Death In The Afternoon – Ernest Hemingway, 1932 ★★★★

Baedeker of Blood

Imagine the life of a Spanish bullfighter, circa 1931. You risk life and limb in an era before modern medicine can treat your worst injuries or video can immortalize your finest kills. There’s a depression on, civil war looming and a fanbase that tends to throw things at you when annoyed.

Now add to all this pain some know-it-all American who wants to immortalize you by calling the world’s attentions on your shabby technique in the ring, your homely face, and even your lack of courage at doing something no sane person would try.

The Maltese Falcon – Dashiell Hammett, 1930 ★★★★

A Gumshoe Who Sticks

Fans of hard-boiled detective fiction know what they want. Fast plotting, snappy patter, just enough violence or the threat of same to keep it interesting, and not too much of the mushy stuff.

The Maltese Falcon not only delivers on all those points, it works the template to perfection. Just reading the first two chapters awakens you to the fact that before they were tropes, such things as mysterious dames and foggy crime scenes could be so evocative and alive.

Making it all snap together is the dynamic central character of Sam Spade, a tough-talking detective with honest-to-God principles, most especially that no one’s gonna make a sap of him.

The Three Sisters – Anton Chekhov, 1901 ★★½ [Translation by Ann Dunnigan]

Misery Loves Company

If I have to recommend one Anton Chekhov play, it would probably be this one. If you want consistency, this is a remarkably consistent and harrowing examination of the human condition at its most tragic. If you want wit, you get ample sidelong observations, pithy and quotable.

If you want compelling characters and an involving narrative, well, you do get the best examples of both from him here. But it is Chekhov, after all, at his most dreary. This is the man who inspired the lyric “I’ve found more clouds of gray/Than any Russian play/Could guarantee.”

If that play was The Three Sisters, Ira Gershwin must have been in one hell of a thunderstorm.

One Of Us: Richard Nixon And The American Dream – Tom Wicker, 1991 ★★★

Tricky Dick and His Critics

Presidents are not well-balanced people. They go out of their way risking derision, abuse, even murder to affect miniscule changes in how things are; at best making compromises, at worst committing crimes. Such an impulse must be questioned; either they are corrupt or insane.

Few presidents wore that derangement so openly as Richard Nixon, a childhood misfit who ran for national office five times and looked more miserable and awkward each time at it. In a business that demands compulsive socializing, he was a proud loner who cultivated many strategic allies but very few friends.

Yet he made himself the most consequential president of the second half of the 20^th century, an era which gave us several.

Mosses From An Old Manse – Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1846 ★★★★★

 A Writer Arrives

In the annals of American literature, no eminence put himself down with more avidity than Nathaniel Hawthorne. Titling his second published collection of writings Mosses From An Old Manse after calling his first Twice-Told Tales is a clear sign of low self-esteem.

Which would you rather read? Some choice, right?

Mosses From An Old Manse is the less-known title, but a better book. Though not narratively connected, having been originally published over a number of years, they lay out Hawthorne’s compelling visions for the nature of art in society and the whole meaning of life. Not every short story in it is a masterpiece; not every masterpiece in it is a short story.

A Stillness At Appomattox – Bruce Catton, 1953 ★★★½

A Somber Last Waltz

The third and final volume of Bruce Catton’s “Army Of The Potomac” series winds up the story of Abraham Lincoln’s greatest fighting force as it struggled to its ultimate victory. Like nearly all such grand culminations, it can’t help but be at least a little disappointing.

Part of that is due to the natural deflation of finding oneself at the end of a long journey, wondering if all the toil and pain was worth it. Part of it is because the last year of the American Civil War, at least in Northern Virginia, was as dull as it was deadly, mired in an early form of trench warfare which put an end to dashing assaults and quick successes.

The author is also at fault. Catton, for all his factual command, his poetic turns of phrase, and his masterful word portraits, comes across somewhat more the way critics have painted him, moralizing and windy. The book is still good, very good in places, but a modest comedown from the fantastic first two volumes.

The Acts Of King Arthur And His Noble Knights – John Steinbeck, 1976 ★★

Random Acts of Meaningless Violence

Sometimes I enjoy a book so much I don’t want to finish it. The tone, voice, and story cast such a spell I fear it can only end in disappointment. Should I put the book down forever, to hold onto that brief feeling before the author drives it off a cliff? Or do I press on?

The only time I actually chose Option A was while reading this. Just 12, I found myself swept away as John Steinbeck retold the legend of King Arthur in all its gnarly glory. As Arthur stood at a riverbank somewhere in England, having vanquished his enemies after a hard fight, I suspected the book would turn grey and depressing. So I put it away.

It would be decades before I returned to The Acts Of King Arthur And His Noble Knights. Dammit, I was right: