Bryce Courtenay’s The Power of One, which is about a young boy who grows up in South Africa wanting to become a boxer. It has rare quality among “historical” novels in that it doesn’t force the setting or the social climate in a contrived way, but rather creates a great story that is also an integral part of a specific time and place. I found myself captivated, and learned as much about South Africa in the mid-20th century as I did about boxing.

Shreve Stockton’s The Daily Coyote is a booked based on her highly successful blog of the same name. She tells the story of how she came to live in Wyoming and adopt the orphaned coyote pup. It’s absolutely engrossing and a relatively quick read, with photos of Charlie and the gorgeous Wyoming scenery scattered throughout. She makes living in a drafty one-room cabin in the middle of Wyoming while also rearing a wild animal sound kind of…exciting.

On a somewhat related theme, there was John Katz’s The New Work of Dogs, which is (not surprisingly) about dogs, but would be of great interest to dog owners and non-owners alike. Katz explores how our relationship with dogs has changed over the years, and while most Americans don’t keep dogs as working animals for a farm or otherwise, we do ask that dogs work: we ask them to understand, to reflect, to respond to, and to meet our social and emotional needs. We’ve gone past humane treatment to downright human treatment, a task which dogs are simply not equipped to handle, and the result is a nation of neurotic canines. Katz suggests that our increasingly isolated and individualistic society has bred this over-dependence on the emotional support of animals and explains why this is disastrous both for people, and for dogs. I won’t give the whole book away, but I’d highly recommend it to anyone and everyone.

And of course, there were the Terry Pratchett novels, of which I’ve read at least a dozen to date. What a wonderful treat to have a favorite author who is also highly prolific. I finished Wyrd Sisters in no time at all, and will shortly be reading the continuing story, Witches Abroad. On the other hand, Mort was left unread for a very long time; I wasn’t really getting into the story, but wasn’t ready to give it up. It paid off, in the end, when I finally connected with the novel and finished it in one marathon reading session.

The thing about Pratchett’s stories is that he relies on a lot of set-up, just enough sprinkled clues to keep you guessing, and a whole lot of exposition that pays off later in the story. So in The Last Continent, once of his longer and (if possible) more convoluted novels, all of that is well-worth the effort because when you get to the scene where the celibate wizards are trying to explain sex to the God of Evolution, it’ll be just about the funniest thing you’ve ever read.

And then yesterday, we lost electricity for the morning, and with nothing much to do except sit and enjoy the silence, I saw an opportunity before me. I sat down and I finished three books.

First, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, which I found thoroughly enjoyable and as a bonus, it has given me the desire to write long letters in the British dialect. I received the book as a Christmas gift and I had only just gotten around to picking it up, due in large part (I admit) to my expectation of something slightly…schmaltzy. Maybe it’s the name: anything with ‘Sisterhood’ or ‘Society’ in the title tends to have a Lifetime movie feel to it, but not this book. It’s just smart and funny and absolutely captivating.

Then I took a to an entirely different genre, and finally finished reading The Orthodox Way. I started reading it months ago, and somewhere in that time, I just put it down and forgot to pick it up again. It’s an excellent book, and I have a feeling that I’ll be reading it over and over and over again in the years to come.

As for the last book I read, well, I’m almost ashamed to admit how long I’ve been working on it. I will say that it was also a Christmas gift.

In 2007.

And I’m almost equally ashamed to admit just why it took me over a year to read Barbara’s Kingsolver’s perfectly wonderful book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Because every time I did, I felt so darn convicted about the way we shop and the way we eat that I put the book down and wouldn’t touch it for weeks at a time. Some people lay out all their issues on romance novels and self-help books? I work out my issues through books on food.

But feelings of utter inadequacy aside, I did finish it, it was a great book, and I look forward to taking steps toward a better way of shopping and eating. Baby steps.

And now my unfinished book pile is down to just three, and my ‘great-books-to-recommend-to-everyone’ pile has grown some more. But that’s for another post…

Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!)

Find Page 123.

Find the first 5 sentences.

Post the next 3 sentences.

Tag 5 people.

Oy. The book nearest at hand is my Human Evolution textbook, which is not exactly the most scintillating read.

“These finds include a fairly complete cranium of a 2.6 million-year-old robust australopithecine, which some term Australopithecus aethiopicus. The type specimen of this species has been found earlier by French researchers, in the Omo Valley, Ethiopia. Because the sediments around Lake Turkana are interleaved with volcanic tuffs, the fossils of the region can now be securely dated.”

And now you know why I’m excited to be done after this semester.

Because I’m not really sure who reads this (*cough*lurkers*cough*) I’ll tag anyone who wants to participate. And if you want, leave a comment here so I can see what kinds of books other people are reading. Because I’m nosy like that.

