings.

His purpose? Other than proving to himself he could make it, and proving all those who told him he could or would not make it wrong - was to raise money for the poor in Nigeria, where he and his wife had recently completed a year as volunteers for an aid organisation. He had learned a little of the language in that time, so that came in helpful when he crossed the border from Niger.

This book was not published until 1990, as once his journey was over he was overtaken by normal life - he was back to work, his wife and children (and the four more that eventuated). Like the journey, it is quite an extraordinary book. Chris Bonington wrote a one-page Foreword, and wrote ‘Not much of an adventure' I thought, ‘pushing this ridiculous wheelbarrow along a well travelled road or track with a Land Rover in constant attendance.' Which is not very complimentary, but is not really the whole story either.

While he had his religious moments - conversations with God, requests to God that were responded to by the local people, it was not an overpoweringly religious book. He was perhaps at his most amusing where he was out of his comfort zone - the soldiers teasing him about the local girls, the various offers he received and the like. The book was written well, it engaged and maintained interest in a way that journeys which are repetitive by nature often are not engaging reading. While he was detailed in his food, this was generally sparse and minimal and didn't take up much page space, his camping, sleeping and living was covered off but not repetitive and there were various changes to this along the way as he lost equipment or evolved his processes. Howard also shared much of his personal life, and also his troubled thoughts for the three month journey. I wouldn't say his marriage was on the rocks, but there was some turmoil, and he was inclined to think the worst - remembering this was all prior to digital communication, when loved ones had to send letters to random towns and cities, predicting when they might arrive and when the traveller might collect them.

A slim book of less than 200 pages, the font was very small (too many of these small font books lately!) and so was probably equivalent to a 250 page read.

4 stars.

Written by Miriam MacMillan, this is basically a hagiography of her husband, explorer and sailor Donald MacMillan.

Published in 1952, it primarily covers the period that Miriam knew ‘Mac' until the end of World War II. As a child MacMillan was a friend of her father (she is 31 years his junior), and well known mariner, always heading north to undertake explorations up the coast from her home in Maine. Labrador, New Foundland, Hudson Bay, Baffin Land and Greenland were his hunting grounds, and he builds favourable relationships with the Inuit (still referred to as Eskimo in this book).

There are a couple of major expeditions covered here - on the second of which the author is able to join her husband - a somewhat bold revelation for a woman to accompany the men on an expedition where there were always significant risks.

As noted above the author writes very highly of every move that ‘Mac' makes. Every person they encounter is his friend, or wants to be. Everyone is bending over backwards to aid and assist. He navigates faultlessly in fog, he predicts how the sea or the ice will react to weather.

To be fair, Donald MacMillan is recognised for making over 30 expeditions to the Arctic, he set up and supported a school in Nain (Labrador) and for his continual support of university student researchers who he took on his expeditions as crew.

The book contained a lot of good description of places and the Inuit people, but it became a bit of a slog and was tainted for me by the hero worship from the author.

3.5 stars, rounded down.

First published in 1945, I found a much more recent edition at a book sale, and was eager to read it.

John Denvir was from a Scottish family emigrated to New Zealand, and he volunteered to fight in the New Zealand Army, attached to the New Zealand Battalion. After training in Egypt, Corporal Denvir was among the many captured quickly after deployment in Greece in April 1941, and interned as a prisoner of war initially in Greece, but then followed a long, often gruelling, journey to
Maribor, Slovenia - known to the Germans as STALAG XVIII D. There were 12000 men in the prison camp there, around half British (mostly Australians and New Zealanders), the other half Yugoslavian, French and later Russians.

From the beginning Denvir had no objective other than escape, and returning to fight in the war. He found others in the camp willing to take the same risks and made his first escape with two other men. Their intention was to head to Turkey - although this was a vast distance to travel through enemy territory and inevitably they were recaptured.

On the next escape, made with Australian gunner Colin Cargill, later killed by Italian troops (the book is dedicated to Cargill, he made such an impression on Denvir), they stayed local, having been warned of the heavy axis occupation for any journey to safety. They were told of men in the mountains fighting the Italian occupiers, and made their way to join them. These were the Slovenian Partisans, and Cargill and Denvir joined as machine gunners.

