Jeffery Harvey

What a wonderful book for those that run businesses. Obviously, we all can't run the billion+ dollar bohemoth that is Starbucks Coffee Company, but all sorts of nuggets can be gleaned from the book.

Schultz' primary theme of transformation is well articulated. It seems somewhat strange to mention the theme of a non-fiction piece, but Schultz sets it early and reiterates it again and again. I had heard that times had gotten a little tough for Starbucks, but I wasn't aware of the breadth of the problem; Schultz lays it out plainly. The company's ideas and visions for its transformation were clear and I would encourage all to applaud their dedication to making them happen. Each and every chapter circles back to the theme of transformation. Other themes included leadership, business growth, business ethics, and stewardship.

In 2006, Starbucks had been dabbling in movies, music, etc. The company focused - as Schultz depicts it - almost exclusively on break-neck growth. The company, quite simply, lost its way. It forgot that it was, first and foremost, a coffee company. Enter massive competition from all directions - most notably The Golden Arches - as well as an economic meltdown and the situation became serious in a hurry. Through it all, Starbucks re-organized its leadership team, infusing the team with new people and ideas, and plotted a common course for all (Schultz' “transformation agenda”). Even though the beginning of the transition did not yield results quickly, the team stuck to it. Next thing you know, it all turned around and Starbucks had re-positioned itself as the coffee authority with new products like VIA, Pike Place Roast...the company added a number of new ideas into the coffee industry - Clover, the Mastrena. And, I must say that it was refreshing to see Starbucks not waver from a number of core values. Regardless of how “bad” it had gotten for the company, Starbucks never took away health insurance from its employees. Even though Starbucks made 401k matching discretionary, it never missed a 401k match. Businesses should have a conscience; Starbucks' transformation shows that such a conscience can turn a profit.

Passion...why do we do what we do? Howard Schultz knows; he loves coffee and wants to share the love with everyone. Schultz leads Starbucks to forge a connection with its customers and dubs it “the Starbucks experience”. It lead me to think of what type of connection my company makes with its customers. Is there a JH Consulting, LLC experience? I think so and Schultz made me want to work a little harder to establish that connection.

Each time I picked this book up, I got an idea for my own company...so many that I can't put them all into words. Those above are just the major ones. This book, in some ways, re-ignited my own passion as an entrepreneur. Inspiration can come from anywhere, and for me, it came from a cup of coffee.

Pretty good book. Seems like the authors fall into a long line of those wanting to create a catchphrase for leadership (i.e. Kouzes & Posner, Tichy, etc.).

The reframing concept is incredibly viable if one keeps in mind that the frames don't operate in a vacuum. They are related and affect one another. I especially enjoyed the last few chapters where the “act” of reframing was tied together.

I would definitely recommend this book to anyone interested in organizational cultures - leading, forming, revising, etc.

While I can't say that I didn't dislike this book, I can't honestly say that I liked it either. At times fascinating, at times cutting-edge, and (yet) at times cumbersome, the book does serve as a romp through a futuristic United States with rampant technology and seemingly unending attempts to mold society into a single, homogenized mass.

Certain topics contained within were thought provoking: Sumerian myth, linguistic variation, virtual reality. Many of these most interesting concepts, though, ended up being ancillary and unnecessary to the plot. The book checks in at 470 pages; it could have just as easily been 150 to convey the basic story.

In short, I will probably find myself re-vising this book in the coming years, once I've done a little more research on some of the more interesting ideas (mentioned above).

Reading this at the encouragement of a classmate, I can say I was not disappointed as The Dice Man certainly lived up to his review as random. The book starts out normally enough and progresses through a fantastic story in a fairly normal way. Sure, the main character goes on a number of rather shocking escapades, but the ultimate end of the book was expected.

The central ‘theory' of the book is that the personality should be destroyed. It's an interesting concept, but The Dice Man proves that destroyed personalities turn out to be just as mundane as intact personalities.

The narrative is engaging and, at times, quite humorous. Many passages, though, are sarcastic to the point of being snarky. Though possibly for effect, to show the general foolishness of established society as a whole, it comes off as overly cynical.

I will fully admit that I picked this book up on account of the movie of the same name. I'm always nervous about doing so since movies rarely live up to novels, but I'm glad I did in this case.

Connelly's The Lincoln Lawyer is a solid read. Well written and well paced, Connelly did an excellent job of throwing just enough legalese into the narrative to make it authentic, yet not so much as to make it inaccessible. Is this Pulitzer worthy? In my opinion, no. Is it a piece of great literature? Again, in my opinion, no. I do, however, look forward to reading more books by Michael Connelly.

