"The Lizard King" Bryan Christy

“The Lizard King” is just one of those books. It’s such a thrill to read, such a joy-ride but, at the same time, so hard to describe, it leaves you gushing like a barely coherent idiot. I actually said to my husband “you have to read this”. I do that maybe twice a year. Almost always it’s a fiction or crime book.

Well, “difficult to describe” is not exactly the truth, the subtitle, after all, pretty much says it all: “The True Crimes and Passions of the World’s Greatest Reptile Smugglers”. What it doesn’t say is how apt Bryan Christy is as a writer, somehow straddling the news reporting and true-crime genres in order to provide something that has the excitement of under-cover journalism, provides the thrill of a mystery novel and elicits the compulsive reading of the best fiction.

Some years ago, I actually caught a few minutes of the BBC documentary “Animal Smugglers” Christy mentions. I then met for the first time, some of the protagonists of this book. I was fascinated to say the least, about exotic animal smuggling. Reptile contraband is even more enthralling to me because, while I can understand the fascination of owning an endangered parrot, for instance, I’ll be damned if I can understand why people go to the lengths they do to get a snake or lizard.

This of course, tells of nothing except of my own naïveté, for, as Christy demonstrates the answer is money. It will come as no surprise to the more cynical to find out that most high-end smugglers don’t particularly like the animals they smuggle and might as well (and often do) dabble in gun and drug running.

Christy’s tale is a sort of octopus whose head is represented by the Soprano-like smuggling family, the Von Nostrand’s. Family members are presented with a deft brush, painting their childhood, family relations, first steps in the business (most criminal characters in the book seem to have begun their careers remarkably early). The tentacles are manifold, from business competitors, to the various branches of law enforcement involved in years of investigation, all rendered in a truthful yet sympathetic manner.

Then there is Chip Bepler, a special agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Look at his name. It seems fictional, so obviously the name of a good-guy, a stand-up guy, the kind of cop that never abuses his power, respects his opponents, is polite in the middle of a police raid – which is, it turns out, exactly the kind of guy, Christy meets behind the name. The perfect antithesis for the Van Nostrand’s (particularly Jr’s) brash, irate, over-the-top personalities.

Actually, the problem with reviewing “The Lizard King” is the same as with a crime novel: you cannot give too much away, without stealing the next reader’s pleasure. And not only do I not want to give anything away plot-wise, I also don’t want to delve too much into the more journalistic end of the book – the facts on reptile smuggling – which will also surprise any reader.

Suffice it to say that you will get an extremely satisfying climax and not one, but two, great conclusions: one takes place in the court-room, the other in a cemetery. And that’s too much said, already. Anyway, the ending, is hardly the best reason for reading “The Lizard King”. It’s everything leading up to it.

Somewhere between Eric Hansen’s “Orchid Fever” and Grisham’s “The Pelican Brief” stands this absolutely feverish, compulsive, dynamite stick of a book. I really cannot recommend it highly enough.

Dogs & Cats in their Gardens

By Page Dickey

Lovely photography books that explore the place of cats and dogs in our gardens. Well, not "our" gardens - these are rather on the grand side...

There is a little text with each entry that introduces gardeners, pets and describes the landscape. I couldn't help noticing that the majority of cats arrived as strays or were adopted as kittens while most dog were bought purebreds...how fortunate for the kitties!

If there is such a thing as reincarnation I would not mind coming back as one of these lucky cats or dogs!

"From the Ground Up" - Amy Stewart

These past couple of days I re-read “From the Ground-Up: The Story of a First Garden” and just had to tell the world how great it is, since I was too lazy to do it the first time around.

It’s a wonderful story and one that I think appeals to a new generation of gardeners who dream of planting a wild, rambling back yard and having a yummy salad at the end; people who think vegetables and herbs are just as beautiful as blooming flowers and who long to get their hands dirty. But also, people who have grown up with little to no tradition of gardening and who are, let’s face it, mostly clueless as to the actual nuts and bolts of keeping a garden.

We are the ones who dream of colour, scent and shade (and flavorful vegetables) and think it can be accomplished in a couple of runs to a garden center and afternoons spent outside. But we want the real thing, Sir! None of that feeble-minded, urban wooden decking, no outside lounge for us, where a few ornamental palms and olive trees in square terracotta pots form the perfect scenario for a late-night session of DJing and cocktails. Yuck!

Hell no! We want to be on first name basis with several insects, tomato varieties and types of manure. Like Amy Stewart we do not shiver at the thought of keeping worms so our plants may benefit from their rich casings. We’ll plant anything once. Except roses.

Just like the author as she began planning out her garden, we are a heady mixture of naïveté and hard-core ideals. Long-time gardeners might scoff but it takes persistence and passion to be wrong so often and still keep on chasing a vision.

Stewart has a narrative voice that feels real and down-to-earth. She is friendly and funny and when she is self-deprecatory it never once feels like a gimmick. This is a ready-made classic for the first-time gardener.

Reading “From the Ground Up” will probably avoid any mistakes, but this is no mere “how-to” book: it’s a memoir, a philosophical essay and a heroic tale all wrapped into one.

"Serve the People" - Jen Lin-Liu

I just didn’t hit it off with this book. While I was reading “Serve the People: A Stir-Fried Journey Through China”, especially as I reached the middle of the book, I kept asking myself why.

It certainly revolves around themes close to my heart: food and travel; It was on my wishlist for months; I was so excited when it arrived in the mail – and that’s about the most excitement this book caused. And it doesn’t help to know I’m in the minority here. A quick browse through amazon’s customer reviews proves that most found it not only engaging but even "unputdownable".

Maybe a humble “it’s not you, it’s me” would be in order here, but I just can’t quite bring my reader self to that level of self-doubt. A literary critic I am not, but I know a bland book when I read it.

Sad as it may seem to say it (or even cruel) “Serve the People: A Stir-Fried Journey through China” is one of those books that I could have never read and would have made no difference to me whatsoever.

Jen Lin-Liu is the daughter of Chinese immigrants who grew up in San Diego, maintaining few cultural connections with her parent’s homeland. She decided to relocate to China and style herself as a food writer/journalist in 2000. Based first in Shanghai, the book opens as she moves to Beijing which, she explains, has a more “genuine” Chinese feel to it, where she begins taking cooking lessons.

Her colleagues are hardly foodies – mostly men who need a certificate in order to work as cooks – and the teachers have little patience for questions, deviations from standard recipes or even for allowing students to do actual cooking. The author befriends a different teacher at the school, and soon the two become friends, with the middle aged woman telling the author about life under Mao.

However, Chairman Wang’s “revelations” seemed vague and, to me, felt impersonal. I surely did not learn anything I didn’t know already about the Chinese communist regime, and it didn’t really bring the teacher to life either. As for Beijing it sounds grey, cold, chaotic, polluted, a city where the historic quarters were being bulldozed just in time for the 2008 Olympics.

Next up the author starts as an “intern” at a noodle stall – I honestly felt that she had somewhat arm-wrestled herself into the position (by her own admission no established restaurant offered her a job), taking advantage of a kind cook. Lin-Liu speaks of being an “apprentice” noodle maker and that she felt “guilty” showing up for work in a taxi when not even the stall owner could afford such a luxury. She never makes it clear whether she was being payed for her time at the stall. I hope not – Zhang, the cook, was just scraping by, sending most of his money home to his family in the province.