The partisans were engaged in challenging the Italians as they moved around the occupied land, but eventually evolved into more guerilla tactics, being heavily outnumbered. Strongly supported by the local villages the partisans were considered heroes, but the civilians paid heavily when the Italians suspected they had aided the rebel soldiers. Throughout the war civilians were killed and villages were burned in appalling circumstances. The partisans took their own revenge where able.

When Denvir heads out on a mission one day his gives Cargill his military ID to keep safe. When their camp is raided, Cargill is killed, the papers are found on him and it is reported to his family that Denvir has been killed. It is not for over a year that he has the opportunity to send a message to the British that he is alive and fighting with the partisans in Slovenia.

As the partisans become more professional, more successful and more dangerous to the axis forces they increase their efforts to eliminate them. Politics play their part, with another group (the Serbian chetniks) taking credit for much of the partisan success and were often hostile to the partisans. The chetniks were supported by the British, who considered the Partisans (wrongly) were not a professional force capable of challenging the Italians and Germans. Denvir was promoted and when the Slovenian partisans joined up with Tito and the partisans in Croatia across the border Denvir spent time in the central command.

This story was written from Denvir's diaries, and from numerous interviews with Denvir himself, but you can feel the reluctance of the soldier to explain his contribution to the Partisans in Slovenia. The author saw past this modesty and self deprecation, but relied on the input of others to explain some of Denvir's heroic acts. I outlined it briefly above, but it details the years Denvir spend in Slovenia, the military actions and the details of many who died.

Denvir was wounded several times, the last was an elbow injury which prevented him from fighting, but also required more medial care than could not be provided locally. He was evacuated to allied controlled Italy for care which ultimately ended his war.

He was awarded the DCM (Distinguished Conduct Medal) and was the only British soldier to be awarded the Soviet Medal of Valour.

This is an easy to read, yet detailed biography, and it is great to see these types of histories recorded.

4.5 stars, rounded down.

While this book was a slow read for me, there were some external factors, such as the other three books I completed during the reading of this, that slowed me down. It is a thorough, detailed and well paced.
Split into chapters titled Prologue, The Legend, The American, The Briton, The Frenchman, The German and Epilogue, it covers more than it might seem.

The name Timbuctoo conjures a mystical and foreign place, renowned for being hard to get to, defended by vicious Tuareg tribesmen. All for good reason. Modern visitors are perhaps more taken with the place than history's explorers in this book, whose surviving letters and diaries show them to be somewhat underwhelmed with the city - crumbling mud-built houses, a significant number of poor people and slaves. None of the wealth, the golden riches, the fabulous people they expected.

So the first chapter explains the legend surrounding Timbuctoo. It also covers Mungo Parks and his exploration of the Niger river in 11795 and 1805, and his subsequent death.

The American - Robert Adams (real name Benjamin Rose) was a sailor on the ship Charles which in 1813 struck a reef and was wrecked where he was taken captive by slavers and visited Timbuctoo with them, eventually making his way back to civilisation where he told his story. It was widely discredited and considered false, but the author goes a long way to explaining some of the inconsistencies identified by others.

The Briton - This chapter introduces the competitiveness of Britain and France to be the first to visit Timbuctoo and establish trade. For the British, a number tried, and Denham, Oudney and Clapperton get their coverage of their journeys from 1822-1824, but the hero of this chapter is Alexander Gordon Laing. His extensive journey in 1825 is extensively covered in this chapter, including his untimely end, while Clapperton has a second go also in 1825.

The Frenchman is Rene Caillie, whose long term establishing of himself in Mauritania where he learned Arabic and the ways of Islam, and established his backstory (that he was a native of Alexandria and had been a captive of the French), thus was able to travel in disguise. His journey in 1827 made Caillie the first European to visit Timbuctoo and return to Europe.

The German - Firstly we get the brief interludes of Richard Landers, John Davidson and James Richardson (all British). Then the Germans Heinrich Barth and Adolf Overweg stepped into the spotlight. Barth, the Arabist is the hero of this chapter, with his journey from 1850 to 1855.