The Lincoln Lawyer introduces us to Mickey Haller, a defense attorney working the L.A. area. Some might consider him shady, but he's just a guy making a living, always looking for his “franchise client”. And he thinks he's got one - Louis Ross Roulet. But being a franchisee isn't as easy or great as it may seem. Roulet proves to be quite the successful killer and equally skilled at covering his tracks. Filled with manipulation and one-upsmanship, Haller's tale keeps the reader on his/her toes. One has to pay attention to keep up, but this novel does not fall into the trap of pitching twists for twists' sake. The revelations feel natural and, at times, catch the characters off guard. Their ability to react drives the narrative.

Connelly explores a number of themes here. Of course, we see the sleazy defense attorney stumble onto a conscience. Haller's principle conflict is whether he'll recognize innocence. When it dawns on him that he once missed it, his senses sharpen as Haller more clearly sees evil. Family is another theme that gets its fair share. Haller's love for his ex-wife and daughter create a modern-day, non-traditional family that endures as much as any relationship in the novel. Loyalty is the other prominent theme, as we see it in Haller and Levin's friendship, Haller's repeat clients in the Road Saints (as well as his trust in them), etc.

As usual, the book outshines the movie, though both are well done. Connelly gets a lot of billing as a “man's author” in magazines such as Esquire. Maybe so. I sure enjoyed his writing.

Okay, so maybe I got into this book a little too much. I've always been a bit of a Civil War buff, but I admittedly didn't (and still don't) have a lot of familiarity with Lincoln or his life. I'm not saying that this should be step one of a study of Lincoln's life, but it's enough to tempt the appetite.

This, too, may sound a little silly, but I frequently found myself wondering what actually happened that served as the catalyst for the story. Was there anything? What were the real causes of Abe's mother's death? The deaths of his sister and sons? Did Jack Armstrong exist? I don't know but it made for a couple of smiles as I read. (Again, this is another reason that the story could have been enhanced by more knowledge of Lincoln's life.)

Now on to something more in depth about “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter”. I think that Grahame-Smith reached for a lot of things but didn't necessarily get there. I understand the connection he's trying to make between the evils of slavery and the evils of vampirism, but I just don't think that it was strong enough. It could have been, but it wasn't there. The first third of the book barely mentions slavery and it only appears in about half of the second section. I personally felt that the first section could have been shortened by half so that we could get to the more historically-driven material (i.e., Abe's political career and the Civil War). The historical sections were much more interesting because the audience could connect with the actual events; with the first section shortened, Grahame-Smith could have strengthened the link between slavery and vampires. The narrative failed to answer the question: Was the central theme of the book a skewed and fictional biography of Lincoln or a correlation of vampirism and slavery?

The twist that ultimately ended the book was apparent from the first conversations between Henry and Abe. I must say, though, that I enjoyed the way said twist played out. I also enjoyed the way other characters worked into this book (e.g., Edgar Allan Poe, Jefferson Davis, etc.). It was creative on Grahame-Smith's part and could potentially ground the book for a wider audience.

Ultimately, as I said above, I enjoyed the book. I would advise to not dive into it thinking that it will be a literary achievement - just look at it as a well-written, enjoyable read.

The image that comes to mind upon completion is that of a flat-lined EKG. Not because of the death connotation, but because this book just maintained from start to finish: no real high points and no real low points.

From simply a language standpoint, I was constantly jarred by the transitions from one scene to another. Large segments of time would pass from paragraph to paragraph without a section or chapter break to alert the reader as to what was happening. Scenes would shift without the reader knowing that a character had gone to an empathy box and had gotten back in a car. Certain facts would be built towards for pages, only to be revealed with as non-chalant a sentence as Dick could write.

From a theme perspective, there were several. To empathize is human. Humans can love anything - animate or inanimate. Loneliness is scary. The list could go on and on. There were other themes that Dick touched on that I felt were unnecessary. Including the “sex with androids” theme was predictable. The death of the goat was too obvious an image for Rick losing a part of himself. The whole thing about Rick fusing permanently with Mercer was too close to a Christ complex for me to find it believable.

Perhaps I'm being a little hard on this book because I expected it to be something it was not. For one that you hear being a sci-fi classic - one that was converted into a popular and timeless sci-fi movie classic - you would expect it to be a little more profound. But it's just a book: one that was written with adequate skill.