Then there is a chapter where she “interns” at a Shanghai restaurant, where a Malaysian born chef is attempting to follow in the footsteps of western style celebrity chefs. Once again she is not taken on for her cooking skills – she “infiltrates” the kitchen as a journalist. Here cooking is a means to building a business empire – the young chef is clearly, unabashedly, ambitious in a cut-throat manner.

The last pages serve up the author’s blooming relationship with an American expatriate – which felt out of place to say the very least – and the book ends with her decision to open a cooking school.

All in all there seems to be little passion for cooking in the characters the author meets: some are cooks because that was the profession the Maoist regime assigned them, some because it’s a living, others a means to achieve fortune.

A lot of the food didn’t really sound appetizing to me, but I’ve read food-themed books before that I enjoyed even if I wouldn’t eat any of the dishes described.

Sometimes Lin-Liu seems to pull out the shock-value card: but somehow, and I could hardly believe it, she managed to keep me unmoved even as she ate dog-stew and various animal’s penis and testicles. She describes eating fish head at least twice – as if she couldn’t believe it herself – seemingly ignoring that fish head is a common enough dish in many parts of the world.

Then there is the glaring mistake, when she states that the “Portuguese egg tart” is a Chinese dish (so why did she think it’s called “Portuguese”? Fact Check anyone?). Even though Lin-Liu offers precious little historic or cultural culinary facts during the book, this one obvious mistake made me doubt the rest.

“Serve the People” felt stilted and shallow, like one of those short-story collections from Creative Writing program graduates, where every bit of quirkiness feels calculated. I felt the author was unable to put across the magic and wonder of becoming immersed in a different culture – her encounters with Chinese people felt artificial, lacking in empathy and her visual descriptions of cities and landscape didn’t really come alive on the page. It just felt foggy, as if you never really get to the meat of anything, not food, not people, not China and definitely not the author.

Also, the chapters felt disconnected like a bunch of magazine articles thinly put together. And while I hardly wish to seem mean-spirited, if I mention that the author wrote for Time-Out Beijing, you'll probably get a better sense of the kind of urbanite, disconnected, flighty and somewhat entitled tone I'm hinting at.

I almost feel guilty being so critical, but while I didn’t hate this book (it failed to elicit that kind of strong reaction) I certainly would not recommend it.

"Shrinking the Cat" - Sue Hubbell

“Shrinking the Cat: Genetic Engineering Before We Knew About Genes” is a great little book that attempts to address cultural hysteria about genetic manipulation by means of a very interesting history lesson.

Taking four specific examples of plant and animal species (or strains or breeds) that have been created by humans – meaning selectively bred to achieve certain desirable qualities such as colour, taste, quantity – Sue Hubbell makes her case that humans are born “tinkerers”. Long before we knew, or could imagine, the mechanisms involved, we were already changing our reality: choosing certain species and destroying others, “improving” and nurturing crops and animals that were useful or struck our fancy, often altering them so radically that, after centuries (or millennia) of human interference there is sometimes little resemblance between human manipulated species and their wild progenitors.

(As a side reference, I learned in the “Guinea Pig Handbook” that cavies had been domesticated some three thousand years prior to the arrival of Europeans in America – they diverged so much from their wild “cousins” through artificial selection that, to this day, scientists have been unable to definitely pinpoint the cavy’s wild progenitor – it is believed that it probably went extinct.)

Taking the specific examples of corn, silkworms, cats and apples – all of them continually altered by humans – Hubbell always asks in each particular tale of genetic manipulation (for that is undoubtedly what happened): “If little green men were to swoop down and kidnap all of humanity in their spaceships [would] our descendants – brought back to the planet after five thousand years of good behaviour (…) find”…corn, apples, silkworms and cats as we know them?

The answer is definitely not – for we have created them and they depend on us to propagate and reproduce. Corn, for instance, and silkworms, have been altered to the point that they would not be able to reproduce without human assistance (neither would enormous cows and pigs which are now routinely artificially inseminated – and French bulldogs that cannot deliver the big-headed puppies without c-sections).

Cats are, of course, survivors, and would probably still be around. Of course no snub nosed Persians or hairless Sphinxes would last for long without human protection. Cat colour would probably be less diverse and exotic, too. One of the most fascinating passages connects coloru and pattern propagation with human commercial routes, referring to an academic study which found increased numbers of orange cats in cities with large ports and along rivers with increased commercial activity.

Apple trees are hardy plants, native to central Asia. They are naturally so diverse in colour, texture and flavour (with a majority of not very tasty ones) that it almost seems a crime we have reduced the species to the bland, gigantic red ones. Did you know there are apples that are naturally white? Most wild apples are small and gnarled and once in a while there is one that produces incredible fruits.

This is what we do: we create conformity in some species, incentivize diversity in other. We created tens of cat breeds, but are hard pressed to find an exciting apple in the market. We like to change things, see what happens when we cross different breeds, take them out of their place and grow them elsewhere, propagate something just because we like its colour or because it gives more fruit.

If there is one decidedly human characteristic, Hubbell argues, is that we like to change things around us, mix it up just to see what happens. And it’s nothing new either – with whatever crude tools and little knowledge it possessed, mankind has been doing it, it seems, forever.

We now can reach “inside” species and alter them directly in their matrix – but it’s not that surprising. “Shrinking the Cat” shows that we’ve been dreaming of this almost since we first opened our eyes and looked around.

Elizabeth Marshall Thomas - Dogs and Cats

"The Hidden Lives of Dogs"
"The Social Lives of Dogs: The Grace of Canine Company"
"The Tribe of Tiger: Cats and their Culture"

Eight years separate Elizabeth Marshall Thomas’ “The Hidden Lives of Dogs” and “The Social Lives of Dogs”. As far as dog-keeping in the western world is concerned, it’s been almost a life-time.

But don’t take my word for it. Scroll down some of the violent costumer reviews for “Hidden Lives” at amazon.com, of which three sample titles are “Very, Very Bad, Disappointing, and disgusting”; “Unbelievable nonsense”; “Most Horrendous Dog Book I Have Ever Read”. Just makes you want to read the thing, don’t it?

So what has gotten these dog-lovers in a tizzy you ask? Well, first you must know that Marshall Thomas’ is an anthropologist, and unfortunately she spent her formative years accompanying her parents in expeditions in South Africa (I say unfortunately because I believe anthropology is detrimental to the healthy development of young people – or maybe I have a chip in my shoulder caused by a certain useless degree, you decide).

When it comes to observing dogs (or cats, or deer) she looks at them as an anthropologist would, trying to figure out communication cues, the importance of kinship ties, social hierarchy, what is desired and accepted by the group and what is condemned.

If nothing else, it definitely puts dogs in a different perspective. Marshall Thomas is interested in observing dogs being dogs. That, of course is not acceptable to many modern dog-keepers. It involves no training whatsoever (as she so rightly points out, when you have a pack of dogs they train any newcomers) and very little restraint, either physical (most of the time the dogs walk themselves or are walked without leashes; when the author moves to rural Virginia, they have permanent access outside) or reproductive (the majority of females was allowed to breed at least once, with a dog of their choice, before being spayed later in life).

