“Lost in the Valley of Death – A Story of Obsession and Danger in the Himalayas” by Harley Rustad

When I started reading this book, my son asked, “Is Rustad as good as Krakauer”? That’s setting the bar very high. Comparison with Krakauer’s Into the Wild, about the death of Christopher McCandless in Alaska, is inevitable. Justin Shetler travelled to India seeking adventure and “enlightenment”. He disappeared.

Shetler was a man of extremes. He was sexually abused as a child and again as a teenager, and received only minimal help in dealing with the terrible trauma of these experiences. I think his risk taking, use of hallucinogens and extreme physical training reflect the profound need for safety and escape from emotional pain. 

“Trauma” is much discussed recently. “Trauma informed therapy” is offered by various mental health professionals.

I think the bottom-line message of Lost in the Valley of Death is that SOME THINGS CAN’T BE FIXED. I feel terribly sad for both Shetler and his grieving family and friends. 

Rustad is very good. I’ll have to look at other his books before I’ll decide if he matches Krakauer. 

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“A Paris Apartment” by Michelle Gable

Who else has had to press “restart” after life (or death, for that matter) interrupted their reading? I’m suffering from brain fog and distraction. I decided a good dose of chick lit might help me get reading again.

A Paris Apartment is reasonably intelligent chick lit. Our heroine is an American woman with a shaky marriage and family burden of fears, most particularly, fear of child bearing. A charming Frenchman gets inside her boundaries and helps her deal with some of them. Fun reading.

Gable uses the term “provenance” so frequently that I am now curious. I plan to do some reading and consult with friends who are artists.

I’m willing to give Gable’s other books a try.

“Project Hail Mary” by Andy Weir

I loved The Martian and skipped Artemis (which seems to be available only in electronic format), so I was optimistic about enjoying Project Hail Mary. And, yes, I liked it! 

SPOILER ALERT! If you’re sensitive about plot and plan to read the book, stop here. 

The assumptions made in Project Hail Mary are even more extreme (silly) than those on which The Martian was based, but Weir writes a very engaging adventure story. I particularly like the description of his protagonist Ryland Grace learning to speak the language of the space alien he nicknames Rocky. Rocky’s language is musical. 

Once one can speak to an alien, cultural issues arise. Weir takes on two big ones, food and sleep. Humans socialize over food. Not so the alien in this story! Humans can sleep alone, but Rocky considers that frightening. Initally, Grace is confused by Rocky’s offer to “observe” his sleep. It turns out the aliens can’t be roused while sleeping, and may need help.

In what ways does Project Hail Mary (published in 2021) reflect our contemporary experience of Covid? Both our human protagonist and his alien buddy are ALONE in space. Each has lost his crewmates. Each is from a planet suffering an existential threat. Their life support requirements are radically different, but they find ways to be “together”.

After finishing Project Hail Mary, I went back to the beginning to see how it “felt” from that perspective. Fifteen minutes later, I realized I had been, briefly, completely unaware of my surroundings. Weir can really get me engaged!

“The Indians of New Jersey – Dickon Among the Lenapes” by Mark. R. Harrington (Jiskogo)

This book was published in 1938. It’s about half fiction and half ethnography. The combination works! Amazon lists it as being for ages 9 – 12 years, but I wouldn’t call it a children’s book. 

The plot… In 1692, an English ship bound for the Jamestown, Virginia, colony (established only 5 years previously) is struck by a storm and young Dickon is washed overboard near what is now the New Jersey shore. He is found by the native Lenape residents and taken to Turtle Town on the western (Pennsylvania) bank of the Delaware River. 

Dickon fears for his life, but the village leaders decide he is human (not a demon!) and keep him alive. His initial status is that of a slave or servant.  He is handed over to an old woman who lives alone. She is good natured and instructs Dickon in both Lenape language and a wide variety of skills and chores that are important in the village. Dickon and “Granny”, as he thinks of her, become close, and when she dies, he grieves. 

Eventually, Dickon is formally adopted into the community, which numbers (I think) fewer than 100 people. He lives in Turtletown for about two years, before being “rescued” by an English ship.

