Books in November

I finished off my reading for Aidan's history program for this year with the last two books. The American Revolution by Bruce Blevin, Jr. is nonfiction rather than a novelization, basically a very thorough outline of events. I was particularly intrigued by one brief aside, that our first democractic processes got a bit bogged down in the beginning because while everyone understood about the voting process itself, it was the process after the voting, when you have to abide by the decision even if it isn't how you personally voted, that a lot of people hadn't really thought through. That is the tricky part, isn't it?

The second book was The Captain’s Dog by Roland Smith, a story of the Lewis and Clark expedition told from the point of view of Lewis' dog. I found it interesting but all too brief (I doubt very much Aidan will have the same impression). So I followed it up with a massive tome I've had for some time without cracking it open: Sacajawea by Anna Lee Waldo. It took most of November to read this book (and it's a bit awkward to hold while on the treadmill), but it was clearly thoroughly researched and I loved all of the little details of life in the various tribes Sacajawea met or lived among during her lifetime. I also ended up with a killer craving for beef jerky and corn.

(Fiction often makes me hungry. Partly I think that's walking on the treadmill while I read. Mostly I think I'm just very influenced by descriptions of food. The entire time I was reading the Heinlein catalog I was craving pancakes; I think everything he ever wrote has at least one scene of someone eating pancakes in it. Now I find when I eat pancakes I crave a Heinlein story...)

While I was working my way through Sacajawea, two more books arrived, both by John Scalzi: Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded and Agent to the Stars. Hate Mail is a collection of posts from his blog, many of which I'd already read but some predated me. Laugh out loud funny in several places, even the ones I'd read before. Agent to the Stars was his first novel, something he wrote just to see if he could write an entire novel. It combines sci-fi with Hollywood, so you know I'm there. It's also funny and full of heart (the character of the blonde ex-cheerleader turned actress could have easily slid into a caricature, but she remains wonderfully and genuinely human, if not the brightest bulb on the tree). As a reader I loved it; as a writer it made me green with envy. Nobody's first novel should be this good. Of course I wrote my first novel when I was 16, so perhaps it's an unfair comparison...