maribou | China Sense of the Highest Threshold

A Sense of Where You Are, John McPhee
I suspect that only John McPhee could write a sports hagiography and make it this good. Being John McPhee, he did, complete with rhetorical brilliance and very sound examples to back up his wild claims of glory. I am even more bummed out that Bill Bradley had no chance of winning Presidential nomination now that I actually have some (albeit tangential) substantiation for my intution that he is da bomb. I am struck by the idea that he is like Bill Clinton, only with self-control and the inability to forget his promises. Sigh. If you think basketball is at all interesting, you will like this book.
(40/250)

The Highest Tide, Jim Lynch
If John Irving had been a biology geek, he might've written this book back in his early days. Well, maybe. You should take the comparison with a grain of salt, but I definitely enjoyed this novel. Funny and weird and sweet and chock full of cool Puget Sound critters.
(41/250)

On the Threshold, Elizabeth Andrew
Her earlier book, Swinging on the Garden Gate, was absolutely brilliant, through and through, and I think my expectations were too high for this one. I like her writing best when it is long and rambly, and a lot of these essays were short and deliberately concise (many of them were originally written for a church newsletter, which engenders a particular style of which I'm not too fond). However, the longer pieces, like the one about trains, are wonderful. If I hadn't read anything of hers before, I'd be thinking, "Wow, cool new writer." As is, I'm just hoping she goes back to long form for the next book.
(42/250)

Mr. China, Tim Clissold
This book suffers by comparison to the many incredibly well-written books I've read about China; it's merely quite good. I did like the perspective - it's very nuts-and-bolts gritty business stuff without being dull or jargony. It was neat to read about management clashes and the like in such a foreign setting. The writing, however, rarely rises above pleasantly readable - which isn't really a flaw; it just means that I can't help comparing it to stuff like Mo Yan's The Garlic Ballads or Nien Cheng's Life and Death in Shanghai, whence it inevitably comes up short. Still worth reading though.
(43/250)