The view of Earth in a post-nuclear war state was, for me, the highlight of the text. Describing the dust as penetrating, heavy, etc. was as cutting a metaphor as Dick produced. Think of how we all feel toward the end of winter, when everything is wet and muddy, when trees and grass all still look dead, when the air can't decide whether to be warm or cold. We all, at one point or another, have felt that depression. Fortunately, we know it will change. With a radioactive dust on everything, the scene could never change. I could easily see how everything - buildings even - would appear to decay under the weight of the dust.

As I write this, 20 minutes after finishing the book, I can't decide whether to recommend it or not. As with many other reviews, I can only conclude with a word of caution - it's just a book...an entertaining read, but certainly not a classic.

When starting this book, everyone (even down to the book store clerk) told me that it started slow and finished strong - that I would have to push through the first 100 to 150 pages. Well, I have to agree that the end of the book is better than the beginning, I never had trouble picking up this one.

I also have to say that I've never really read a “crime thriller” before. This one was intriguing enough, though, that I'd consider reading Larsson's other two books.

Anyway, I was engaged by Larsson's writing style - or at least the translation of it. There were a couple of oddities in the text that I attributed to the translation. I liked his story-telling, and felt that he didn't divulge too much too early. I was surprised that the killer was revealed with a couple of hundred pages left (in the mass market paperback, at least), but Larsson didn't let that ruin the ending. It was refreshing that that wasn't the ending.

This would be one I would recommend. I must admit, though, that I'm kind of struggling to write about it. Maybe more will come later...

I have finally gotten the opportunity to finish Larsson's second installment of the Millenium Trilogy, two or so years after reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. In terms of writing a review, I am as perplexed as to what to say, just as I was after the first book. I give it four stars because though I didn't feel the Earth shake upon completion, at the end, I had forgotten about all of the negative opinions I had formed during the first section and a half of the book and found myself gratified at how it played out.

While I was non-committal as to my assessment of Larsson's writing style in my previous review, I am now solidly in the camp that enjoys his narrative abilities. I am convinced that, had he lived, he would be to the police detective/investigation/espionage genre what John Grisham is to “legal fiction”. Larsson is skilled at weaving a complex narrative, creating and integrating a wide range of characters, and has an interesting way of revealing details very early in a narrative only to NOT ruin the inevitable final revelation of those details in the end. For example, you could suspect very early on that Niedermann was the killer, but his relationship with Zala, his relationship to Salander, etc. was paced nicely (and intuitively).

My review would be incomplete if I did not comment on the Salander character. Two very close friends of mine, whose literary opinions I respect very much, love her character. I find her (simultaneously) maddeningly under-developed and over-developed. (Though I will admit that her character came into focus as this novel wore on.) Her mystique was justified in “Dragon Tattoo” and I had no problem with the peripheral details of her life and why she was the way she was. She was an accessory to the main plot and provided a nice change of pace in the form of a sub-plot, just as the Blomkvist character did. I just don't feel that she can be the central character of a piece of fiction without portions of the work delving into the overly cliche. Whereas Larsson is skilled at withholding details as to the central “case” of his novels, I find his attempts to do so with a character frustrating and, at times, jarring. Just about the time we start to sketch a picture of Lisbeth, we are given something else that shatters that image. With some characters this isn't a bad thing; but in the case of Lisbeth, there's little consistency with the other aspects that we've learned. For instance, I found her points of vanity (e.g., the cosmetic surgery, the details of her relationship with George Bland, the furnishing of her apartment, etc.) in “Played with Fire” too far removed from what we had learned in “Dragon Tattoo”. Vulnerability I would have welcomed; vanity was too far in the direction of “she's really just like any other girl”. I will admit that I have no knowledge of the mental condition with which she is most closely associated (Aspergers), which may push me toward such a conclusion.

Larsson obviously asserts his themes of injustice and morality through Lisbeth, but the injustices dealt to her border on the edge of any realistic plausibility. Portions of her character feel like a writing exercise - i.e., how many bad things can we make happen to this girl? She was abused and that had led to a number of failed and abusive relationships as she grew older - I can appreciate such details. Her abuse and subsequent actions keep her on the radar of a number of law enforcement agencies - plausible, but questionable. She is secretly watched as a central figure in national security and part of a supreme cover up? Not sure about that one...

Consequently, my disconnect with the Salander character made the first 300 or so pages of this book extremely difficult for me. Much like other reviews that I have read, I found myself wondering when we were going to launch toward the central mystery of the book. Upon launch, I couldn't put the book down. Further, I enjoyed the minor themes of power, considering alternate definitions of success as well as love, and revenge and found them suitable additions to the narrative.