Training, leashes and neutering are the holy trinity of owning a dog these days. And of course, neutering and spaying are a necessity considering the numbers of strays. But before getting more hysterical than Adolf at the nightly book burning séance, the folks might have noticed that “The Hidden Lives of Dogs” was first published in 1993 and that all the canine protagonists were dead or in their senior years. This means the events related date back fifteen years, starting in the late seventies. Was it really so morally condemned then to allow your dog to walk himself and have a couple of litters? Don’t think so.

Training is the altar at which dog-owners must worship these days, so when Marshall Thomas’ speaks of a loved dog as “a dog who thought for himself, a dog who wasn’t brainwashed by excessive training” I have no doubt that many contemporary readers were shocked. But isn’t it a fact that a lot of training is behavior modification for traits that make perfect sense for dogs but that we want to eradicate for our, mostly urban, convenience? Barking, eating the inedible, rolling in the stinky, pulling the leash, chasing tail, upset at being imprisoned 12 hours a day?

I for one always found highly trained dogs slightly upsetting – I watched some during a brief stint through obedience school and without being able to put into words what exactly bothered me, only wished my own Jessie would never be that obedient (needn’t have worried really). Now I think those dogs lack something in the lines of dignity. “Dogs are slaves” Thomas’ states more than once, and that is, perhaps, the bottom-line. Still, they don’t have to be circus performers. Spartacus was a slave, right? (Funnily enough, Thomas’s is a circus supporter as she states in “The Tribe of Tiger”)

There is some strong imagery in “Hidden Lives”, the kind you won’t find in most present day dog books. One female dog is raped by a neighbour dog (yes, dogs can be rapists too) and her babies are killed by a more dominant female in the household who also had newborns at the time. It’s strong stuff you don’t usually find in dog books unless you go back to Lorenz’s 1949 “Man Meets Dog” (of whom Thomas’ draws greatly in regards to the wolf-dog theories).

It’s the kind of stuff that happens when you have a group of unaltered dogs, living together with a small degree of freedom. And it’s very interesting. No-one who reads the whole thing can doubt how much Thomas’ loves her dogs and watches out for them, providing food, shelter, veterinary care, canine companionship and liberty.

Written in 2001 “The Social Lives of Dogs” takes on the sign of the times. As the book begins there are only a few of the original husky and dingo pack remaining. The author finds a stray that, although young, is not readily accepted by the others. As such, Sundog, is more or less obliged to take the author and her husband as his “pack” companions. As so often seems the case, Sundog’s arrival sparks a cycle of pet adoption and soon a new, home-based canine (and feline) group is established (or several tiny groups, actually). Ruby a purebred (and neurotic) Belgian shepherd; Pearl an Australian shepherd-mix “inherited” from Thomas’ son; Ruby, a stray and Sheilah, a though little street dog, plus an assortment of cats. Their arrival, the way in which they carve their niche, choose their friends, enemies and evolve into their singular personalities is the fascinating subject of “Social Lives”.

Don’t worry, this time around all females were duly spayed and Thomas was living in rural area (although not completely safe as an awful accident will prove).

With “The Tribe of Tiger” I expected a feline counterpoint to the dog stories of “Social Lives”. Sadly it’s not what I got at all. Sure, there were some anecdotes about the household cats (yes, they were allowed to roam the country-side, folks and there is also some [gasp] kitten murder), but it’s mostly about the evolutionary history of cats and a lot of chapters about the author’s experiences with lions in South Africa. I kept thinking there would be more about cats up ahead, so kept reading faster… There are some fascinating accounts but…few small cats.

Thomas’ also spent a lot of time with circus big cat trainers as well as observing tigers and lions in zoos and came to the somewhat predictable conviction, that, all-circumstances being equal (meaning no cruelty involved) big cats seem much more happy, alert and engaged in a circus setting. I believe that is the same rationale that led to the creation of job training programs for prison inmates.

In conclusion? There is a lot of baloney (the word is strangely appropriate) in Thomas’ theorizing – especially in “Hidden Lives” she seem in thrall of the “huskies and other “primitive” dogs are closer to wolves” shtick – which is neither new nor very interesting, and on the whole “lion mystical bond with bushmen” thing (it’s probably true, but once again it feels overdone) in “The Tribe of Tiger”.

As with most anthropologists she is at her best when she drops the theories and just observes with a keen eye and fresh mind. That she is an amazing watcher I have no doubt, and she witnesses many small (and not so small) signs that we usually miss even sharing our daily lives with cats and dogs. For that reason, especially the dog books are wonderful, and dog-lovers should not keep away because of modern changes in what constitutes responsible dog-ownership. (Did I mention she thinks Americans are “dog-fascists”? Think that might have something to do with the hate?)

David M. Carroll "Self-Portrait with Turtles" & Esther Woolfson "Corvus"

Odd as it may seem, I found much common ground between “Self-Portrait with Turtles” and “Corvus: A Life With Birds”. They are, of course, both memoirs and as such their narrative spans several decades. They both revolve around animals, even if crows and turtles share little common ground in our minds.





But what connected them in my mind was, first that both Esther Woolfson and David M. Carroll love animals as representatives of a wider, wilder natural world and secondly that they were both slightly difficult books for me.

I liked both, but they are the kind of stories that demand that readers pace themselves, read a few pages and then take a break to reflect on what was told, maybe even lay the book aside for a few days. It makes sense, for not only do they encompass a lifetime (though not all memoirs share this rhythm), they are also both written by authors that clearly like to take their time and make their way into the world in a calm, quiet and reflective manner.

Well, I have difficulty pacing myself in anything, reading included, and both these volumes presented a real challenge – I had to fight tooth and nail against finishing them in a day or two for I felt that they weren’t supposed to be read in a couple of sittings. But throughout, there lingered a sense of dissatisfaction, of restlessness.

With both books finished and some days elapsed, a cloud was lifted – then I could really enjoy them, as strange as it might sound. They really are amazing stories.

David M. Carroll fell in love with turtles in grammar school, but instead of evolving, as is more usual, into a pet hobbyist - keeping them in complex terrariums and aquariums - he allowed them to show the way on his life path and to inspire his nature: humble and persistent, observant and reliant, in a word, chthonic.

The childhood hours spent waiting, looking for turtles in the marshes and ponds near his home, inspired in Carroll a deep connection with nature – a bond that led him to shape his life according to surroundings, searching for art teaching positions in more rural, untouched locations of New England, where he could escape into the undisturbed outdoors every day. Even his craft was inspired by the marshes – his first drawings and first poems revolving around the ponds and brooks of his youth.

The notion of “real” nature or undisturbed nature – as opposed to nature parks where nature is “prepared” for human consumption - is a very important and interesting concept in Carroll’s narrative. Referring to a wildlife sanctuary where the majority of land has been set aside, “reserved for nature” and humans denied entrance, the author muses:

“Why, I wondered, was such a true setting-aside for nature so rare in the global landscape? This was no human theme park or playground in disguise – no trails, no ecotourism – just a place for wood turtles and accompanying ecology. It was not a natural resource but a natural landscape. As I looked at the little wood turtle I spoke aloud another of my favorite quotes from Frost: “For once then, something.”

