Nothing to Envy, by Barbara Demick

I really enjoyed this book and learned so much. The revelations about what life is like churned me up inside, especially when considering how the government is allocating their money. The experience of reading this non-fiction is significantly different than that of reading a novel like 1984 or Hunger Games. It's much more visceral and emotional.

The fact that most of this account has taken place during my lifetime was an interesting exercise in having a wider world-view. Considering what I was doing in my own life, how much food I had, what my education was like, etc, while those in North Korea were (and are still) suffering so desperately, was a revelation.

There is more swearing in the book than I like to read, and the subject of sex is not treated with any respect.

I liked the ending just fine, though other reviewers have disliked it. The history is still in the making. While I ache for the people who are trapped in lives of malnutrition and propaganda bombardment, I have hope for what the future will bring and know that those who have caused this misery will suffer for their actions at the hand of a perfect judge.

I recommend it.

Hondo, by Louis L'Amour

L'Amour's first novel, Hondo, was such fun to read! L'Amour is just a great storyteller. The development of the plot was fabulous and the twists of fate incorporated are enough to make a reader want to eat a book that is so delicious.

A few bits of wisdom I gleaned (L'Amour is so fond of putting this type of stuff in his books, I love it!):
     To each of us is given a life. To live with honor and to pass on having left our mark, it is only essential that we do our part, that we leave our children strong. Nothing exists long when its time is past. Wealth is important only to the small of mind. The important thing is to do the best one can with what one has.
     These things her father had taught her, these things she believed. A woman's task was to keep a home, to rear her children well, to give them as good a start as possible before moving on. That was why she had stayed. That was why she had dared to remain in the face of Indian trouble. This was her home. This was her fireside. Here was all she could give her son aside from the feeling that he was loved, the training she could give, the education. And she could give him this early belief in stability, in the rightness of belonging somewhere. (p290)

A Girl of the Limberlost, by Gene Stratton-Porter

The sheer amount of emotion involved in this book was really incredible to me, and so enjoyable! It covers five years of Elnora Comstock's life and takes her through some incredibly challenging and joyful events in her life, not the least of which were high school and a courtship. Her honor and strength are beautiful. She comes to town from the Limberlost, a forest of great trees, swamps, and valuable moths.

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     "S'pose we'd taken Elnora when she was a baby, and we'd heaped on her all the love we can't on our own, and we'd coddled, petted, and shielded her, whould she have made the woman that living alone, learning to think for herself, and taking all the knocks Kate Comstock could give, have made of her?"

     "You bet your life!" cried Wesley warmly. "Loving anybody don't hurt them. We wouldn't have done anything but love her. You can't hurt a child loving it. She'd have learned to work, to study, and grown into a woman with us, without suffering like a poor homeless dog."

      "But you don't see the point, Wesley. She would have grown into a fine woman with us; but as we would have raise her, would her heart ever have known the world as it does now? Where's the anguish, Wesley, that child can't comprehend? Seeing what she's seen of her mother hasn't hardened her. She can understand any mother's sorrow. Living life from the rough side has only broadened her. Where's the girl or boy burning with shame, or struggling to find a way, that will cross Elnora's path and not get a lift from her? She's had the knocks, but there'll never be any of the thing you call 'false pride' in her. I guess we better keep out. Maybe Kate Comstock knows what she's doing. Sure as you live, Elnora has grown bigger on knocks than she would on love." (p51)

Now some of that is good sense to me, but some of it is baloney. Allowing children to see and feel adversity and understand the world is important. But it doesn't have to come with unrighteous dominion or neglect. Loving anybody doesn't hurt them, but shielding and coddling can.

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     "I am almost sorry I have these [new] clothes," she said to Ellen.

     "In the name of sense, why?" cried the astonished girl.

     "Everyone is so nice to me in them, it sets me to wondering if in time I could have made them be equally friendly in the others."