I look forward to reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest and have a copy of it on my shelf, but I will take a much-needed step away from the seemingly unending crime drama of Sweden.

Ever read a book where the ending was all but certain, and still find it interesting?

Such was the case with Mother Kind by Jayne Anne Phillips. Throughout the book, it was obvious that the mother character would pass away, yet the stories from Kate's past and the strengthening relationship between mother and daughter kept me as a reader coming back. Themes of growth, re-birth, love, family, learning new horizons, etc. filled the text, but never took away from one another. Phillips' usual densely-written, beautifully descriptive prose lightened slightly in this novel (as compared to Shelter), which was a welcome change.

This is the first of Phillips' books not set in a fictional small town in West Virginia (at least that I have read) and the first, again so far as I know, that is set in a ‘real' place. (Obviously, such a claim does not include her short fiction.) Though Phillips has actually lived in New England for a number of years, she excelled when re-counting the stories of the main character's childhood in rural West Virginia as opposed to the character's travels in India or her life in Boston. Place runs deep in us all - a sort of feeling whereby ‘home' is never taken away, only strengthened - and Phillips' inability to create such a strong connection to the Bostonian setting of the novel was one of the chief detractors in this book for me. I have always admired Jayne Anne's ability to make an urgent connection to the setting of her novels. This one was missing that, and it left the text dry in some places.

In summary, I can't say that I didn't like the book, but there is nothing about it that made me love it. Upon finishing, I'm not sure I can really even comment on what happened; the story could have just as easily been a journal entry written by any new mother in Boston. To make such an ‘ordinary' novel remotely interesting is a commendable feat, but the connection of the family bonds in Mother Kind does not hold up against the dissolution of those bonds so eloquently contained in the pages of Phillips' Machine Dreams. In fact, Shelter and Mother Kind feel like attempts by Phillips to regain the magic of Machine Dreams...oh so close, but still a few feet to go.

Klein's discussion of ten common claims relative to decision-making in organizations is an interesting take on a frequently-covered topic. The author goes to great lengths to indicate a state of ‘partial disagreement' with the claims, noting that most work in well-ordered situations yet break down in complex and/or ambiguous environments. Rather than writing a handbook on decision-making, what Klein is really doing is lending support to the notion that humans and the sciences that study them cannot be entirely reduced to formulas, checklists, and statistics. And with that, I whole-heartedly agree.

There are times when Klein is overselling his point. Chapter 16 regarding common ground is one such instance. He offers one grand insight for the chapter - and it is a good one - but then needs to describe it, re-describe it, and tell it again.

Overall, though I read this for a course on executive decision-making, I found myself genuinely enjoying it and mentally applying it to the contexts in which I find myself. What more can we really ask from our non-fiction?

In a sentence, I enjoyed this book, but for me, the hub-bub surrounding it wasn't warranted.

At a time when post-apocalyptic has become chic, it's not surprising that The Road would cross my path. The text is narrated well, and McCarthy struck a nice balance in his descriptions. I was appropriately “in” his world without having to be brow-beaten by flowery adjectives. With the writing, I appreciated the focus on a sense to orient the reader. I felt empathy for the main characters, and of course, I was glad to see the boy have a chance to soldier on.

The language effectively puts the reader on notice at times when the man and boy are alone, seemingly waiting for something to happen. McCarthy puts me on-guard, waiting for something to happen on the next page, just as the characters were waiting for something to befall them just around the next bend. While that was effective, it muted the action that did occur. The horror of knowing the people in the basement would be eaten - bland because the reader is the keyed up for the entire trip leading up to exploring that house. In this sense, art mirrors life (as any of us living through the Covid-19 pandemic can attest), but it put the book at a steady flat-line for me.

Overall, I'm glad I read this, and I'd recommend it for anyone who wants to build up their contemporary classic repertoire. When all is said and done, though, I just wanted a little more.

The Prepared Leader: Emergency from Any Crisis More Resilient than Before is easily one of the best crisis leadership books I've read in a while. It will be amongst a small group of texts to which I frequently refer in my own teaching on disaster/emergency management and crisis leadership.

James and Wooten do a great job of making this work accessible. That's a strength of their scholarly writing, and this book takes that up a notch. The text is written such that practitioners can keep it on file as a reference, checking in with it again and again as they encounter new situations and seek to develop their crisis leadership capability. That's a real strength of this title.

I found myself highlighting several “sound bytes” across my social media channels from the text. I appreciate pithy, memorable quotes, and there were several here dealing with framing, the importance of learning, technology as a tool, etc.