The Epilogue runs through other visitors after Barth up until the Republic of Mali being granted independence in 1960.

These are intricate journeys - shown on a single map, which would have been far better as a fold out page rather than the small pencil sketch in the book. They are very well described, but it is kept simple and non-academic, although there are plenty of footnotes for sources.

I found this an enjoyable read, but found it wasn't to be rushed.

4 stars

It is often hard to reconcile someone you meet briefly, in (relatively) old age with the story of their life. I briefly met Ruth Shaw (but not husband Lance) at her Two Wee Bookshops at Manapouri when on a trip down south. I didn't have an in depth conversation - there were a number of people manoeuvring for position in the small shop, while she waited outside - nearer to the children's bookshop than the one I was in. It isn't generally possible to tell what a person has been through in their life from how the present to you - much like a book and its cover.

This is a simply presented book with alternating chapters on Ruth's autobiographic tales and of short anecdotes about her customers from the bookshop. This book took me through the range of emotions - some of the experiences in the author's life were brutal, and it must have taken a lot of bravery to have shared them in such a detailed manner. Some of her experiences have been adventurous and dangerous, and therefore exciting, but wow, they would have been terrifying at times too. She also shows her determination and ability to succeed in spite of the odds against her.

I wouldn't like to spoil this for other readers, but among her many adventures, those mentioned on the back of the book are only few - being held up by pirates in the seas of Indonesia in a small yacht, working in Kings Cross (Sydney) with prostitutes and drug addicts tied her up with the NSW corruption charges against the vice cops who ran the drug dealers and were responsible for the murders of people who got in the way (many were given long prison terms when internal affairs concluded the Wood Royal Commission).

The author has always had a connection with the sea, and that runs through her autobiography, from her time in the Navy, crewing on various yachts, solo journeys in her own yacht, skippering boats for Fiordland travel (Real Journeys) around Doubtful Sound, Milford Sound & Lake Manapouri and setting up her own ecology tourism business with Lance in Fiordland and the subantarctic islands. She also had a huge list of land based jobs all over New Zealand as well as Papua New Guinea and Australia, often as a cook, but also other more diverse things such a her time running a pig farm and as mentioned above a youth welfare officer.

I am trying really hard not to spoil other things in here, so will leave it at that, but keep an eye out for a copy of this one if you are visiting New Zealand, I can't see how you won't be enthralled by it the way I was.

5 stars

I am not sure how I ended up with five Tim Moore books in my shelves (physical shelves that is). This is the third I have read, and it seems I like the idea of his books a lot more than his actual books.
This one - honestly, I read it so I can remove it from my shelf and replace it with something more promising!

It isn't that this is poorly written or completely disinteresting, or has any significant faults - it is just not really my sort of book. Tim Moore, in this one, spends time with the people of historical re-enactments from the Iron Age, the Romans, the Vikings, the Middle Ages, the Tudors, the Pioneers (USA) and finally the US Civil War.

As so we meet all manner of mostly nice, mostly well meaning, mostly having fun, mostly fairly dull people and their re-enactment events, generally resulting the author being shown up by more exuberant youths and middle aged men with beards who just want to use re-enactments to satisfy their violent needs (with axes/swords etc). Some amusing situations are scattered through as the author travels from age to age and country to country to meet up with these groups. Tim Moore attended several re-enactments in Britain but also traveled on to Copenhagen (Denmark), Toulouse (France) and of course the USA.

2.5 stars, rounded up.

This book exceeded all my expectations - not that I went in knowing much. This was a fantastically put together book from a Yorkshireman who lived for a time in Western Australia - north of Perth in the Geraldton, Carnarvon & Shark Bay areas. The book was published in 1972, and draws from the authors time from the 1950's and early 60's.

My best comparison is Ion Idriess who writes in a somewhat similar vane, writing both biographical stories, stories about those he meets and historical events. Peter Lancaster Brown writes an engaging combination of all three in this book, and most importantly he writes in a style well adapted to Australiana (hopefully that makes sense - I suppose in essence it means a relatively simple narrative).