Frost is often referenced, as well as Thoreau and this leads to a third similarity with “Corvus”: a strong sense of place and a deep bond with that locale, its history, its nature and its writers and artists.

Esther Woolfson’s stomping ground is that of Scotland where I presume, winters are as unforgiving as in New England, and summers must seem equally magical. Maybe it takes enduring punishing cold to really appreciate the rebirth of spring, but this author, like Carroll is also able to find nature and beauty in deep snow.

Woolfson’s long line of exotic house guests began, more traditionally, as pets for her two daughters. The feathered variety began with a cockatiel, the wilder variety with doves and their outside house. Then, one day the girl’s brought home a fledgling rook and Woolfson’s tale of corvid love began.

Though parrots, canaries, bunnies and rodents also made their way through the Woolfson residence it was with these native, long-lived birds that the author formed a deep connection. As with Carroll, they led her outside into her natural surroundings searching for clues of their behavior, their life-cycle, their language (the actual birds were all confined to the house, though, having been raised by the author and probably unable to fend for themselves). Chicken the rook, Spike the magpie and Ziki the crow seem to find their way, serendipitously, into the Woolfson’s hands, luckily able to endure a certain degree of mayhem inevitable when sharing quarters with powerful, extremely intelligent birds.

Woolfson also leads us through a history of human (not very friendly) relationship with corvids, both historical and artistic, as well as presenting some famous crow owners. It is however in the daily observation of her house-guests (pets really does not seem an appropriate term considering both the havoc they wreak and their level of independence), her obvious fascination with their habits as well as the continuous looking outside at wild birds during the seasons in order to gain a deeper understanding of her own birds that makes “Corvus” so interesting.

Both “Corvus” and “Turtles” impart on the reader richness, a depth that comes from patience, observation:

“I endeavored to shift into turtle time, the time within time that is neither past nor present but the ongoing now.”

For those of us still too anxious to stop for long, both authors prove that much more can be gained by standing still, and waiting.

Mary Elizabeth Thurston "The Lost History of the Canine Race"

“The Lost History of the Canine Race: Our 15,000-Year Love Affair with Dogs” is a must-read for every dog lover. But anyone interested in knowing more about our complex historical relation with the creature that, for good and bad, has been our closest companion will find a lot of information in this book.

This large volume is put together like the reference book it deserves to be. It is filled with information and illustrated throughout with black and white photographs and also has a section of colour reproductions. It’s the kind of book you keep going back to, in order to check a fact, re-read a passage, or just look at the pictures.

Mary Elizabeth Thurston starts at the very beginning taking a look at currently held theories on the domestication of the wolf (Asia, is now the believed spot for the first domestication, and all dogs are supposedly descended from only a few domesticated individuals). She then takes a look at archaeological finds to see what they reveal (or not) about mankind’s growing proximity with the dog. Interestingly enough, European cave painting so lavish in portraying prey animals hardly ever features dogs, who were by then almost certainly a feature of human groups.

The author then provides fascinating and learned essays on the place of dogs in Egyptian, Greek and Roman civilizations, drawing from archaeological finds, art, texts and religion. She also explains that, only recently, has zooarchaeology been gaining acceptance in museums and universities. For most of the twentieth century archaeological finds pertaining to animals were regularly discarded by archaeologists themselves as well as museums – dog and cat remains along with objects related to their keeping were not seen as important. Animal mummies (and animal cemeteries) for instance, were so numerous in Egypt that they were routinely destroyed or sold as curios. Unimaginable amounts of information were lost in this way and by the discarding of animal bones found in Neolithic and Palaeolithic digs.

Following chapters analyse dog culture in Medieval and Renaissance epochs. Some very interesting sub-chapters deal with the use of dogs as weapons of terror by the Spanish Conquistadores in their colonies, the belief in supernatural dogs (the Inquisition popularizing the relationship between black dogs and the Devil) but also favoured royal pets in European courts.

The object of royal indulgence, dogs became the status symbol for anyone who could afford them. Ironically, as populations became increasingly urban, the dog, so often maligned as the carrier of disease and bad spirits, endured only as a fearless, tireless and uncomplaining guardian of flocks, property and hunting companion, slowly turned into the loved pet we know today.

It was in this context that “the fancy” was born. Breeders, shows and clubs were mostly the product of the XIX century and it is surely not a coincidence that DNA testing has proved that the majority of dog breeds were “born” around this time by extensive artificial selection at the hands of humans. In this period breeders began to enhance certain physical traits and not always with a goal other than esthetical preference and the belief that a “purebred” dog (in other words a dog created by human intervention) is superior to a “random-bred” dog (a mutt, by other words).

It is fascinating to think that our “modern” relationship with dogs is, in fact, so recent! Of course, as soon as dogs became pets, “rare” and “exotic” breeds become the holy grail of cosmopolitan trendsetters. One of the first dog “fevers” was caused by the tiny Pekingese. Probably descended from the Roman Era Maltese, only the royal Chinese family was allowed to own and breed them. And breed they did, creating (mostly in the late XIX century) the short-legged, pug-nosed, hairball we know today (western breeders would further “improve” the breed within an inch of its life). When British and French troops stormed the Summer Palace in 1860 during the Opium Wars, they came upon these little “freaks”, who could have easily slipped into oblivion, where it not the fact that a British ship captain offered one to Queen Victoria. The Peke had been made. In fact, modern Pekes are descended from these Chinese refugees (just as modern Shar-Pei persecuted by the Communist regime were also “saved” by westerners), a couple of males and a hand-full of females.

The first societies for the protection of animals, the use of dogs in wars, the place of the dog in Native American culture, the rise of modern dog breeds, dog laws, commercial dog food and accessories and dog cemeteries are all tackled in this volume. It overflows information, all of it fascinating for dog people and at 300 pages it made wish it was double the size. An absolute treat.

Suzie Gilbert "Flyaway"

“Flyaway: How a Wild Bird Rehabber Sought Adventure and Found Her Wings” makes for compulsive reading. It’s one of those books where you are torn – you can’t stop reading yet each page brings you closer to the end, something you would rather not see coming.

Suzie Gilbert is one of the most likeable memoir voices I’ve ever encountered: she’ll be the first to point out her flaws, but is never over-dramatic, she’s one of those caring souls who, all over the world, get suckered into doing more to help animals than they possibly can – and yes, she knows that’s not necessarily a quality, especially when it starts interfering with your family and sanity; she has a sense of humor and a larger sense of duty. Her countless episodes of rehabilitating wild animals are truly entrancing and her narrative spellbinding. I loved this book.

It’s also a cautionary tale. At some point “Flyaway” turns into a slow motion car-crash taking place before your eyes. I couldn’t look away. I suffer with the plight of abandoned animals and often see people who have gone over-board, trying to rescue every stray they see. This book was like being in the eye of the hurricane. This is how perfectly normal, kind-hearted people nearly go crazy.

Gilbert was always in love with animals but birds, especially raptors, won her heart. For many years she volunteered at wild-life rehabilitation centers, until one day, the mother of two, decided to start operating a small, home-based, rehabilitation facility. It being the U.S.A. there are actually all sorts of pre-planned routes you must take to become a certified wild-life rehabber. You have to cram insane amounts of information about wild-life and their needs, even species you won’t be working with. Then your setup has to meet certain standards depending on the kind of animal you will receive. Did I mention this is all coming out of your pocket?