     Ellen looked at her introspectively. "I believe you could," she announced at last. "But it would have taken time and heartache, and your mind would have been less free to work on your studies. No one is happy without friends." (p77)

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Here are the grosbeaks of which Elnora is speaking in this letter she dictates to Philip's fiance:

     "I am writing this," she began, "in an old grape arbor in the country, near a log cabin where I had my dinner. From where I sit I can see directly into the home of the next-door neighbor on the west. His name is R.B. Grosbeak. From all I have seen of him, he is a gentleman of the old school; the oldest school there is, no doubt. He always wears a black suit and cap and a white vest, decorated with one large read heart, which I think must be the emblem of some ancient order. I have been here a number of time, and I never have seen him wear anything else, or his wife appear in other than a brown dress with touches of white.

     "It has appealed to me at times that she was a shade neglectful of her home duties, but he does not seem to feel that way. He cheerfully stays in the sitting-room, while she is away having a good time, and sings while he cares for the four small children... I just had an encounter with him at the west fence, and induced him to carry a small gift to his children. When I see the perfect harmony in which he lives, and the depth of content he and the brown lady find in life, I am almost persuaded to buy a nice little home in the country, and settle down there for life." (p214)

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Elnora's father was a violinist and she found his violin through a neighbor in the first year of high school. She divided her practice time so that half was dedicated to playing the sounds of nature. She was a great proficient at the master's pieces, but the following description is of how she played nature after just three or four years of practice. This scene takes places in a forest "room" with trees for walls and violets as carpet. (p141, 220-221)

     Elnora lifted the violin and began to play. She wore a school dress of green gingham, with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She seemed a part of the setting all around her. Her head shone like a small dark sun, and her face never had seemed so rose-flushed and fair. ... Elnora played the song of the Limberlost. It seemed as if the swamp hushed all its other voices and spoke only through her dancing bow. ... She played as only a peculiar chain of circumstances puts it in the power of a very few to play. All nature had grown still, the violin sobbed, sang, danced and quavered on alone, no voice in particular; the soul of the melody of all nature combined in one great outpouring.
     ...When the last note fell and the girl laid the violin in the case... she came to him. Philip stood looking at her curiously...
     "With some people it makes a regular battlefield of the human heart--this struggle for self-expression," said Philip. "You are going to do beautiful work in the world, and do it well. When I realize that your violin belonged to your father, that he played it before you were born, and it no doubt affected you mother strongly, and then couple with that the years you have roamed these fields and swamps finding in nature all you had to lavish your heart upon, I can see how you have evolved. I understand what you mean by self-expression. I  know something of what you have to express. The world never so wanted your message as it does now. It is hungry for the things you know. I can see easily how your position came to you. What you have to give is taught in no college, and I am not sure but you would spoil yourself if you tried to run your mind through a set groove with hundreds of others. I never thought I should say such a thing to anyone, but I do say to you, and I honestly believe it; give up the college idea. Your mind does not need that sort of development. Stick close to your work in the woods. You are becoming so infinitely greater on it, than the best college girl I ever knew, that there is no comparison. When you have money to spend, take that violin and go to one of the world's great masters and let the Limberlost sing to him; if he thinks he can improve it, very well. I have my doubts."

The Lonesome Gods, by Louis L'Amour

    

 A fabulous tale with exciting twists and meaningful life lessons.

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     A copy of the Illiad [lay] on the table. "You are reading this?" he asked.
     "I have read it many times. Now I read it to my son."
     "But he is too young!" The man protested, almost angry.
     "Is he? Who is to say? How young is too young to begin to discover the power and the beauty of words? Perhaps he will not understand, but there is a clash of shields and a call of trumpets in those lines. One cannot begin too young nor linger too long with learning.
     "Homer told his stories accompanied by the lyre, and it was the best way, I think, to tell such stories. Men needed stories to lead them to create, to build, to conquer, even to survive, and without them the human race would have vanished long ago. Men strive for peace, but it is their enemies that give them strength, and I think if man no longer had enemies, he would have to invent them, for his strength only grows from struggle."(p116-117)