And since this is my last week before spring semester, and with nothing on my plate today (aside from figuring out why my balding bunny is, well…balding), I think I may just hunker down and finish a book. Or two. Or five.

In the category of fiction we have The Gift of Asher Lev by Chaim Potok and Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. For non-fiction, there’s The Language of God by Francis Collins. Then Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, a Christmas gift from my parents. And finally, The Paleo Diet by Loren Cordain and The Paleolithic Prescription by S. Boyd Eaton, Marjorie Shostack, and Melvin Konner; both of those are for my ambitious New Year’s resolution.

Now the hardest part will be selecting which one to finish first. I hate choosing favorites.

The book is broken into several parts. In the very beginning, Vitebsky offers a cast of the Dramatis Personae, introducing the readers to the people, animals, and spirits who are all important players in the Eveny’s story. He also writes a prologue that specifically address the reindeer’s place in the history and mythology of many people groups. We learn, for instance, that before the notion of Santa Claus came into being reindeer had long been associated with the magic of flight.

Vitebsky then segues into the next section of the book, ‘Part I: The Partnership of Reindeer and Humans’. Here he discusses the “reindeer revolution”, the point at which some populations of wild reindeer were domesticated and forever altered the way of life of many northern peoples. More than just a cultural overview, he also explores how archaeology and biology have shed light on the place of reindeer in northern indigenous cultures. He then moves into chronicling Soviet government’s actions to eliminate nomadism and in turn, to ‘civilize’ the Eveny, and the impact that this had on both their culture and their relationship with the reindeer. It seems like a jarring transition at first, but perhaps that was the intended effect. It is here we first see the clash of Eveny and communist ideals.

Next, Vitebsky moves on to describing what life is like for the Eveny now, in a world forever altered by a collapsed empire. Through his detailed accounts, the reader is drawn into the ebb and flow of the Eveny’s life. Vitebsky is able to make the reader feel as though they know the place and the people. We follow migratory routes with the herders and their families, and gain a sense for life in the village in a world that is not quite Russian and not quite Eveny. His writing is intimate but his analysis is often broad; each family, each story, are but a microcosm of a larger reality. He describes a school play, performed by Eveny children, which dramatizes the death of a shaman at the hands of a “noble young Communist here”. With haunting realization, Vitebsky points out that the audience at the play, the parents and grandparents, have lived the reality so blissfully dramatized by their children.

In the final section Vitebsky draws us in further. He writes in greater detail about Eveny mythology: the power of dreams, the role of the spirits. In some small way, the reader is able to gain a sense of how the Eveny work to construct their present and their future, and how much the patterns of nomadic living have deeply molded their society. And after years of research and living with the Eveny, Vitebsky finally brings his family to stay in Siberia for a month in late summer. Here the reader gains a greater appreciation for the Vitebsky and the tension that comes from such intense cultural immersion. “Having studied the lives of these people who opened up their homes to me, I would have my own intimate life scrutinized, under very demanding conditions.” (p. 331)

Vitebsky, an anthropologist, has spent over 20 years working and with the Eveny. It is obvious that he has developed a close relationship with the Eveny people and holds a deep respect for their knowledge and lifeways. He is very self aware in his analysis of what he sees and hears, not only seeking to explain things at face value through the lens of his own experience as an anthropologist, but also attempting to understand the deeper, less obvious meanings that these stories and situations hold for the Eveny.

In doing so, he draws the reader into his writing and helps us to gain a better appreciation for the Eveny and their environment. Vitebsky’s writing is rich and detailed, and it is not hard for the reader to picture each of the sites that are featured in the book. We feel the vastness of the taiga, the purity of the landscape. Nomadic life in Siberia may seem stark, but it is far from barren. So if Vitebsky has a ‘bias’, it is with the Eveny who are doing all that they can to maintain a traditional life on the land. At times he seems to stop just short of overtly romanticizing their nomadic existence.

But the book is not heavy-handed, nor is it just a blind critique of the Soviet Russian government. In setting the scene of modern Eveny life, Vitebsky offers a contrast of the fundamental differences between the Eveny culture and way of life, and the way of life that was forced upon them by communism. And in reading the book, it becomes apparent that the Eveny have struggled almost as much in the post-communist years as they did during the reign of the Soviet empire.

With his easy flowing style, the book is very readable. And while it contains a great deal of detailed information, Vitebsky shies away from thick academic language. As such, his book is both a valuable scholarly work and, with its flowing narrative, a book that could easily be read and enjoyed by the layperson. After finishing The Reindeer People, I felt as though I had accompanied Vitebsky on his journey. In this beautiful story, Vitebsky writes of the Eveny with both honesty and dignity. It is definitely a book to be valued.

