Orphan Train

I have been on a long non-fiction bender this fall, and have been looking for a good fiction read, when one of my colleagues recommended Orphan Train. It's premise is that Niamh Power is nine years old when she is orphaned and sent west by a children's aid society to a new life in Minnesota. (These orphan trains were real and Christina Baker Kline is not the first to mine them for material in the shaping of a protagonist. The trauma of the orphan train was a critical component of Madame X in My Notorious Life, too.)  

Orphan Train is Niamh-cum-Dorothy-cum-Vivian's story, intertwined with that of foster child Molly Ayer, who meets Vivian in unlikely circumstances when the former is 17 and the latter is 91. Despite their differences in age and position, Vivian and Molly discover they have much in common and form a deep bond.

As I've noted before (such as in my review of Sandcastle Girls), parallel narratives are difficult to carry off and can sometimes detract from a story more than add to it.  Kline, however, pulls off her double narratives beautifully, with rich characters and histories for both Molly and Vivian. This is especially impressive because Kline does all of this in well under 300 pages - as compared to Villa Triste, whose Lucretia Grindle accomplishes the same feat, but in some 640 pages.

I truly enjoyed all aspects of this book at Kline's writing. She crafted a rich and interesting story without feeling the need to wrap everything up in a neat, tidy package in the final pages.

Four stars.

The Lord God Made Them All

The Lord God Made Them All is a continuation of James Herriot's memoirs detailing his years as a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales - the fourth of five books in the memoir series. It picks up where All Things Wise and Wonderful left off, immediately after World War II, as Herriot's practice is expanding, medicine is making tremendous advances, and Herriot's two young children are an integral part of his life and also his practice.

What stands out most in this book is, in fact, the the advancements in antibiotics. Reading this, it really made me consider different perspectives regarding the use of antibiotics in animals. I have serious reservations about introducing antibiotics into the food supply. Herriot is not writing about or thinking about that larger issue, as he reflects on veterinary medicine circa 1950, though. He is thinking instead of the relief he was able to provide suffering animals, such as the previously untreatable wooden tongue in cattle that he became able to cure.

Interspersed with Herriot's vetting adventures in and around Darrowby, he describes two foreign trips - one to the USSR and one to Turkey - during which he accompanied animals for export at the height of the cod war. His descriptions of Klaipeda and Istanbul - and his (mis)adventures - are as highly readable and entertaining as everything else Herriot has written.

Four stars. And one more book to go.

First to Fly: The Story of the Lafayette Escadrille, the American Heroes Who Flew For France in World War I

First to Fly: The Story of the Lafayette Escadrille, the American Heroes Who Flew For France in World War I deserves points for being one of the most succinct World War I books I've read. It is the story of Americans fighting in the war prior to the U.S.'s entry in 1917. Specifically, it's a brief history of the Lafayette Escadrille, or the French army's flight squadron that was comprised almost entirely of Americans. (In that sense, it is complementary to Over the Top, which is the memoir of an American fighting with British forces in the trenches.)

Author Charles Bracelen Flood does a great job of presenting not only, as I mentioned, an incredibly succinct rendering of the entire war, but especially of creating full-bodied portraits of each of the men who served in the Lafayette Escadrille. For what it's worth, Bert Hall and Raoul Lufbery particularly stand out.

Flood also brings home the reality of wartime flight, which was both cold and terrifying, seeing as it was conducted from open cockpits. As he notes, the war began a mere decade after the Wright Brothers took to the air. I was actually surprised at what a quick read this was, particularly in comparison to so many other war-related books. I enjoyed that it focused on a relatively obscure part of the war, given that this was a war of trenches, but the development of which was arguably the most important warfare advancement since the invention of the wheel. An excellent and engaging read - and I'll be adding Bert Hall's memoir, En L'Air, to my reading list.

White Mischief: The Murder of Lord Erroll

In the midst of World War II, Lord Erroll was murdered in Kenya. His circle of wealthy aristocratic friends closed ranks - and as a notorious womanizer (among other character flaws) - there was no shortage of suspects who might have wanted Erroll dead. Still, police closed in pretty quickly on Sir Jock Delves Broughton, whose young wife was Erroll's latest conquest. In fact, she planned to run off with him. He was arrested, tried, and ultimately found not guilty - yet the question lingered, did he do it and, if not, then who did?