For me, all the topics that the author wrote about were on point and interesting. The book was spilt up into three parts:

Outback Whaling which covered the author working as a labourer in the 1950s whaling company, but delved into the history and entire processing routine of the whale factory. While this was gruesome and I am against whaling, I do find the historical aspects fascinating.

Shark Bay which covered the area of Shark Bay and Carnarvon - a wide history of the discovery of Australia (really well summarised), the early days of exploration and settlement in this area, Bernier Island - one of the islands sheltering the mainland and creating the bay as a (usually) calm area; an uninhabited island which the author visited and spent some time alone exploring. Seabirds, sharks and peals were the mainstay of early industries (other than whales) and he explores their histories and contributions to society. Finally in this chapter he describes the Aboriginal people and some of their local history (including their often despicable treatment by the colonisers), with a compassionate view that I consider would not have been found with the majority Australians of that era.

Geraldton and the Abrolhos Islands which discusses the history of Geraldton and the Murchison - early explorations and settlement, the islands of Abrolhos, where the key story revolves around the wreck of the Batavia. I wish I had read this book earlier as this time last year I read Batavia's Graveyard - The True Story of the Mad Heretic Who Led History's Bloodiest Mutiny, which added a huge depth to what Peter Lancaster Brown writes here. The author does a great job of his own research and figuring out a lot of the detail of this gruesome affair where mutineers turned murderers to cover up their terrible behaviours, specifically where the wreck actually occurred. Crayfish, a local primary catch feature heavily in this section too, as this was another industry that the author worked in. Lastly a piece about the many other shipwrecks in the area and a story about illegal gold smuggling.

So all in all, these subtopics were all well within my interest range, and this book really worked for me.

5 stars. Recommended if these types of stories sound interesting to you!

Well, I am fence sitting on this one. The overwhelmingly positive reviews from fellow readers make me the outlier on this.

For me I found it a complex and demanding read, yet it was also repetitive and at times numbing in its detail (something I normally find appealing!). While all aspects of the multi-layered story appealed to me, the detail of the miniatures somehow overtook the miniatures as a whole, and I wasn't able to take as much from them as I had hoped.

Without a couple of days off work with a cold, I would probably have laboured harder on this book at its 670 pages of dense text - a larger investment than I am often prepared to make with so many other books awaiting my attention, but it did feel overlong and in my view could have be through a harder edit to reduce page count without affecting the story.

However, I thought it wrapped up much quicker than was necessary (no spoilers so I won't develop that theme much more) with the conclusion to the story of Master Osman and the Sultan's enquiry into the murder left unresolved other than a brief mention.

I am usually a fan of stories with in stories, but I found most of these a distraction - although I realise the reason for having them in the narrative - the formulaic three fables thing seemed to add to the tedium for me as I read.

So, as you can tell, I didn't love this novel. I do think it was masterfully crafted with the continually changing perspective, and aspects were excellent, but for me overlong and drawn out.

On this basis a solid 3 stars.

With a healthy 3.56 stars, and a more 4 star reviews than others, this seems to be a book well received by the reviewers on GR. I didn't think this was Spillane's best work - by some distance. I thought the twist in the story was so obvious that I can't believe there is any reader who didn't see it approaching... It was that and the main character's complete block on seeing the obvious that disturbed my reading of this.

But I have jumped ahead - this is a story of counterespionage, with Tiger Mann (I know, right?) as a agent working for a private counterespionage/espionage company run by an independently wealthy man who has big political sway, meaning they are able to force the assistance of the Feds and other agencies where required.

Published in 1964, the main storyline is that during the war Tiger Mann was in love with a British Agent Rondine Lund, who double crossed him shot him in the stomach and left him for dead, disappearing into the Nazi system. All this time later, Mann sees her in a restaurant, and although she has had some excellent plastic surgery to change her age, he recognises her instantly. She now works for the UN as a translator and the UN has a leak that is providing the Russians with all the inside intel on the deals being done on the UK/US side, allowing them to make good in the political manoeuvring.

Tiger is intent on killing Rondine - or Edith Caine as she is now known, but he won't do it until he has torn apart whatever she is involved in. Edith Caine has passed all the security checks and her background is as faultless as her plastic surgery - Tiger having made an opportunity to check everywhere for scars.