The text approaches crises from the organizational perspective, though the lessons don't exclude and are certainly applicable to community-level crisis management. In fact, in the seemingly age-old debate over the differences between crises and disasters, I felt the authors did an admirable job of providing language that works in both contexts. Put simply, a disaster is a specific type of crisis.

In truth, I found the text to be just a bid heavy on COVID-19, but you know what? How can you blame crisis leadership scholars and authors for writing about COVID-19? In the mid-2000s, the writings grappled with Hurricane Katrina, and the pandemic will feature at least as much as that (I would imagine). (Disclosure: I have published papers on COVID-19.) So even though my brain cries a little every time I read “covid,” I recognize it for the crisis leadership laboratory that has been, is, and will be. Kudos to James and Wooten for pulling out the lessons from the pandemic and making them relevant to “the crisis” more generally.

It's obvious that my recommendation is to read the book.

But don't just read it. Buy it. Highlight in it. Mark it up. Put sticky note flags in it. Use it as part of a comprehensive effort to be a better crisis leader.

This book was a somewhat refreshing look at the results side of leadership. I do have to say that I felt it made things a little simplistic. I am a firm believer that one cannot exercise their way or rate leadership on a scale of 0 to 100 their way to effective leadership.

My reading into the evolution of the Batman character continues...

...Next up, Frank Miller's Batman: Year One, noted by many as one of the top three Batman stories ever told. Batman: Year One tells the story of how Bruce Wayne becomes Batman and how his and Gordon's relationship begins. The novel is structured chronologically, at times going day-by-day and at others skipping several months in a single panel. Typically, in Batman comics, the Bruce/Batman character is the conflicted one; however, in this novel, Gordon bore the conflicted burden, having much difficulty in transitioning into his role as a lieutenant with the Gotham PD. Gordon was insecure as well as arrogant. Forward as well as guilt-ridden. His status as “hero cop” proved to be a grind that he ultimately knew he could not sustain - enter Batman. Such character development was a real high-point in this novel.

Bruce/Batman were nearly secondary characters to this story. While there was some commentary in first person from them, their characters were almost wholly developed through the eyes of others. The break from Batman as the brooding, introverted super hero was another high-point in the novel.

Since this novel gives us insight as to the early days of Batman, it shows us the Batman finding his way in Gotham: how he came to the decision to use a bat disguise, his training, his early attempts at crime fighting. This Batman was careful. He was insecure. His decision-making was dull. He showed weakness, which made him more human than ever.

Mazzucchelli's art, in my opinion, was perfect for this particular Batman novel. The panels read very “noir-ish” and the art captured that. The Batman character was revealed in shades, from afar, and the art supported that. Richmond Lewis' colors were subtle, understated, and beautifully dreary. In a world that was populated by characters with deep insecurities and never-ending personal conflicts, bright and contrasting colors would have been out of place.

In truth, the story, art, themes, and general idea of this novel were all excellent; the weakness for this reader proved to be the actual narrative. As someone still new to the genre, I had been familiar with the Frank Miller name and was looking forward to reading his work. I mean no disrespect with this review nor to say that the writing was bad or sub-par; the writing was simply not the strongest element of the novel.

This edition of the graphic novel contained notes on and images depicting Mazzucchelli's original inks for many of the panels. Cool stuff. There is even one section in which the process of Lewis' coloring is described. Lewis actually colored many of the panels without the inks. Awesome. The ways in which the inks and colors intertwined to create soft edges, blurred lines in places - perfect for a novel explaining how the Batman came into focus. Also, for a self-proclaimed comic/graphic novel novice, these “development of” pages were quite enjoyable!

Batman: Year One is an excellent read for the budding Batman aficionado.

Well, got through a book that I decided to read based on a movie. I actually thought that the movie was a fair representation of the book. The one point from the film on which I wanted clarity was completely avoided in the novel, much to my surprise.

I had also hoped to find another contemporary author whose books I could enjoy by default. I'm not sure that Lehane got there, but I enjoyed the writing style enough to want to pick another of his novels.

No real review on this one. Anyone can watch the film and get the story. Unlike a number of other books made into movies, you wouldn't get missing a lot. Lehane's writing is incredible in some places (reference my comment about the description of a migraine from an earlier update). That, alone, made it an enjoyable read.

Strange as This Weather Has Been was a loaner from a friend and co-worker. I had only a cursory knowledge of Ann Pancake from my final years at college when I worked with a group of students on an anthology of “West Virginia” literature (see Backcountry: Contemporary Writing in West Virginia ). I am, by and large, a fan of literature by and about my home state, so I started Strange as This Weather Has been with grant anticipation.