Luckily, Gilbert lives in a small-town where many individuals care about wildlife and welcomed a bird rehabber. They helped with construction and materials, vets offered their services and fellow rehabbers advice. The initial plan was to turn away all fledglings since baby birds are so time consuming (some must be fed every half hour!) as well as injured birds for they would require specific accommodation and care.

No, the author would take in only songbirds that were on the mend and needed only shelter, food and water while they got ready to go back into the world again. Cut to Gilbert’s house filled with birds in every possible space, frantic from round the clock baby feeding, dealing not only with songbirds but also with waterfowl and raptors and still finding the time to pick up injured birds.

How could it have gone so wrong? Well, the author will tell you it was her own failure to enforce her rules. And in part it might have been so. But I think the biggest problem were humans, plain and simple. Because injured birds and babies who fell from their nests didn’t call Gilbert. People did. People who wouldn’t take no for an answer. People who consider themselves good Samaritans because they pick up a wounded bird (or cat or dog) and foist them on someone else, thinking they have done their part and aren’t they great. Never do they look back, call to find out whether the critter made it, leave a donation or offer to help out.

Humans are also schizophrenics as one episode proves, for they will let their cats hunt outside and then will drive miles with birds that are clearly in pain and dying to the nearest rehabber. They couldn’t possible kill the little bird! And so, many times it was Gilbert who had to put these small lives out of their misery.

Rehabbing (and rescuing) is emotionally exhausting work. For every happy ending is also a big question mark – the birds are released, healthy animals – but will a cat get them next month? A hunter, next season? Power-lines? Poison? Hunger, cold, disease? And they never stop coming in, a testament to human disrespect for the natural world.

Not many years after first opening her doors (and phone line) Gilbert was burning out. Going out with her husband and kids for dinner involved planning the magnitude of a month-long vacation; friends and hobbies were pretty much out of the picture. And the birds kept coming in larger numbers.

From "Flyaway" Illustration by Laura Westlake

Although by the end of the book it was unclear to me whether Gilbert would open Flyaway, Inc. once again (after a temporary close for much needed reflection) you can read on this interview how, these days, she takes in only crows and raptors. They were, after all, her first bird passion.

A word of advice from the author?

“Now that I’m older, wiser, and more haggard, I look back on my decision to rehabilitate wild birds at home with incredulity. There is only one sane way to get your wild animal fix: by volunteering at a bird or wildlife center. You show up, you work hard, you go home, you resume your life.”

Ann Moyal "Platypus"

Ann Moyal’s “Platypus: The Extraordinary Story of How A Curious Creature Baffled the World” is a book in search of a protagonist. Why that is, is unclear for certainly this oddest of beasts has an inbred star quality, or so it would seem.

Yet the book lacks a center, a thread, instead following the complicated historical flow of platypus scientific discussion – a complicated ping-pong of (mis)communication between (mostly) amateur scientists in its Australian native land and (mostly creationist) scientists in Europe.

The first platypus pelt reached the West in the late XVIII century and threw naturalists into a frenzy. So bizarre was this duck bill tucked into a small brown and furry body, with a fat sheep’s tail and webbed feet, that some British scientists are reported to have looked for stitch marks. It seemed like an elaborate hoax.

The small platypus got caught up into a scientific discussion that went largely beyond its own strange attributes: did it lay eggs or give birth to live young? Was it a marine mammal, a fury reptile or a missing link between birds and alligators? These were questions that, due to the distances involved, the difficulty in preserving live animals (or even dead ones), the hiatus between letters and the generally discreet habits of the platypus would take many years to answer.

But there was a more explosive argument going on. One that asked the loaded question: “do species evolve?”. The Platypus got pushed into taxonomic categories where it might best serve the underlying ideology of the leading scientists of the day, even when it was clearly a round peg in a square hole.

Moyal faithfully traces the history of platypus correspondence and theorizing while making a great job of explaining the leading scientific trends of the day and the main scientist’s curricula. But I often felt I was losing sight of what really interested me - the platypus and its native habitat - and being pulled instead through a series of smoky salons where the dried specimens were hardly a match for the huge egos in the room.

The Darwin chapter in particular seemed unnecessarily long, since he had little to say about the creature, though Moyal suggests the platypus might have had some influence on his theories.

All in all “Platypus” is an interesting natural history book, though probably not for everyone. The author obviously sifted through an impressive amount of historical data and I suspect it might have bogged her down. For my taste the book is a little too heavy on documental minutia (a lot of which I had already come across in more generic books on Darwinism and precedent scientific theories) – and in the end, seems to lack sheer passion for the fantastic creature whose story it tells.

Vicki Croke "The Lady And The Panda"

Ruth Harkness and Su-Lin

Being cute blows. Pandas know this. They might be predators who weigh up to 150kg and can cause some serious pain when annoyed (“A man has been attacked by a panda at a park in southern China, after he climbed into its enclosure hoping to cuddle the creature.” – “Teenager Hospitalized After Panda Attack at Chinese Zoo” – “Giant panda in China bites third victim”) but somehow it never quite registered with humans “I always thought they were cute and just ate bamboo” said victim of third attack. Well, now.

See, pandas decided to go veggie somewhere along their evolutionary path. Because the mainstay of their diet, bamboo, provides so little energy, they are forced to spend much of their time munching just to keep the sugar levels up. When they move it’s mostly slowly. But apparently, some part of their brains and bodies still know they are bears.

To humans though, they are first plush toys and second cute animals. Few other wild animals have been the source of such prolonged infatuation (dolphins come to mind, and by the way they can get mean too). Scientists point to the big round faces, roly-poly bodies, the appearance of big eyes caused by the black spots, and the fact that pandas sit in an almost human manner to eat and feed their young as irresistible to our species. They are soft, fluffy and their color looks artificial and modern, dreamed up by an avant-garde toy inventor, certainly not threatening like leopard spots or tiger stripes.
Ever since a panda pelt was brought to the west by a French missionary in 1869, we have been panda-crazy. Curiously enough the sons of American President Theodore Roosevelt (whose ordering of a “mercy” killing of a wounded bear inspired first a political cartoon and then the birth of the modern toy, the teddy bear) Theo Jr and Kermit were the first westerners to shoot a panda (Alanis me this).

Vicki Croke’s “The Lady And The Panda” certainly provides food for thought but is primarily the story of Ruth Harkness (whose account of her panda adventure was published under the same name in 1938. Married to adventurer and heir (as adventurers are advised to be) Bill Harkness, Ruth enjoyed the sort of “Thin Man” movies Manhattan night style: a dress designer that could down martinis and scotch with the best of them while husband sailed the world in search of natural treasures.

After being gone for two years on an expedition to bring pandas back to the west (an expedition that never left Shanghai) Bill Harkness died of cancer in China. Ruth was distraught but undaunted: after all she had always dreamed of accompanying Bill in his expeditions but had always been discouraged by his male associates. She would go to China and bring back a live panda to the United States.

It helped that her home-base in China, Shanghai, was in the early thirties even more cosmopolitan than New York. People from all nationalities crossed their paths in the city: there was sophistication and jazz in the luxury western hotels and exoticism in the Chinese side. Harkness soon fell in love with Chinese people and their culture, while developing a healthy disdain for westerners ill-concealed racism.

