Debunked by Richard Roeper

Debunked romps through conspiracy theories and lighter fare with good old logic to show us that Flight 93 could not have landed secretly and safely (if so, where are the passengers now?) that unspeakable acts of violence were not committed during Katrina (no witnesses, no proof of any kind), and that Evian water is not radioactive (regardless of the ecological crimes committed by drinking it far away from its source.)

Feel free to skip any chapter you cannot care about (like the ones about rigged online poker — the horror!) and have a good laugh about why anyone would believe silly conspiracy theories in the absence of any supporting fact. A most civilized alternative to reading the tabloids “discretely” while in line at the grocery store.

The English Major by Jim Harrison

The English Major is an older Michigan cherry farmer who finds himself alone and dispossessed of his farm when his wife runs off with an old flame. He decides to drive to every state, wanting to find better names for them along with better state birds. I had not realized that so many states shared official birds, a pity really. Along the way he has a crazy affair with an ex-student of his (he was a teacher before/while he was a farmer), ogles every woman he meets, every one of them, is rescued from his broken-down car by his gay and enormously successful son in San Francisco,  and catches some serious fish.

Although he eventually gets back to Michigan and his ex-wife, sort of, and only makes it to the Western states, his driving adventures feel complete, fresh and true, including the ones in California where we would be more aware of false notes. If the author could tone down the tiresome constant sexual  yearnings of the hero life would be perfect.

The zany road trip made me think about The Memory of Running, albeit from a car and not a bicycle. If you enjoyed one you will probably enjoy the other.

Tears of the Desert by Halima Bashir

Halima Bashir grew up in Darfur, a very smart girl with a relatively well-to-do and forward-thinking father who believed his daughter should be educated and become a physician — even if it meant sending her away from the village for months at a time and even if her brothers would not be educated in the same manner since they did not display the same promise.

Tears of the Desert starts with the author’s childhood in a small desert village, steeped in Zaghawa (her tribe’s) tradition. She repeats again and again that the Zaghawa are a warrior tribe and indeed that spirit shows in the copious beatings that seem to embody child education, both at home and at school. She is, however, beloved by her father and encouraged every step of the way. The ghost writer adopts a factual, almost detached voice which is effective when describing her circumcision or school beatings, and especially when the civil war breaks out and Halima must first treat civilians, especially rape victims, then becomes a victim herself.

The last chapters talk about her seeking asylum in Britain and makes one wonder how bureaucrats can effectively investigate asylum claims since war victims have little more than their stories to prove their cases.

If you’re looking for a hopeful book about Darfur this is not it, but the book avoids an emotional or catastrophic approach and is well worth reading.

Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell

As you watch Obama’s inauguration today what are you thinking? That he is a remarkable man with a unique set of skills, ambition, and hard work that propelled him to the top? Or that he benefited from a unique combination of cultural and historical factors that brought him to the top? Gladwell would argue the latter — although naturally he does not, as Outliers was published way before the election.

His point is that, although we tend to credit success to unique individual skills (a very American view of success) those skills cannot flourish outside a supportive village, era, or set of customs. In his usual effortless manner (The Tipping Point, Blink) Gladwell tells us about super-healthy Italian immigrants (for whom it’s notthe olive oil); January hockey prodigies (plan your child’s sport’s career from their birth date); 1950’s Jewish New York lawyers; planes crashed by crews with rigid hierarchical cultures that make questioning the pilot’s wisdom very challenging; computer-industry titans that were all born in 1955; and Asian mathematicians inspired by rice farming. The last one did not work for me: your grandpa farmed rice so you become good at math? This seems pretty silly — and racist to boot. But overall the book is a great reminder that we are all very dependent on the larger context. Perhaps success is nothing more than knowing how to catch our lucky breaks?

Why I’m like This by Cynthia Kaplan

Why I’m Like This is a set of stories a la David Sedaris from the author’s life, ranging from her awkward teenager years to the present. I particularly liked the stories about her grandmother who has Alzheimer’s, including the poignant decision her family had to make to have her move to a nursing home — without ever pronouncing that word in her presence. Her stories from summer camp are pretty funny as well, although there’s always a good helping of bittersweet mixed in the fun.

The Story of Yiddish by Neal Karlen

The Story of Yiddish is the messy and often funny not just of Yiddish but of Jews in America, and how they came to emigrate to America. The author is never afraid to tell a good joke (and sometimes tells them twice!) and is particularly good at quoting funny Yiddish sayings while sharing some of his family’s history. One could wish for a more organized narrative…

Goldengrove by Francine Prose

Goldengrove‘ s heroin, at 13, deals with her older sister’s accidental death by dressing like her and going out with her boyfriend. The parents seem overwhelmed and don’t see what’s going on under their noses (not that they really paid attention to the older daughter’s adventures when she was alive, now that I think of it.) The father’s ex-lover gets what’s going on and acts like the only grownup in the book.

The book is well-written and all that. The story just did not make sense to me.

Alex and Me by Irene Pepperberg

Fun book! Alex & Me is the story of the first scientifically-studied talking and thinking parrot, told by his geeky and passionate owner and chief scientist. The first chapter is strange: it’s a compendium of condolences she received after Alex’s death in 2007 and contains such gems as “My child died a few years ago and I’m just as sad now that I hear about Alex’s death” from a woman who had never heard of Alex until she read his obituary. Strange. So skip that first chapter and read the story of how the author came to believe that parrots could demonstrate logical thinking including counting and recognizing shapes and how she trained Alex and others to do just that.

Alex sounds much like a smart toddler, ordering the students in the lab to do his bidding and leading the scientists by the nose by leveraging his limited vocabulary to describe cake (“yummy bread”), ask for a break (“wanna go back”), order the other parrots around (“speak clearly”), and even soothe its owner (“calm down.”) It all makes for a heart-warming and funny tale.

And along the way there are hints of what it’s like to be a scientist, especially a woman scientist and especially one with a weird specialty — but there are hints only, no preaching and almost no grandstanding.

The Suicide Index by Joan Wickersham

Like An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination (which talks about losing a baby), The Suicide Indexdiscusses a taboo topic, death by suicide, in a very intimate way since the author’s father killed himself, unexpectedly. She names the chapters as one would an index, hence the title of the book, which creates eerie (and powerful, because they must be decoded) titles and she painstakingly analyzes her reactions, both immediate and delayed, and those of her family. There’s much pain and sadness, naturally, but the book is not all grim.

I found it particularly interesting to see how her mother’s egocentrism continues unabated during the crisis (“How could he do this to me?” “I’m suffering more [than his brother] because I’m his wife”) and how most people, including the author go back again and again to blaming her dad for what they see is betrayal, even as they acknowledge that depression is a disease. It seems that we are not quite ready to acknowledge that despair can be something completely different than a simple lack of self-control.

The Lost Art of Walking by Geoff Nicholson

The Lost Art of Walking is an odd book. The author sets out to describe all aspects of what he calls, a bit pedantically, pedestrianism, and he covers a lot of ground (ha ha) including walking references in music and literature, walking through various cities he knows (London, New York, and, funnily enough, Los Angeles) , and the unlikely exploits of competitive walkers of all types.

Some of the stories can be unpleasantly opaque to the non-initiated — it’s hard to follow his New York walk without an understanding of the various neighborhoods he traverses for instance — but never fearing to turn pages quickly when bored I found enough to entertain myself. Besides funny historical anecdotes (such as the Englishman who walked 15 minutes per hour for days on end, night included), what I liked best were his own stories, including working as a museum guard and imagining himself the owner of precious paintings in the minutes before the visitors poured in.