The main story arc follows a family in the southern West Virginia coal fields. It is hard to say that the main character is Lace - because the story is told from several points of view - but the story “revolves” around Lace (and her parents and children). At the start, Lace wants nothing more than to escape her hometown, but as the story progresses, she is drawn back and learns just how hard it is to leave. At about the time she learns to love her homestead, she begins to realize how much in danger the entire area is on account of the strip mining that is taking place overhead. Lace learns that the Earth is more than just the ground under her feet as she sees her children get drawn into the secrecy and deception that is spread by Lyon Coal - the mining company.

There were a number of flashes in this novel. Reading it as a West Virginian, there were passages that resonated with me. I, too, have been entranced by the “big city”, had a burning desire to leave, and so on. But it is hard to leave, and Pancake captures that beautifully. Her descriptions of the almost spiteful relationships we can have with our hometowns are well crafted and thorough. Her language conveys the emotion. Her story carries the notion that we (as locals) can criticize this land, these towns, but we become fiercely protective of them one outsiders criticize. Pancake's characters quickly learn that West Virginians do stick together when outside of our state - not that we are segregated, per se, just that we sense differences between ourselves and others and that we tend to seek each other out.

Past the strength of the West Virginia bond, though, I found Strange as This Weather Has Been to suffer from an identity crisis. Given several possibilities, one central theme never emerged. (Despite my WV rambling above, that element was something I gleaned “in pieces”; it never really emerged as a theme either.) The novel could have drawn parallels in the “coming of age” of mother (Lace's mother and Lace) and daughter (Lace and Bant) - but it didn't. The novel could have commented on social norms, both in West Virginia and beyond, but it didn't. The closest thing to a central theme focused on coal mining, but even that one dissipated by the end upon Corey's death.

The dissipation of the mining theme was one of my two primary criticisms of the book. The narrative leads us to believe that the mountaintop removal mining was going to lead to some major event that brought the story together. Pancake drew a number of parallels with the 1972 Buffalo Creek Disaster. Yet the story abruptly transitioned to the failure of Lace and Jimmy's marriage and Corey's death in the space of one or two chapters. The mine was mentioned almost as an after-thought in the last chapter just so, it seemed, the author could get one final comment in on mining itself.

Which brings me to my second primary criticism. West Virginians are not strangers to environmental controversy. Fights over natural resource extraction have been present - in force - since West Virginia's admittance into the Union. People are entitled to their own opinions and Pancake chose to use Strange as This Weather Has Been as a vehicle to speak against mountaintop removal mining. Her railing, though, felt more whiny and childish than literary. In some of the best West Virginia literature I have read, subtlety is abundant. While I take no issue with Pancake's views on the pros and cons of the practice of strip mining, the delivery of her message came through much less educated that I believe she intended.

Perhaps Pancake's flaws in this novel stem from her transition from short story to longer narrative ( Strange being her first novel). Her descriptive prowess and fierce loyalty to her home state can (and I hope do) develop. While the Strange as This Weather Has Been story will likely not move me to pick up this book again, I would be anxious to read future Ann Pancake novels to see how her writing evolves. Perhaps this is my fierce loyalty to the Great State; I can't summarily dismiss one of its authors.

I had previously read “Guts!” by Jackie and Kevin Freiberg and loved it. “Guts!” provided briefer descriptions of more companies whereas “Nuts!” focused solely on Southwest Airlines.

The Southwest story is a good one. Their personnel policies are admirable and their dedication to their mission should be a model for any new business. The writing in the text was easy to read and accessible.

I could not connect to this book like I did “Guts!”. I was truly inspired by “Guts!” and perhaps built this one up a little too much in my mind. Since “Nuts!” went into so much detail with Southwest, I would have really wanted to read about how the company managed itself through crises. Minimal internet research uncovered significant safety violations in 2008 (which the text could not have addressed due to the publication date) as well as a machinist's strike in the 1980s during which Herb Kelleher and Colleen Barrett were nearly ousted. Again, the company has been so successful (especially SINCE the strike), I'm interested in how it overcome those obstacles.

“Nuts!” seems too much like a rah-rah party for Southwest. “Guts!”, by contrast, was meant to be briefer overviews of the highlighted companies and explicitly said that it was focusing on the overarching successes of those companies. We all understand that companies sometimes face hardships and sometimes fail. Southwest is no different, yet those were not even mentioned in this text. There's little debate that Southwest's personnel policies have been extremely successful. Thanks to the Freibergs for telling us what they are. Now let's hear how Southwest arrived at them.