Being a charming young woman helped her circumvent the bureaucratic pits which had detained her husband. But Harkness was more than an elegant creature – she had a knack for assessing character and soon was convinced that Bill’s associate Floyd Smith was an incompetent moocher, and sent him packing, inadvertently setting in motion a lifetime of hatred and jealousy (on account of which not a few pandas died untimely deaths at Smith’s hands).

Against all odds Harkness kept the pace, travelling to inner China, near the border of Tibet, trekking in arduous terrain and sleeping in an abandoned lamasery. A fantastic intuition told her to pack a baby bottle with her expedition material and soon enough a baby panda just about fell into her lap. Harkness felt blessed and treated little Su-Lin with a mother’s attention: always carrying her around, trying different foods. She couldn’t help but feel, despite all the discomfort she surely endured that this was a magical land, for she loved the landscape, the people, the baby panda and her expedition organizer, a young and handsome Chinese-American named Quentin Young.

After much bureaucratic wrangling, Harkness arrived in the United States with Su-Lin and received a hero’s welcome. Harkness and baby were the celebrities of the day. After negotiations with the Bronx Zoo stalled, it was Chicago’s Brookfield who won the honor (and the long waiting lines) of first presenting a live panda to the American audiences (and here is the origin of the phenomena which still, today, leads American Zoos into leasing pandas for astronomical amounts from the Chinese government).

Harkness wanted twenty thousand dollars to immediately launch a new campaign into the Chinese interior, and bring back a male panda (although a male panda is what she had brought unbeknownst to her and zoo staff). Although the zoo gave her less for her troubles, it was still an astronomical amount for that period, and instigated a few other expeditions including Floyd Smith’s.

But from here on it was mostly downhill for Harkness – she tried to recapture the happiness of that first expedition but personal and world events seem to conspire against her. Young was now married and things were awkward between them to say the least. A male panda was captured and Harkness, used to baby Su-Lin (who was still able to scratch and bite quite forcefully) was shocked at the wildness of this panda.

The male panda actually died from illness or internal injuries caused by his capture. Harkness and the press would never mention him again. They didn’t need to. In a last stroke of luck she came about a new baby panda (also a male that, like Su-Lin would be erroneously labeled a female). Harkness managed to get out of China just as the Japanese invasion was getting started.

Harkness with Su-Lin and Mei-Mei

Her third and last expedition into China would find Harkness braving a war torn country and going into the terrain with only Chang, her cook of previous journeys at her side. She would also do something unprecedented for an explorer, certainly a male one: she would double back into the wild, to release the female panda her hunters had captured.

By this time Harkness was well aware of the panda persecution and killing going on, mostly by, or at the instigation of, westerners eager to get their hands on this most valuable of trophies. This last panda was reckless, forever wanting to scale walls, trees and generally get into trouble. Harkness saw in the animal a desire for her predestined life, her wild life.

Ruth Harkness would never go back to China, although she would try for quite some time. But by then World War II was in progress. She fell deeper and deeper into alcoholism, drinking herself to sleep most nights. What was she seeking oblivion from? From constantly missing her husband? China? Unrequited love for Young? From the panda eyes behind Zoo bars or the ones that had died in her care (a second one had to be shot after going berserk in captivity, still in China)? Maybe all of it.

The dress designer turned explorer who had travelled to some of the more inhospitable regions on earth, endured conditions most men could not and returned home with the catch of the century, was unable to keep herself financially afloat, or sober. She dallied in this and that, travelled to South America, wrote for Gourmet Magazine.

In 1947 she was found dead in a hotel room in Pittsburgh.

Today, four American, three European, one Mexican and one Australian zoos have pandas. The rest are in China and Asian neighboring countries. They are incredibly expensive to lease and their conservation in the wild is proving to be multi-billion dollar endeavor. Last year a British naturalist led to some conservationists into hysterics when he suggested funds ought to be reassigned from panda conservation to habitat conservation (Americans, with their need to cause trouble came up with the headline “Wild Life Expert Says Let the Pandas Die” – yikes…). In fact his article published in the Guardian makes a lot of valid points:

“Extinction is very much a part of life on earth. And we are going to have to get used to it in the next few years because climate change is going to result in all sorts of disappearances. The last large mammal extinction was another animal in China – the Yangtze river dolphin, which looked like a worn-out piece of pink soap with piggy eyes and was never going to make it on to anyone's T-shirt. If that had appeared beautiful to us, then I doubt very much that it would be extinct. But it vanished, because it was pig-ugly and swam around in a river where no one saw it. And now, sadly, it has gone for ever.”

Shreve Stockton "The Daily Coyote"

“The Daily Coyote” is über-famous so no need to dwell on the background too much: city, new agey, arty, girl falls in love with Wyoming wilds, gets orphaned coyote from local coyote control officer slash love interest and decides to raise the pup.

First off, let me start by saying I think the book is worth it for the photos alone, which are, after all, how the blog phenomena got started. Second, let me say I didn’t much like the new agey tone of the book as it got started. But as Stockton decided to go ahead and do her thing despite everyone yelling at her she could not raise Charlie as a pet, she started to grow on me. And as Charlie became an adolescent and started biting her and she still decided to keep going and find some sort of common ground with the coyote, even changing her living arrangements so she could provide a safer environment, she definitely won me over.

A lot of people who criticize this book seem to do so, on “ethical” grounds. You shouldn’t keep a wild animal as a pet, you shouldn’t give dead animal parts to chew on and even you shouldn’t date a man who kills animals (!). Yup, this book got a lot of people on a judging fest, which seems more and more common with everything that pertains to animals and our relationship with them nowadays.

Seriously though, has anyone else noticed how people are getting increasingly hysterical about everything that concerns animals? I believe it will be the hot subject in the next decades. However, I would like everyone to take a deep breath and go get hysterical at people who abuse animals instead of people who make life-choices they don’t agree with.

I, for one, couldn’t put down the book and would definitely get a sequel to Charlie and Stockton’s adventures in Wyoming. And part of me suspect the haters are really just jealous the city girl got herself a real life cowboy.

Ella Maillart "Ti-Puss" & Sandor Marai "Un Chien de Charactère"

Neither Ella Maillart’s “Ti-Puss” nor Sandor Marai’s “Un Chien de Charactère” are currently in print in English. This, I think, is more than a coincidence – the English-speaking world being as ravenous for pet tales as it is nowadays.

Ah, you ask: But are these uplifting tales, stories of overcoming adversity, disabilities, abandonment and bad behavior? Well, not really and that might have something to do with it.

For in her delightful tale of life in India with a cat, Maillart lets Ti-Puss Minou run free, hunt and breed as she will (drowning or wringing the necks of at least half the littermates), takes her for walks in which the cat following her is always an uncertainty, travels in packed trains with her and generally allows her to be a semi-feral animal.

World traveler Ella Maillart lived in India for five years (1940-45) in order to study Hindu philosophy – however, following the Indian guru’s teachings on detachment became doubly difficult for the author when she began sharing her life with an animal that absolutely fascinated her. She couldn’t help but want to possess her and yet it was Minou’s wild nature that enchanted her.

