Scott Carney has done a fine job of researching and telling the story of a spiritual quest gone bad. In many ways, this story has the feel of Krakauer's Into the Wild -- a book about Christopher McCandless' naive (and ultimately fatal) pursuit of wilderness.
After years of meditation and divine pursuit, 38 year-old Ian Thorson retreats to a cave, and in the presence of his wife (who was declared a Goddess by her former husband), essentially meditates himself to death.
Death on Diamond Mountain reads a lot like one of Krakauer's investigative works; there is no shortage of effective research and reporting, yet I never felt like I was reading filler. For that, Carney's to be congratulated -- with the exception of Ian Thorson's mother, almost no one involved in Thorson's death wants to speak publicly about it.
The book winds through a narrative that often feels like fiction. The organization at the center of Thorson's death -- Diamond Mountain University -- offers up a laundry list of misconduct and suspect behavior, and while Carney never goes so far to label the organization a "cult," I'd have little hesitation labeling it as such.
Diamond Mountain's charismatic leader -- a person accepted by followers as a near god -- offers a very public front, yet the behind-the-scenes truth is very different. Allegations of financial impropriety, sexual escapades, conspiracy and ultimately a power play for control of the organization all contribute to Thorson's death.
My only real complaint is the paucity of detail about Thorson's final retreat and death, but given the reluctance of his wife and friends to discuss the tragedy, it's not surprising. (You can't help but wonder why Thorson's wife waited so long before summoning help).
Carney looks hard at the adoption of extreme Eastern spiritual practices (often in search of divine revelations), and how those practices (like extreme forms of meditation and sensory denial) can affect the brains of practitioners -- sometime to the point of death.
This is a good, deeply researched book.
]]>In the 1980s, I’d heard Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion on the radio (and loved it) and read his novels, but hadn’t read his essay work until I bought We Are Still Married in 1990. It’s one of the handful of books that have traveled with me the decades since, and I never really get tired of reading it.
A collection of essays and stories, it showcases Keillor’s unique mixture of folksy humor and urbane, self-deprecating wit.
Most importantly, it’s jammed with the kind of written insights that linger long after the book has been closed, and it prepped me to read more of Keillor’s books (I love the essays more than the fiction).
The writing is consistently good, but the collection is somewhat uneven. I didn’t care, but others might. This collection appeared relatively early in Keillor’s career, yet this book (and the recently released “Keillor Reader” greatest hits essay book) remain on my Top 10 Desert Island books list.
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He takes an unflinching look at several island campaigns, where Marine units would fight for days to capture just a few hundred yards of rough, almost impassable ground.
I don't know how they did it. Hollywood certainly glamorized the fight for the Pacific, but this title (and a few others) quickly disabuse the reader of those notions. A good -- if occasionally uneven -- read.
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Though I stopped caring about the characters in the book, kudos to Doctorow for creating a world bizarre enough to hold my interest until the end (just barely).
I flirted with that sense several times during this novel, though ultimately, I'd suggest it was a well-written, reasonable book that others would probably find interesting.
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I admit to starting this book in the grip of a teensy bit of cynicism (a plucky, out-of-control actor is stricken by a life-threatening disease, maturing even as it tightens its grip on him), but ultimately, I believe Fox is sincere when he says he wants to tell his story, and inspire hope instead of sympathy.
In a smooth, straightforward way, he tells the story of coming to grips with his disease, and how he's grown as a person in the face of his symptoms. There's little doubt that Fox is not delving into the deepest recesses of his struggle with Parkinson's, but then, this isn't a story about the disease; it's a story about what it means to not fall before it.
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Nagata's characters are lively and flawed (making them recognizable as people), and the technology at work is interesting and (at times) surprising, but not so odd that it became difficult to follow.
My only complaint is the convenience of a couple plot points; a crew member boards an alien ship and somehow picks up warp-drive nanobots by accident, and in all the vastness of a nebulae, the crew stumbles on the radio emissions of a human civilization, despite the fact they're a bazillion light years from a now-defunct earth.
Otherwise, I really enjoyed Nagata's Vast, and plan to buy a few other novels. If you're a hard sci-fi fan, Vast is well worth a look.
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