Dan Baum's exploration of New Orleans' evolution from the 1960s through the mid-2000s works on a number of levels. Framed by the occurrence of two major hurricanes: Hurricane Betsy in September of 1965 and Hurricane Katrina in August of 2004. From inception, the reader thinks this will be a piece about disaster and its physical, social, economic, and psychological impacts. Yet, by the middle of the book, it is clear that hurricanes merely highlight the real disaster occurring in so many U.S. urban cores. Strife uncovers years of neglect, both of physical infrastructure and communities as well as entire segments of populations.

Baum skillfully manages to avoid the trap of being overtly political with the writing. Though some of those he interviews and whose stories he retells are politically active and tell stories designed to offer scathing commentary on the state of social affairs, Baum presents this information neutrally and allows the reader to pick a side. Baum is sentimental to the plight of New Orleanians, but he presents such sentiment in a human way such that the reader empathizes with the story subjects rather than feels sorry for the them.

Lost in the conversation about the rebuilding of New Orleans and the revitalization of our urban areas (in general) is the connection these places have with their residents. I am from a small town in central West Virginia; here, we frequently hear references to the role of place in our lives. Cities are often thought of as emotion-neutral and city-dwellers as connected to other things. Not so. Within cities lie individual communities that function more as autonomous small towns than gridded street patterns. City-dwellers function with dual identities; those of their entire city and those of their tightly-knit neighborhoods. We must recognize the divides between urban and rural in our country, seek to bridge those divides, all while preserving the uniqueness of both the urban and rural. Salvation of and advantage for one at the expense of the other is a failed attempt.

Resilience is sometimes thought of as a character trait - something innate the some people have and others don't. I study resilience and believe strongly that it can be nurtured. To nurture it is to recognize that it is unique to every individual, every community. To nurture it is to understand that what works for New Orleans would not work for Pittsburgh, nor Tulsa, nor my small town in West Virginia. The system must realize that social differences are a part of New Orleans' fabric; its residents have learned to account for those differences, having experienced a number of successes, a number of failures, and holding close the knowledge that many challenges remain. Supporting that process lays the groundwork for resilience in that community, more so that repeatedly imploring residents to set aside supplies for 72 hours. It is only by working to overcome the daily disaster that we build capability to survive and thrive through and following the rare catastrophe.

I'll just say it. I loved this book.

I've followed Katharine Hayhoe via social media feeds for a bit now, and I've been impressed by her practical, accessible efforts to communicate climate change. As an emergency management consultant, I've experienced the challenge of connecting the science to action, particularly in the mitigation and disaster recovery phases. I picked up the book not really knowing what to expect, but I figured it would be relatable.

Relatable it was, and I was struck by how actionable it is. It's not that I expected to be brow-beaten by facts. I knew from Hayhoe's social feeds that's not her style. I found myself nodding to the climate data, learning as I went, but I really found myself digging the other data from behavioral and social science disciplines. Integration of fields is challenging, and I feel it's missing from so many good books aiming to inform readers on a variety of important topics. While I'll pick up any interesting book, it was wonderfully helpful to have relevant information on climate, etc., under a single cover rather than just across the room on my shelf.

I found Sections 2 and 3 to be particularly impactful. I'd recommend reading the whole book, but if you're into previewing, there's the place to start.

After years of watching movies and various ilk, it was high time to read the original. I enjoyed it very much. It was a quick read, yet still full of the thick and superfluous language that, for me, characterizes 18th and 19th century English writing. What surprised me, though, was how snarky the writing was. I was expected Oliver Twist and David Copperfield, but while the narrative was very Dickensien, this one simply had more of a pub feel than I expected.

I'm also struck by how much I've been conditioned by modern “sensibilities.” Cable network FX recently did a take on the story starring Guy Pearce as Scrooge. It was dark and stark, and it felt like it was exploring themes that TV mini-series in the 80s would have been afraid to explore. Thus, I expected to see more of Scrooge's back story from that remake in the books. There was really only one noticeable them...Scrooge's loneliness at boarding school and a bit of the fantasy sequence with Ali Baba. I happily stand corrected that sometimes, things are beautifully simple (and that's okay).

A friend has long said that A Muppets Christmas Carol was the most faithful retelling of the actually novella. I think he is right! It's funny to me that the actual text from the story made the Muppet version funnier, and as noted in above, I wasn't expecting that to be a part of the “real” story.