Now, taking in consideration some hateful comments I’ve seen on sites directed at cat-owners who so much as allow a whisker outside the house, I can’t imagine “Ti-Puss” going down too well with Americans, not to mention the kitten-killing (but remember, this was the forties and Maillart actually tried to get someone to spay Ti-Puss, which proved impossible).

I enjoyed this book that brought to mind Konrad Lorenz’s description of the happiness he felt with the two cats that allowed him to accompany their forest strolls in “Man Meets Dog”. Cats are closer to wild animals than dogs, of course, and therefore seem to elicit in their chosen humans a surprised thankfulness: “Me, really?! You’ll allow me to feed you, gaze upon you and only occasionally scratch me? Why, I can’t thank you enough!”

Dogs can be wild too, though, as the protagonists of “Un Chien de Charactère” discover. Sandor Marai tells of a young, childless couple living in Budapest in the years after World War I. The husband decides to surprise the wife with a puppy for Christmas. The puppy, supposedly a Puli (a woolly Hungarian sheep guarding breed), is actually a much larger, mix breed of extremely bad character. Spoiled rotten, he soon starts biting everyone in the household. In those darker times, before the Dog Whisperer’s wisdom was available, the couple ends up deciding to send the dog away.

There is actually a common theme in both “Ti-Puss” and “Un Chien…”: both Maillart and Marai’s protagonist experience life with a more docile, pliable pet (Maillart with a daughter of Ti-Puss she gives away and the hero of “Un Chien…” with a polite lap-dog the couple gets after Tchoutoura). Yet both pine for the wild, independent cat or dog which brought so much trouble. This would please Lorenz immensely, he who always preferred his dogs “wolf-like” instead of docile.

Harsh as the destinies of Ti-Puss the cat and Tchoutoura the dog might seem, these stories feel real and are illustrative of sharing life with animals: there is often deep frustration, sadness and anger involved in keeping pets and that fact usually tends to get overlooked in feel-good books that portray animals as fragile beings who beg for our protection and spend the rest of their lives repaying our good intentions with unconditional love and good behavior.

In a culture that discards pets so easily for being animals (chewing, scratching, biting, barking, marking, etc) yet hails them as polite, cute, fashion accessories, these books are highly refreshing.

Horsey Reads

It would appear good horse literature is harder to find than good dog (and cat) literature.

Case in point – “Riding Lessons” by media darling Sara Gruen (she of “Water for Elephants” fame).

Annemarie Zimmer is an Olympic bound equestrienne who suffers a near fatal riding accident. Fade to black. We next meet her on the day she is fired, her husband leaves her for the secretary, her mother announces father is dying from Lou Gehrig's disease and her daughter continues to be a very adolescent teen (or the other way around). So mum and daughter take off to the legendary horse farm where she grew – is this sounding like a bad movie, yet? – oh wait, can it be that Annemarie, who has never ridden again since her accident will reacquaint herself with the equine and boyfriend of yore (who is a horse vet, a real man, not like her effeminate lawyer or whatever, husband)? Yes, it can. But since she is also one of most egotistical, unsympathetic, irresponsible and hysterical characters ever, she also finds time to two-time the poor guy with the French horse trainer (this character is soo stereotypical it’s offensive), ignore the fact her father is dying and run the farm to the ground.
Scared? You should be.

Obviously Sara Gruen learnt A Lot (although seemingly intelligent readers disagree) from this first novel (and sequel “Flying Changes”) in order to write the bestseller “Water For Elephants”. However, I’ll just have to take everybody’s word for it – since her very name causes me feelings of literary indigestion.

“Chosen By a Horse” – is actually a very nice book – a memoir of Susan Richards’ life with horses put into motion by her a adoption of a very neglected mare. I actually felt I learned a little about horses with this one (not knowing anything, that is) even though the focus is on the emotional. I liked her childhood memories and the whole moving story of the year she lived with Lay Me Down. I didn’t so much like the part where she starts dating again and encountering the mother of all douche bags, keeps on dating the guy for no understandable reason.

Needless to say my equine-lit hunger was not satisfied. Suggestions welcome.

Jon Katz - Izzy and Lenore

Jon Katz’s “Izzy and Lenore” was not exactly the fun, doggy lit romp I was anticipating. I got more than I bargained for with this one: it’s not just tear-inducing, it’s enervating.

It touches a lot of spots most of us (and I’m definitely in the group) would rather leave in the dark until we’re absolutely forced to confront them: depression, death, loneliness, solidarity and the roles our dogs play in the middle of the confusion that is a well-meaning human being.

Certain animals seem to manifest in our lives at key-junctions: for Katz it was a border collie rescue, named Izzy, so magically attuned to the needs of humans he pushed the author into fulfilling his wish of becoming a hospice volunteer – with a canine aide.

The dying patients that Izzy visited make up for most of the moving chapters in “Izzy and Lenore”. They are mostly elderly, but there is a middle aged man and a little boy. Interestingly, there is only one truly distressing case – a man who has yet, along with his family, to accept that these are his last days. For all the others, acceptance, seems to have brought about a merciful serenity.

Not all dogs are as wonderfully perceptive as Izzy, but they fulfill equally important roles in our everyday lives: as Katz plunges into depression he decides to self-medicate with the addition of a black lab puppy to his menagerie.

It’s not easy to give an opinion on “Izzy and Lenore” not having read any of the author’s previous best-sellers – and it’s even harder because I genuinely thought this would be a happy-go-lucky, shelter-to-sofa, kind of story and well, it wasn’t. It was hard to read at times but absolutely amazing and moving.

I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone – it certainly gave me the blues.

Jiang Rong - Wolf Totem

After I finished “Wolf Totem” I went online in search of reviews. To my surprise critics everywhere seemed (at the very least) hesitant about this great book: most were uncomfortable at the harsh criticism of Chinese mentality (because they're on “our” side now and we mustn’t bother them), many resented the fact that characters talk at length about their world-views (“didactic” is now a four letter word, apparently), and quite a lot were genuinely upset at how long the book is.

I almost let out an audible sigh of relief as I read Jonathan Mirsky’s words for the Literary Review – I might not be as clueless and ignorant a reader as I thought.


Ursula K. LeGuin for the Guardian: “…that is the sorrowful theme of the rest of this long book” (which I honestly cannot believe she actually read, since she doesn’t mention the main theme of young man/ wolf cub relation). And how offensive is this entry line?
“I don't know what it means to sell four million copies of a book in China - that's a lot of books, but there are a lot of Chinese.” – ah yes, the old “there are so many of them” schtick…

Pankaj Mishra for the NY times: “It’s even more remarkable that a novel so relentlessly gloomy and ponderously didactic has become a huge best seller”

German critic Wolfgang Kubin, got so hot and bothered over “Wolf Totem” he deemed it “fascist” …

Literary critics being so much more cultured (clutered?) and informed than the rest of us, have to read this book in light of their extensive knowledge of millennia of Chinese culture and a complete understanding of contemporary politics – however, the rest of us might enjoy it for what it is: a spellbinding tale, that is also cautionary.

Clifford Coonan wrote in the Independent that “Wolf Totem” can be seen as “a moving novel of nomads and settlers and their relation with wolves on the Mongolian steppes, a guide to doing business in New China, an ecological handbook, or a piece of military strategy.”