One thing to keep in mind is how badly the English Jamestown colony was doing at that early date. They were starving on land that supported the native population in good health, and their understanding of the original culture was minimal.

I wondered, as I read descriptions of hunting, gardening and wood gathering, if the Turtletown community described was pushing against its ecological limits.

Dickon Among the Lenapes book is wonderfully descriptive, enhanced by numerous drawings (by Clarence Ellsworth) and maps. Supplementary material includes introductions from 1938 and 1963, plus ten pages of commentary on the Lenape language, with vocabulary. The 1963 introduction was written by Rutgers University scholar Mary Gaver. The curious reader is directed to the New Jersey State Museum in Trenton and institutions in New Brunswick and Newark.

Harrington, who died in 1971, wrote as follows: “To The Survivors and Descendants of the Lenape Who Unfolded to Me Their Heritage, This Book is Affectionately Dedicated”. He names two Lenapes and one Seneca who assisted him in his research and writing. I was surprised that the two Lenapes did not live on historically Lenape land, but rather in Oklahoma and Canada. In addition to the Lenape name “Jiskogo”, Harrington was given names by three other tribes. His field work was extensive and very thorough. 

Harrington wrote a second novel describing Dickon’s further adventures among other tribes in the Iroqois Confederacy. I hope to find a copy.  

“The Last Whalers – Three Years in the Far Pacific with a Courageous Tribe and a Vanishing Way of Life” by Doug Bock Clark

347 pages, including maps, photos, notes and glossary. Nonfiction>ethnography.

How did this book end up on the give-away shelf at my dentist’s office? Brand new, only recently published (January 2019) and astonishingly good!

I never heard of Lembata Island in Indonesia, or the Lamaleran people. Lamalerans living on Lembata number only about 1500. Others are scattered throughout Indonesia and elsewhere in Asia. The Lamalera are the last subsistence whalers on earth.

Anthropologists consider Lamaleran culture to show the highest level of sharing and cooperation ever documented. Those two traits are essential to survival when low technology is used to hunt whales. The Lamalerans traditionally barter with their neighbors in order to supplement their diet of meat with fruit and vegetables. They have only recently (25 years ago?) entered the cash economy.

Clark spent about twelve months with the Lamalerans over a three year period, becoming fluent in their language, observing their daily lives and sometimes participating in their religious ceremonies, both Catholic and animistic. Clark sometimes referred to “shamanism” rather than animism, but I don’t know if he meant the same thing as Coelho did in Aleph (see recent post). There is no reference to the type of shamanistic “trance” that Coelho describes.

It surprised me to learn that so isolated a group existed. Having read a certain amount of popularized anthropology and known a few academics in the field, I didn’t think going off to spend time with remote, exotic people was still a possibility. Clark seems to have arrived at this project through journalism and travel writing, though his status as a two time Fulbright grant recipient suggests academic credentials in anthropology.

Clark almost entirely leaves himself out of the story, telling about the people he describes with vivid detail from THEIR point of view. I couldn’t stop reading!

In an explanatory afterword, he discusses how he limited his behavior in order not to “distort” the community he was observing. He seems to have judged this by “journalistic” (rather than anthropological or academic) standards, admitting that he spent money to transport Lamalerans for medical treatment that would have otherwise been unobtainable.

The link below leads to my review of another wonderful book related to anthropology.

Noble Savages – My Life Among Two Dangerous Tribes – the Yanomamo and the Anthropologists by N A Chagnon

Looking back at my post about Chagnon led me to reflect:

Both the Lamalerans and the Yanomamo (an Amazon tribe) can be considered “successful” cultures, each achieving slow population growth in a challenging environment. According to Chagnon, the Yanomamo dealt with population pressure by fission, dividing into smaller groups when their numbers exceeded about 100. The Lamalerans dealt with population pressure by out migration. Adults found work elsewhere in Indonesia and beyond. Usually they maintained their contact with home, and provided a conduit for ideas about change. Sometimes they facilitate other departures, like temporary enrollment at a university.