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     I had learned that one needs moments of quiet, moments of stillness, for both the inner and outer man, a moment of contemplation or even simple emtiness when the stree could ease away and a calmness enter the tissues. Such moments of quiet gave one strenfth, gave one coolness of mind with which to approach the world and its problems. Sometimes but a few minutes were needed.
     Long walks can provide this, or horseback rides, reading a different book, or even just sitting. Here, in the pleasant coolness of this galeria, listening to the waters of the fountain, I could gather my forces again, and perhaps reach some conclusions about myself. (p306-307)

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     This was the good life, this I could do, ... and perhaps have a little to do in shaping the destiny of our country.
     For it is not buildings that make a city, but citizens, and a citizen is not just he who lives in a city, but one who helps it to function as a city. My father had often talked of the town meetings in New England and of the discussions that helped to shape the destinies of cities and states. For this I must prepare myself, for I knew too little of law, too little of governing, too little of the conducting of public meetings.
     There is no greater role for a man to play than to assist in the government of a people, nor anyone lower than he who misuses that power. (p 308)

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Changing tracks to President Hinckley now, a prophet of our Heavenly Father:



     You need time to meditate and ponder, to think, to wonder at the great plan of happiness that the Lord has outlined for His children. You need to read the scriptures. You need to read good literature. You need to partake of the great culture which is available to all of us.

     I heard President David O. McKay say to the members of the Twelve on one occasion, “Brethren, we do not spend enough time meditating.”

     I believe that with all my heart. Our lives become extremely busy. We run from one thing to another. We wear ourselves out in thoughtless pursuit of goals which are highly ephemeral. We are entitled to spend some time with ourselves in introspection, in development. I remember my dear father when he was about the age that I am now. He lived in a home where there was a rock wall on the grounds. It was a low wall, and when the weather was warm, he would go and sit on his wall. It seemed to me he sat there for hours, thinking, meditating, pondering things that he would say and write, for he was a very gifted speaker and writer. He read much, even into his very old age. He never ceased growing. Life was for him a great adventure in thinking.

      Your needs and your tastes along these lines will vary with your age. But all of us need some of it.

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 It seems that Louis L'Amour had a great deal figured out correctly.

The Rider of the Ruby Hills, by Louis L’Amour

These four stories were great fun. They are early work, published in pulp magazines as magazine novels. Louis L'Amour consented to their being reprinted in this format because his fans pressured him to see more of his writing. All four of these magazine novels were later edited and expanded into full length novels.  

Showdown Trail became The Tall Stranger. 

A Man Called Trent became The Mountain Valley War.

The Rider of the Ruby Hills became Where the Long Grass Blows.

The Trail to Peach Meadow Canyon became Son of a Wanted Man.

Rider of the Ruby Hills was my favorite. Bill Canavan is one of the strongest characters I've met, and Louis L'Amour has a lot of strong characters. Canavan will not be cowed or walked on, despite the all-consuming presence of the cattle lords in his chosen town.

Showdown Trail was a close second; the coincidence of Rock Bannon being who he is and then ending up in that particular wagon caravan was just fun. 

A Man Called Trent didn't sit quite right in my mouth, and Trail to Peach Meadow Canyon was a bit juvenile. Even though L'Amour's greenness shows in these early works, one is still impressed with his ingenuity and story-telling ability.

I have a great appreciation for the fact that L'Amour doesn't write about sex. I can pick up any of his novels and know they will be clean. There are plenty of men wanting a woman for a wife (or the bad guy wanting the same woman for pleasure) but gritty details are avoided.

I love that L'Amour focuses so strongly on right and wrong. What is the code of the good man? The code of his enemy? When can an outlaw be the good guy? What does it mean to thirst? Fear? Be hunted? Find solace? Enjoy peace? The discussion of motives, backgrounds, and intentions draws one closer to God. It's good reading.