To me, the strongest motif was one of condemnation of human nature. As we witness Chen Zhen embark on a series of bad decisions, all of them motivated by his very real love of wolves it becomes impossible not to feel strongly that human love and interest often ring the death toll for the object of their attention. Zhen regrets stealing the wolf cubs, leaving the mother bereft and the siblings dead at human hands, he regrets forcing his own bitch to nurse a wolf against her instinct, he regrets keeping the cub chained under the scorching sun, unhappy he cannot run or play with the other puppies, he regrets breaking the wolf’s incisors rendering him useless for a life in the wild and breaking his will with violence. And yet, all the time, the protagonist rationalizes to himself and others that this is the only way to “understand”, to “learn” about wolves.

Is “Wolf Totem” a rant against Chinese culture? Or is the real reason it bothers western mentality so much, the fact that it indicts all of us? Hasn’t our society been built upon the continual destruction of resources without care for the cycles of Nature? Isn’t our relation with animals built in terms of function? – for food, for work, for lab research, for our pleasure and entertainment? Aren’t we all part sheep, part Han Chinese?

Where the Wild things are

Search for the Golden Moon Bear: Science and Adventure in Search of a New Species - Sy Montgomery

Monster of God: The Man-Eating Predator in the Jungles of History and the Mind - David Quammen

Spell of the Tiger: Man-Eaters of the Sundarbans - Sy Montgomery

Summer Red Reading

A Perfect Red: Empire, Espionage and the Quest for the Colour of Desire - Amy Butler Greenfield

Red Riding Hood Uncloaked: Sex, Morality and the Evolution of a Fairy Tale - Catherine Orenstein

The Red Canary: The Story of the First Genetically Engineered Animal - Tim Birkhead

Summer is the time for Murder

Fred Vargas:
This Night's Fowl Work
Coule la Seine
L'homme a l'envers
Ceux qui vont Morir te Saluent

Dorothy L. Sayers:
Strong Poison
Busman's Honeymoon

Jefferson Bass:
Carved in Bone
Flesh and Bone

Dr Bill Bass & Jon Jefferson:
Beyond the Body Farm

Santo Piazzese:
La Doppia Vita di M. Laurent

believe me when I tell you these are great...

...but I'm not in a reviewing mood - it's too hot

Golden Boy - A Hong Kong Childhood
Martin Booth
I honestly did not want this book to end

From The Ground Up - The story of a first garden
Amy Stewart
I think I'll re-read pieces of this one - and not necessarily wait until I have a garden of my very own

...and this one is not worth your time

documentation and bibliography are iffy
the better known episodes deserve books of their own, the others are just boring and how did the authors manage just 5 pages on the Krakatoa eruption when Simon Winchester wrote a whole book on it.

I liked the Naked Baroness (Elisa von Wagner) story, but she must be the least explored character on the whole cyberspace - she doesn't even have a Wikipedia article if you can believe it - and the Italian book on which the authors base their tale is from 1978 and apparently out of print...oh well it wasn't that interesting...

Yummy Wishlist

Reading memoirs and chronicles that center around food is something I love, but haven't really done lately. Last books I read on the subject were "Climbing the Mango Tree" by Madhur Jaffrey and Elizabeth David's "My Life in France". I much preferred the first - I like my books, if not my food, on the exotic side.

Then I read the second part of Ruth Reichl's autobiography: "Comfort me with apples" which honestly wasn't that good, especially compared with her first "Tender at the Bone", and sort of let the food thing slide for a while.

But no more! I found these three books which I feel certain will provide hours of food craving:

Staling Buddha's Dinner: A Memoir - Bich Minh Nguyen



Bento Box in the Heartland - My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America - Linda Furiya



Serve the People: A Stir-fried Journey through China - Jen Lin-Liu




Although, in the spirit of thrift I should probably get to these two - which I got on may last food book binge and still haven't read:

The Passionate Epicure - Marcel Rouff



Endless Feasts: sixty years of writing from Gourmet

My absolute favourites in this collection, you ask? Why, here they are:

Clémentine in the Kitchen - Samuel Chamberlain



Katish - Our Russian Cook - Wanda Frolov

Kiwi's Egg - David Quammen

Kiwi's Egg - Charles Darwin & Natural Selection

I liked the image of Darwin pregnant with his evolution theory just as a female kiwi is enlarged with her egg (the only bird whose egg comprises 25% of her body weight). Yup, he was just about to burst. But it was a long pregnancy and in the end, labor had to be induced – by the young fella Alfred Russel Wallace.

Wallace basically scared Darwin’s big idea into the public domain. The older man had been sitting on it for a couple of decades and was seemingly in no hurry to present the British public and scientific community with rope to hang him.

But as the young upstart sent him a sketch of his ideas from far away Indonesia he realized he best get to it. We can see Darwin’s reluctance to publish his ideas as a sign of arrogance – obviously he didn’t think anyone else would get there too; or, more in tune with Quammen’s portrait, as a mark of someone so uncomfortable being under the spotlight that he truly dreaded the attention that was sure to follow the unveiling of his ideas.

In “Kiwi’s Egg” Quammen decided to start his mini-biography were others would willingly end it – as Darwin descends the Beagle never to travel again outside his native island. Surely this is where the exciting part of Darwin’s life ends?

Well, maybe. But after all, his voyage was a fluke and while it might have changed his professional plans (from man of the cloth to man of science) and given him plenty of intellectual fodder for years to come, it didn’t change who he was. He was a man who liked to think things through – really thoroughly – he made a list of pros and cons on marriage, after all, so he wasn’t about to rock the core of science and eject religion from the map without being sure of it, either.
I was amazed at how complex Darwin’s character was – he was capable of great generosity and great egotism; a shy man who avoided travelling from his country house to London, electing letter-writing as his favorite means of communication with the world at large, and yet, someone who moved very fast (and cunningly) to assure a younger man wouldn’t get full credit for a theory he considered his. Complex characters, after all, don’t make good icons. Fortunately Quammen doesn’t seem willing to participate in Darwin’s canonization just yet.

Some of the story – especially the part where Darwin’s path crossed Wallace’s - had already been told by Quammen in “Song of the Dodo” albeit through Wallace’s perspective. Not that it bothered me in the slightest – for one it’s a great story, second Quammen uses a different angle in “Kiwi’s Egg”, third I’m glad he didn’t try to bury Wallace – it’s obvious that if it wasn’t for him Darwin, wouldn’t have published his theory so soon (in fact, he had already left written indications for his wife to publish his notebooks after his death – indicating he was definitely in no hurry) – their stories are truly inseparable.

Another thing readers might not be aware of is that Darwin didn’t exactly become Mr Popularity right after “The Origin of Species” was published. It’s not like everyone (or even anyone) cried “Gosh, we’ve been so stupid, believing for generations that species were immutable and created just as they are and put just where they are by a kindly Divine hand – and by the way, don’t we look incredibly like chimps? Hooray for Mr Darwin!”. Nope, it was more like “What a crazy old coot. Sigh. Chuckle. Next please!”

We seem to resent being enlightened – most prefer being saved – heck, sometimes thinking is a right nuisance.

But after all is said and done, Quammen rocks.