Web surfing to learn more about Clark, I found his article in Gentleman’s Quarterly about a recent attempt to contact a smaller and more isolated tribe, the Sentinelese. I’ll write about that soon.

“The Laughing Sutra” by Mark Salzman

I’m creating a new category for this book, which I read about 15 years ago, long before I had this blog. The category is

ADULT BOOKS THAT TURN OUT WILDLY POPULAR WITH KIDS!

Certainly Mark Salzman’s first book, the nonfiction Iron and Silk, an account of his time in China, was intended for adults. So when I came across his novel The Laughing Sutra, I expected the same. And initially, it was adult fiction. In fact, kind of scary. We witness a murder. But that was just a prologue… As I read on, and got to know the characters, I was amused and entertained, and wondered what my eleven year old son would think.

Hsun-ching and Colonel Sun are an unlikely pair of adventurers. Hsun-ching is a orphan, raised by an quiet, old monk. Colonel Sun is confused, wild, strong and lives for excitement. They join forces to seek a sutra (religious poem) wanted by the old monk.

When these two make it to the USA, the intercultural confusion blossoms into hilarity.

I started reading this book to my 11 year old, but the six year old was also captivated! We cackled our way through to the amazing climax, when Hsun-ching and the Colonel try to re-enter mainland China. (At that time, no one re-entered China. The border guards weren’t ready…) Colonel Sun became part of our family repertoire, like the characters in “Ghostbusters” and other favorites. He was at least as real to us as Superman or Johnny Appleseed. Who wouldn’t want Colonel Sun for a companion? I won’t spoil the surprise by telling you the source of the Colonel’s amazing powers.

So read “The Laughing Sutra”. I also liked Salzman’s next (and entirely entirely different) novel, “The Soloist”. I hope he keeps writing.

So far, I haven’t been able to think of another adult book that worked so well with kids. Any nominations for my new genre? I’m curious.

Yoga, India and Me

I will be posting about several books on the subject of yoga, and a few weeks ago I wrote about the book “Leaving India”. Here’s the disclosure statement to explain why yoga and India are important to me.

I was introduced to yoga in my early 20s, when someone showed me a version of the Sun Salutation and told me it was a cure for insomnia. Yoga was not mentioned. Maybe ten years later, I started attending the occasional yoga class – a few sessions in adult education, etc. I enjoyed it, but never managed to arrange for any continuity. So I didn’t make progress. Sometimes I wandered off in other directions, like tai chi, or got my exercise from an early morning TV show.

Maybe 15 years ago, a local Hindu group bought a large warehouse a few miles from my house and renovated it for use as their Temple. The first time I visited was a week or two after September 11, 2001. The Temple hosted an interfaith prayer service in it’s social hall, and passages about peace from several cultures were read. Candles were lighted. Afterwards, I wandered into the small sanctuary, the sacred part of the Temple. I removed my shoes and stepped into a room containing at least twenty statues of gods, of differing sizes, all elaborately dressed in bright costumes. Temple members wandered in an out, pausing to pray and, when leaving, sounding a bell to draw the attention of the gods.

Later I noticed that the Temple was offering yoga at $3 per class, four times a week. The weeknight teacher, K, was a member of the Temple. Her classes (almost the same every session) were strength oriented and fast paced. Initially I found them quite difficult. Attending twice a week, I gained strength slowly. After six months, I could “do” the whole class, with a few modifications. Since the group is large, little is offered by way of corrections or adjustments. I now consider this my “baseline” fitness activity, and I think I am strong and flexible for a woman over sixty.

The Saturday teacher, S, is an American woman with one of the standard American yoga teacher credentials. Her class is never the same twice! Sometimes it is far too difficult for me. (Downward facing dog to tripod? Are you kidding?) Sometimes S teaches “yin” yoga, which involves long times (3-5 minutes) in postures designed to encourage surrender to gravity. This is supposed to loosen ligaments and joints, rather than building strength in muscles.