The first portion of the book is broken into four chapters that are arranged linearly, each describing a specific period of time. The first chapter is brief and highlights Mathieu’s youth. The next three chapters are devoted to recollections of hunting expeditions and life in the bush. It is here that Mathieu paints for the reader a rich picture of Innu life, knowledge and values. “We all knew where we were,” Mathieu recalls later in the book, “And where we were going. We knew every bit of the country and the names of al the lakes, all the trails.” (p. 144) He continues, “We thought about only one thing: making sure we had a good supply of food. You see how hard it was. We were full of spirit…[The merchants and priests] never knew what we did at our camps, out on the land, to survive. You had to be strong and spirited, and we were proud of what we accomplished.” (p. 150)

During the second part of the book Mathieu talks about the prejudices that the Innu have faced from outsiders, such as accusations of idleness, and what daily life is like for Innu men and women. “I don’t like it when people tell stories about how lazy and destitute the Indians were out on the land. The whites found it harder than we did. It wasn’t their work. They trapped, but they didn’t know how to hunt…It’s the opposite for Indians. They’re at home. They know how to hunt, and they never stop hunting.” (p. 140) Indeed, throughout the book the reader comes to appreciate the hard work necessary for the Innu to have survived for so long in their Northern homeland.

In the final chapter, Mathieu reflects upon lives of the Innu in the past. His stories of the elders highlight their intimate knowledge of the land and their close ties to the spirits of the animals that they relied upon for survival. He contrasts their behavior and attitudes with those of the white hunters, whose careless and wasteful hunting practices have lead to a decline in the number of caribou. “The caribou do to them what they do to us. If we’re not careful,” Mathieu says, “The caribou will disappear.” (p. 171)

The real strength of this book is that it is told entirely from Mathieu’s perspective and in Mathieu’s words. As a text in an anthropology course, this provides the reader with a fresh perspective. Oftentimes, texts describing indigenous peoples are either strictly descriptive or heavily interpreted. The former style tends to render the subjects as dry and detached, while the latter is too often affected by the author’s background and biases. Sometimes the best way to appreciate and understand what life is truly like for people is to hear from them directly.

With this casual style and conversational tone, the book is very readable. The reader can imagine sitting across the table from Mathieu and listening to his stories as they unfold like loosely flowing memories. His recollections are informal and not always linear, but this style only helps to draw the reader further into Mathieu’s narrative. Of course, there is a weakness to this approach. Mathieu’s recollections are almost entirely devoid of context, aside from what descriptions he provides. There is no overall framework given to help the reader grasp how Mathieu’s story fit in within the larger story of the Innu people. And most readers will not be coming to the text with extensive background knowledge of the Innu people and their history; such information, even in the form of footnotes or an appendix, might help the reader to better appreciate the significance of certain events.

Mathieu’s words are what they are; his stories are from his own experience, and as such they are no more or less valid than the experience of another Innu man or woman, or those of an outsider. The book is not intended to give the reader a detailed analysis of the Innu. Its intention is to introduce the readers to one Innu man with his own memories and experiences. As Bouchard writes in his prologue,

There were several Mathieu Mestokoshos among the Innu, magisterial men and women who were talkative, knowledgeable, and quick to smile. What was saved, was saved. The mean are dead and the women are gone. But something of them remains: philosophy, songs, sounds, poetry. Now all that remains is for us to listen, hear, understand, learn, and appreciate: the proud and solemn incantatory discourse, the representation of humane humanity, like the one we are all searching so hard for, in our time. (p. 28)

Thank you, J.K. Rowling.

But I didn’t stop there. Upon returning home I devoured Terry Pratchett’s first two novels in the Discworld series: The Color of Magic and The Light Fantastic. The third novel, Equal Rites, arrived today from a fellow PaperBackSwap member. I haven’t started it yet and the anticipation is killing me.

Bridge to Terabithia lasted an afternoon. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter lasted two. Cat’s Cradle has occupied my bedtime reading, and during less harried hours of the day I’m often busy underlining passages of On Wealth and Poverty or At the Corner of East and Now.

As a part of his homelearning, Stephen and I are together reading The Teenage Liberation Handbook. He finished Eats, Shoots & Leaves before I did and sad to say, it went back to the library before I had the chance to polish it off. Better luck next time.

Atlas Shrugged awaits me next, and The Heart of Darkness isn’t far behind. Or perhaps The Chosen? It’s so hard to decide. The Sugar Addict’s Total Recovery Program will be nibbled on alongside those, and I’d really like to pick up The Gift of Fear.

My shelves are sagging. My brain is bursting.

Oh, how I love books.