Ian Fleming's James Bond has been around 10 years before Spillane dips into the secret agent genre, and are four books in this series - and yes I have the other three. Hopefully the next one is a bit less obvious, as there is at least some potential in this character and setting.

2.5 stars really, so 3 stars from me.

Excellent.I loved this book - the premise and the execution were brilliant.

Although I have read some of Theroux's fiction before I found it very hit and miss - and far less fulfilling than this non-fiction - particularly the travel. I have a few more of his fiction books, but I can't imagine them matching up to this one.

We know that the five years Eric Blair spent in the India Imperial Police force in Burma were formative, but the absence of letters or diaries from the period doesn't allow us to really know how. As is stated on the back cover of my paperback edition ‘this richly complex transformation can only be told in fiction, as it is here by Paul Theroux'.

And so, Theroux has taken what few facts are known about Blair's time in Burma - his being posted here and there, his police record, his quick grasp of the language, his maternal family in Moulmein - and wrapped a narrative around it, introducing elements of his written works (primarily Burmese Days, A Hanging and Shooting and Elephant carefully into the story. Theroux is obviously very familiar with Orwell's work and has brought his thoughts (often expressed through John Flory - his alter-ego in Burmese Days) as he struggled to be the Sahib, with the heavy impact on the Raj the Indians and Burmese people he was empowered to ‘control'.

The descriptions of Burma, the settings of the individual towns were well managed, and reminiscent. I spent 4 weeks in Myanmar and travelled around some of the places Blair was posted, but not the delta areas or the jail, and while it was some 80-90 years later, there was still the impact of the Colonial architecture, the impact on parts of the cities, to be able to draw from. I read Burmese Days while I was there, which was a novelty.

I found the book portrayed very well Blair as I think of him (rightly or wrongly) with his social awkwardness, his bookish shyness and yearning for solitude, his intellect making him stand out from his peers. Theroux perhaps hammers home the torturing, internal conflict with Blair a bit hard and repetitively, but not overly detrimentally to my enjoyment. One of the aspects I had not pictured was Blair's self-consciousness over being tall, but apparently at 6'2'' he Gullivered his peers.

Enjoyable also was the inclusion of themes of publications contemporary to his time from DH Lawrence, Somerset Maugham, Rudyard Kipling and EM Forster. Their assertions were used to talk about their themes and what Blair's position on the content sat.

I didn't find this a heavy read, although it was 390 pages long, as it flowed really well. If anything, I read it more slowly than I needed in the misguided hope it would last me a bit longer!

If I was to be ultra-critical, I might suggest the weaving of the characters was a bit heavy handed and the choreographing of the characters in his writing (Burmese Days mostly, but also 1984) into this book was a bit too literal in some cases. I do wonder though how much is in there that I didn't pick up on though - how deep the Orwell catalogue is woven in and I just missed it...

5 stars.

Quick quote - P22, my edition.
An internal monologue showing Blair's conflicted position, his self doubt and his cringing shyness all in two paragraphs!

It is just conceivable I am proof that it is all a colossal bluff, Blair Thought. Two years of disgraceful concealment and unpreparedness, habituated to failure, shrinking like a girl at the sight of a mere rat in the corner of a dak bungalow, disgusted by my sweaty men when they march, hiding in my room whenever someone mentions a party or a dance at the club, taking refuge in my books, appalled when I see myself in the mirror in uniform, slope-shouldered, my tabs askew, my puttees slipping down my shins, blaming my houseboy yet knowing the fault is mine, unashamed at lashing out at my bearer, the old man Myat who bobbled and broke my lacquer bowl - all that, and he hugger-mugger visits to Monkey Point, pressing money into the tiny hand of a sweet-faced tart, so that I, a well-fed sahib, can have my wicked way with her, a hungry native. Yes, I'm the Proof.For this I am rewarded, my probationary status lifted, promoted to full assistant district superintendent with a raise of seventy-five rupees a month, for lording it over thirty Indian and Burmese guards at the refinery - in league with the brute McPake - and, oh yes, the underpaid, beleaguered and brow beaten native guards do all the donkeywork.