Our yoga classes at the Temple are normally held in a medium sized room with no obvious assigned function. I think it is often used for birthday and anniversary parties. It’s smaller and better heated than the social hall. But once in a while we practice in the sanctuary, surrounded by the colorful, glittering gods. It’s a sensual treat, like having heavy cream in coffee! The gods get new attire frequently, probably five times each year. Their costumes are color coordinated, one time all red and white, another time all in shades of yellow and orange. Obviously someone dresses them with great devotion.

Once a year, more or less, the reassuring cycle of classes is interrupted. K goes to India, to see family and do pilgrimage. Volunteers take over her classes. Yoga potluck! Sometimes the substitute teachers are announced in advance, sometimes not. Some are familiar, others total strangers. One taught a system that involved the seasons – I think we made it through Spring and Summer and halfway through Fall. One yelled like a high school football coach. Ugg! One gave instructions in a chanting voice, very uplifting. Another spoke in a soft, affected drawl that grated on my nerves.

I love yoga potluck season (often February or March), and I love the return of K. I’m sure I need at least two teachers, and the K and S combo works very well for me. S has been the main influence in the development of my yoga philosophy. She asserts that the position at which you arrive matters very little, so long as you move into it mindfully and find a pose that suits you. She often refers to her classes as “ego free yoga”, in order to emphasize that comparisons between students should be avoided. (I think there’s a good deal of ego in some parts of the yoga world!) So I often practice with my eyes closed.

I’ve bought into the idea that modifications are good and that there are at least five “right” ways to perform any yoga position. I’ve got physical “issues” – messed up knees and wrists, a dodgy neck, etc. I’m not pushing my luck in a yoga class or elsewhere. Sometimes, I am subversive! I don’t do shoulder stands, and got tired of the alternative offered by K, which was endless leg lifts. Sometimes I just put my feet up against the wall and relax. It’s an inversion, and that’s the point. I’ve seen a few students copy my approach. And others have copied modifications I use to spare my now-delicate wrist joints.

Yoga is a big part of my life. A best friend took yoga teacher training locally last year. My sister is now doing the same near her home in Connecticut. We compare notes and classes and encourage each other.

Meanwhile, the Temple is more than “just” a place to take classes. It’s a window into another continent, and an observation post on the path that turns immigrants into neighbors and friends. I’ve shared the Temple meals during their holidays. The smell of their cooking could bring me in from miles away! Occasionally we yoga students are invited to a lecture or event. Sometimes, in a small way, I have the opportunity to act as a “culture broker”, explaining or facilitating something. Mostly, I can say to MY community “Hey, I know those people. They are OK.” In these troubled and somewhat xenophobic times, with immigration issues on the front burner, I think it helps. I hope so.

Stay tuned for discussion of books about yoga and India!

Lillian Beckwith – an English woman writes about Scotland

I was browsing my shelves, desperate to find something that could be discarded. We have too many books! We part with them very reluctantly… 

This week I am taking care of cats and house for vacationing neighbors, who have even more books than we do. I looked at their shelves and wondered – what if I moved some of my books into their house? would they notice? Probably not… A silly idea!

So maybe I will buy another bookshelf.

I found three books to consider for disposal, paperbacks from Lillian Beckwith’s seven book “Skye” series. These are almost fictional memoirs from the author’s time in the West of Scotland, where she went for rest after an illness. She was so taken by the quiet life of a croft village  that she moved in and did some farming. Her accounts of the people, agriculture and landscape are vivid and often amusing. These books have been in and out of print and I don’t think Kindle editions are available.

If in a quibblesome frame of mind, one might feel that Beckwith took advantage of her (generous and eccentric) neighbors by writing about them. However, these memoirs were written two generations ago, and I think we can assume they were innocently written and published.

These memoirs are notable because they describe “croft” farming, a land use system found only in Scotland. Crofters raise some “private” crops but pasture cattle on commonly owned land. A primary landowner (laird) carries some responsibility for the community. This is a way to use land that is too steep, too rocky and too poor for conventional farming. In the past, crofting provided a meager living. The system has evolved and is still practiced in Scotland.

Beckwith also wrote an equal number of novels, some children’s books and a cookbook. I hope to read the novels at some point. I encountered a review describing her work as a “comfort read”. Yes! Now, does anyone want these three books?