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Last updateTue, 18 Sep 2018 1pm

Literature

27 Sep 2018
During one of his many visits to the Northwest Territories, Barry Lopez, author of Arctic Dreams, was asked by a native elder how long he intended to stay. Before Lopez could respond, the elder, who’d met a journalist or two in his day, grinned and answered his own question. “One day: newspaper story. Two days: magazine story. Five days: book.” The point was a shrewd one: There is a timeworn tradition of writers traveling to the Canadian Arctic and Alaska to marvel at the land—at its nightless summers, its eccentric inhabitants, its fearsome bears. Jack London spent less than a year in the Klondike. John McPhee based Coming Into the Country on four trips from his home in New Jersey. The fascination of the North stems, in part, from the fact that it’s a damn hard place to visit, much less live in; little wonder that much of its literature…
20 Sep 2018
On Oct. 2, The Greatest Love Story Ever Told: An Oral History, a book by Hollywood comedy couple Megan Mullally and Nick Offerman, is being released—and three days later, the hilarious duo will kick off the second season of the Palm Springs Speaks series. The speakers’ series is a joint effort by the Palm Springs Cultural Center and the Friends of the Palm Springs Library. Ron Willison, the president of the Palm Springs Library Board of Trustees, helped organize the series—which is bringing some huge names to the valley in the coming months. “We are trying to bring in interesting speakers,” he said. “We want to promote literacy, and we add different speakers for each year to make it interesting. Last year, we had Deepak Chopra talk about wellness. Dan Savage talked about LBGT issues, and Al Gore (was here) in association with the (Palm Springs International) Film Festival. “This…
06 Sep 2018
Those of us who are ravenous readers of books set in the American West are used to stories of living life on the edge, off the grid, out of the box. But two new memoirs, both debuts, take isolation and fortitude to a delightful, and at times terrifying, extreme. Both are complex reflections by maverick women directing an honest gaze at their chosen lifestyle and all that it entails. Rough Beauty starts with great loss: Karen Auvinen escapes the wintry isolation of her Colorado cabin for a day only to return to what looks like a “voluminous orange cloth … forming scarlet and orange ripples that flicked and snapped.” Everything she owns is burned, save her truck. She raises a middle finger to her 40th year and the charred remains of a life, and what follows is a journey of grief, attempts at coping, and a deeper retreat into isolation.…
30 Aug 2018
Last winter, at a talk in Aspen, Colorado, author Luis Alberto Urrea described his childhood in a rough San Diego neighborhood near the border, where his family moved from Tijuana during a tuberculosis outbreak. Born to a Mexican father and an American mother, the blue-eyed, blond child spoke Spanish before he spoke English and spent his early years buffeted by the cultural tensions between his parents. Urrea’s mother yearned for him to be “Louis Woodward,” the idealized offspring of her own East Coast origins. His father, who wanted his son to be more Mexican, affectionately called him cabrón (in English, “dude,” or a more friendly rendition of “dumbass”). “I was raised twice, and this was very hard, but I thank God for it,” Urrea said. That complicated family dynamic is the inspiration for his latest novel, The House of Broken Angels, a multigenerational saga about a Mexican-American family, much like…
08 Aug 2018
Tara Westover’s astonishing debut memoir, Educated, chronicles how she grew up on a southern Idaho mountain in a survivalist Mormon family, never setting foot in school—but eventually earned her doctorate in history from the University of Cambridge. “There’s a sense of sovereignty that comes from life on a mountain, a perception of privacy and isolation, even of dominion,” Westover writes. Her father, a charismatic and self-reliant but often unhinged man—imagine Pa Ingalls with a few screws loose—exercises that dominion in myriad ways. Westover’s father, whom she calls by the pseudonym Gene, limits his interactions with the government and the medical establishment to an extreme: He doesn’t want his kids born in a hospital, issued birth certificates, vaccinated or educated in schools where they could be “seduced by the Illuminati.” He makes a living as a junk dealer, and trains each of his seven kids to perform dangerous work, using metal-cutting…
12 Jul 2018
Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books form some of my earliest literary memories. Reading them—first with my mom and then on my own—sparked my fascination with stories of the past, memories of true-life history fueling my imagination more than fantasy or science fiction. But history can be hard to pin down, especially when it comes to memories. The personal truths Wilder shared in her best-selling books had a huge influence on our collective cultural memory of the Western frontier, one I never questioned until I dove into Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder, Caroline Fraser’s meticulously researched, Pulitzer Prize-winning biography. By exposing the gritty reality behind the cozy, optimistic picture of frontier life presented in Wilder’s books, Fraser makes a compelling case that in their very contradictions—their nostalgic gloss on the pioneer struggle—the Little House books capture the ambiguity of Western identity. The myth of the self-made…
07 Jun 2018
In her poignant memoir Narrow River, Wide Sky, Jenny Forrester unflinchingly shares the gritty details of what she calls her “American trailer trash Republican childhood” in rural Colorado, and the serpentine path she takes to escape the violence that defined her youth. Most other books on rural poverty published during the rise of Donald Trump have focused on Appalachia or the Deep South (J. D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy, Arlie Hochschild’s Strangers in Their Own Land, Nancy Isenberg’s White Trash). But Forrester tackles life in the American West. Forrester was born in the Vail Valley, down valley from the famous ski resort, the daughter of a conservative ski-patroller father and a God-fearing teacher mother. She and her younger brother were frequently subjected to their father’s corporal punishment. Forrester was a delicate, sensitive child, deeply affected by the ruthless way her father dispatched problem kittens, problem birds … problem anything. Eventually, her…
08 Mar 2018
As a child in Los Angeles, I watched European starlings bathe in gutter puddles. I admired their gleaming feathers and quick bright eyes. Field guides and birdwatchers say starlings perch on the lowest rung of the ornithological ladder, thanks to their tendency to invade both cities and fragile habitats, pushing out native birds and decimating farmers’ crops. But I didn’t know that then. In ignorance, I marveled. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had a starling, purchased for a few coins in a Viennese pet shop; he kept it as a companion and—possibly—a muse. The unlikely relationship between musical genius and avian pariah has been the subject of essays, public-radio features and now Mozart’s Starling, a work of literary nonfiction by Lyanda Lynn Haupt. A Seattle-based naturalist, Haupt tells three stories in her newest book—a trio of deftly interwoven tales that point toward a new way of seeing species we long ago learned…
08 Feb 2018
In June 1966, a full-page advertisement appeared in The New York Times and The Washington Post, warning readers: “Now Only You Can Save Grand Canyon From Being Flooded … For Profit.” David Brower, the Sierra Club’s executive director, was blasting two proposed dams that would have backed up the Colorado River into Grand Canyon National Park. The attack sounds tame in our vitriolic era, but it triggered such an unprecedented wave of anti-dam letters to Congress that the Internal Revenue Service revoked the club’s tax-exempt status as a nonpolitical organization. When dam-backers argued that a reservoir would make it easier to admire the canyon, Brower’s next ad notoriously asked, “Should We Also Flood the Sistine Chapel So Tourists Can Get Nearer the Ceiling?” By summer’s end, his public relations barrage had killed the huge project. In The Man Who Built the Sierra Club, Robert Wyss details how Brower transformed the…
27 Dec 2017
In Idaho, the elegant, contemplative debut novel by Idaho-raised Boise State University assistant professor Emily Ruskovich, two sisters play a game in a meadow. If you “hold a buttercup under someone’s chin” and it “makes a yellow glow,” that indicates the person has a secret. “The chins always glow yellow,” Ruskovich writes. “That’s the trick: There’s always a secret. Everyone has something she doesn’t want told.” That’s certainly true of the characters in Ruskovich’s novel, as well as in Jon Raymond’s Freebird. Both books are set in the West and explore the aftermath of violence, though they do so in very different families. In Idaho, Ann, a piano teacher in the northern part of the state, tries to unravel the mystery behind her husband Wade’s first wife, Jenny, who had killed her youngest daughter nine years earlier. Her older daughter then fled into the woods, never to be found. Wade…

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