In somewhat the same way as Donnie Eichar became interested and then obsessed in the mystery of who or what killed a party of Russian hikers in the 1950s, so James Fox became obsessed by who killed Lord Erroll in 1941. He worked on the case from 1969 to 1984, when he published White Mischief, and there is no reason to believe he has got it wrong.

More interesting than the death of Lord Erroll is the colonial life in Kenya. The overwhelming majority of the expats succumbed to the "Three A's": alcohol, altitude, and adultery. It is a life not unlike the one described by Lady Pamela Hicks in, My Life As a Mountbatten, in which she recounts her parents' lovers who lived with the family at various times, or the very unhappy Porchey and Catherine Carnarvon. (In fact, Porchey makes an appearance or two in White Mischief, and years later Fox visits Highclere Castle to learn what the Carnarvons make of it all. It's a bit surreal to read descriptions of the rooms I've come to know so well from the set of Downton Abbey!)

Ultimately, my verdict is that White Mischief is interesting for its examination of the colonial ruling class in Kenya, particularly in the midst of a world war. Fox does the field of journalism proud in his dogged pursuit of the aged and far-flung protagonists as he pieces this back together decades after the fact. Still, I wouldn't put this in the must-read category.

Dead Mountain: The Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

In February 1959, nine hikers disappeared from their camp deep in the Ural Mountains, their bodies days, weeks, and even months later across the desolate Siberian landscape, a mile or more from their tent, which remained intact, anchored to the mountainside. What made them flee the warmth and comfort of their tent into 40 mile-an-hour winds and temperatures of 40 below? With no shoes? Soviet officials ruled it was "an unknown compelling force." And so the mystery grew. UFOs. A band of crazed, heavily armed men. A radiation experiment or missile launch gone bad (hey, it was the Soviet Union we're talking about). All of these and other theories were put forward, but nothing could be convincingly proven.

Fifty-plus years passed and then American author and filmmaker Donnie Eichar decided to have a go at solving the mystery. Doggedly, he tracked down the one survivor of the hiking party (he'd turned back at the end of January owing to chronic pain), as well as the elderly prosecutor and younger sister of the group's leader, Igor Dyatlov. Eichar spoke no Russian and most of his contacts spoke no English. Painstakingly he translated documents, pieced together the group's movements and even - heavens above! - retraced their footsteps with a winter foray deep into Siberian wilderness where the group disappeared. (Technically it wasn't Siberia, Eichar explained, but I fully believe him when he says that Siberia is a state of mind or at a minimum, climate conditions, rather than an exact point on a map. In that case, it was definitely Siberia.)

Eichar also consults numerous scientists, from those who study radiation to those who study rock formations and wind. Gradually and then suddenly he arrives at the solution. While there may be some he will stick with earlier theories (extraterrestrial attack, for example), Eichar's evidence is solid and his conclusions make good, sound, scientific sense. I enjoyed following along as he discovered what became of the hiking party. Those who enjoy scientific reading and investigative journalism will appreciate what Eichar has done here.

The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey

Like all good children of the 80s, I grew up playing the Oregon Trail, trying to make it west with enough bullets to shoot dinner, before my oxen broke down, and without losing my load in any of the river crossings. Naturally, then, I was intrigued by the title of this book alone.

Rinker Buck's life if falling apart and so he decides that a summer on the Oregon Trail will cure him. That is, he wants to become the first person to cross the entire train in a covered wagon in over 100 years. Just like the pioneers, Buck uses the internet to find a team and wagon, and make the necessary preparations to spend four months roughing it in some of the most rural - and often remote - corners of America. Fortunately, his brother is both Mr. Fix-it and a Horse Whisperer, widely respected as one of the best team drivers in the country. (Those would be mule teams, not NASCAR teams.) So it is that the two of them set off from Missouri, bound for Oregon.

Interspersed with stories from his own journey - my favorite of these is about RVs, or more specifically their drivers, who Buck states rather unequivocally covet the opportunity to create traffic hazards and did so with alarming regularity when the wagon wasn't bumping through the wilderness - Buck constructs a solid history of the original Oregon Trail. He has clearly done his research and quotes generously from pioneer journals, guidebooks, and other original sources, as well as histories written by others. He also creates a history, of sorts, of those who  reside near or work to restore the trail today. This is all very well done.

Buck also paints a wonderful portrait of the American heartland. His trip across the Oregon Trails puts him as up close and personal as possible with Flyover Country, and Buck makes a compelling case for why the this part of America still matters - and not only for the Union Pacific freights that haul our goods from coast-to-coast. 

My only complaint, really, should not come as a surprise: at time Buck is a little too wrapped up in himself. It's hard to imagine that the pages he spends trying to deconstruct and reconstruct his relationship with his father are of interest to the same crowd that wants to read about the Oregon Trail. (Yes, I know, there are traditional histories available for those who want the just-the-facts-ma'am version.) He also seems just a teensy bit too smug, just a teensy bit too often. And, while his brother certainly has his own quirks and idiosyncrasies, like A.J. Jacobs's wife (The Year of Living Biblically - another crazy quest), Nick Buck just might deserve some kind of medal.

All Things Wise and Wonderful

All Things Wise and Wonderful is a continuation of the multi-book memoir of James Herriot's time as a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales in the 1930s. In this particular book, the reader learns of Herriot's adventures primarily through the flashbacks he experiences while training as a pilot in World War II. In that sense, All Things Wise and Wonderful captures two storylines - one of the rural life of the Yorkshire Dales and the other an intimate look at the rigors of training in the Armed Services.

My favorite anecdote from the book is when Herriot is sent to a farm along with several other airmen to assist with the fall harvest and ends up delivering a calf. The farmer was more than a little surprised, to say the least!

Wise and Wonderful is not filled with the laugh-out-load hijinx that appear regularly in Herriot's earlier books, but especially in All Creatures Great and Small. It is no less good, though, for being less funny. I have said before that I enjoy Herriot's work not only for exposing me to a time and place I otherwise wouldn't know, but also for the same innocence that makes the Gilbreths and Edmund Love so delightful. In that sense, Wise and Wonderful shines brightly.

Four stars for Dr. Herriot, again and again. I am already looking forward to my next fix, The Lord God Made Them All. Stay tuned (not that the outcome is much in doubt...).

The Johnstown Flood

I was vaguely aware of the Johnstown Flood, but wanting to know more about it, I turned to David McCullough, whose works on the Panama Canal, Wright Brothers, and American love affair with Paris are so well executed.

The flood, for others who may be as uninformed as I was previously, was the result of a dam break in the Pennsylvania mountains above Johnstown's valley. The dam, not incidentally, was shoddily built and poorly maintained - and served the singular purpose of creating a pleasure lake for members of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. Club members included such stalwarts of the gilded age as Andrew Carnegie and Andrew Mellon. When the dam broke, the entire lake gushed down the hillsides wiping out virtually everything in its path and causing well over 2,000 deaths.

As I have come to expect from McCullough, The Johnstown Flood is well research and well written. McCullough begins by providing a history of the valley, the industries at the heart of its growth, and the Club itself, along with abbreviated biographies of key individuals. This was probably necessary to lay the foundation for readers, many of whom I assume (like myself) are largely ignorant of the events. Still, it makes for a slow beginning to the book, and I never did fully sort out all of the various individuals McCullough follows. Not surprisingly, the best portions of the book are the description of the flood itself. It's all rather terrifying.

Ultimately, the Johnstown Flood reads like a prelude to the entire Gilded Age. It also makes me want to move Meet You in Hell: Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick, and the Bitter Partnership That Changed America up my reading list. That said, I believe McCullough's work has a relatively narrow audience - he is a serious historian who often chooses to write about topics that others might consider incidental. Those who appreciate McCullough and his work will like Johnstown Flood. Those who prefer lighter fair, even for non-fiction, should probably forgo this one.