Many people have pointed out the centrality of Tiny Tim and his impact on Scrooge's change. I see that. I understand it. But, to me, it was the familial connection to Fred that made the change. With the Ghost of Christmas Present, Scrooge lets go for the first time when eavesdropping on Fred's dinner. It's the first time we see the suspicion start to fall for Scrooge. It's also a lesson. Our connections to our families are the most visceral we have...they're there first, they last the longest, and we love our families through thick and thin. Even when we're on the outs with a relative, there's something that will bring us together despite the animosity. (Of course, there are exceptions...I fully recognize that some people are just demons.) We need the familial foundation and connection before we can be moved by the Tiny Tims of the world.

In all, it's a good read. Do yourself a favor and put this on the list for the holiday season.

I've read some of these stories multiple times. I first remember reading “Trilobites” in the Fall of 1999. I'll say that's when it was because that's the first time I remember reading it. As an English major at West Virginia University, I was in a senior seminar class whose task was to review West Virginia authors and suggest inclusions for an anthology of their literature. That class was in the Spring of 2000, and I know I had read the story before that class. (WVU Press ultimately published that anthology as Backcountry: Contemporary Writing in West Virginia.

As my first real exposure to Breece D'J Pancake, I now read his work through the dense tapestry of that West Virginia literature. I'm sure that influences the themes that I pull from these stories because it seems like West Virginians not only live these themes, but they also write about them in a range of ways.

To wit, I'm not sure there's a character that I like or admire in this collection of stories, but I can't put them out of my mind. I look out my home or office window, and I see them. Whether it's Colly's ability to see things as they are but to not completely discard things as he wants to see them or Hollis yearning to get away but knowing he can't save for something drastic, Pancake mixes sadness with weight, honor, familial shackles, and lost love with the best of them.

One has to think of the time at which Pancake wrote these stories: the late 1970s. I can't say there's a celebration of the poverty and seediness of Appalachia, but there are times when the dialog runs so close to cliched that I have to wonder if that's a more modern, socially conscious take rearing up. From the posthumous accounts of Pancake's life, one suspects that it was not meant for cliche; those are the characters whose paths Pancake himself might have crossed.

These stories are heavy, and I doubt readers walk away from them truly uplifted. Perhaps they feel a stronger connection to themselves or their homes. Perhaps they identify the tension in their life that drags them down but holds them too tightly for them to let go.

The stories are brilliant, yet somehow left wanting. As so many have noted before me, the magic and sadness of this book is, in part, thinking about what Pancake might have written had he lived.

(I listed this edition of the book because it came from a discount shelf from my local library. What's more, this is the first book my daughter ever gave to me as a gift. She was just learning to walk at the time she grabbed it, knowing only that it was a book. Of course she would have had no way to know about that class in the Spring of 2000 and my connection to West Virginia's literature.)

My thoughts on this one are complicated.

By happenstance, I read it when the story was set, and in one case, I read a journal entry on the day the main character "entered" it.

I'm typically not a science fiction or post-apocalyptic literature fan, though I'm a sucker for a good story. I'm not sure the story is here, though the development of the Lauren Olamina character is rich and layered. I wanted more of that from some other characters, but I get this is the first of two in a series (and, from what I read, potentially was the first of three before Butler's untimely passing). There are eerie elements that read like prognostications on Butler's part, and while one can still hold hope that things won't get that bad, it's not hard to see how it could.

I also have trouble reading novels structured as vignettes, journal entries, flashes, etc. I find myself being lost in the details, trying to remember every little thing on the off chance they're foreshadows for something down the road. Oddly, though, I find the pace of novels structured as such to be too fast for absorption. So, yes, this paragraph definitely describes a "me thing," but I need to make note of it in my review.

One might think that this is a negative review, but as I said, it's complicated. I couldn't put the book down; when I would, I had to force myself to not "just go one more page." I found myself really enjoying the Earthseed verses, and I would have been interested in Lauren's reflection on them. How did she wrestle with the concepts and the language? As the narrator, Lauren notes that she revised them substantially. As such, I would have enjoyed seeing earlier "drafts," or possibly even recreations of the handwritten journal pages as images to see some of the scribbles that we all make when revising our work.

The writer of the afterward shared similar reflections. She said it took her three tries to really dig the book on a personal level. Maybe I'm like that. If so, I'm game for a re-read down the line.

This was a pretty racy book for high school reading. This book was one of the ones that got me interested in English and literature.

Just finished this book for the second time this morning. I do think that it was better the second time around. Maybe it was my ability to understand it better thanks to several years of training, maybe I just paid more attention this time. While I found it striking that some of the things the Brave New Worlders got themselves into were similar to what we enjoy today, it does seem overtly science fiction.

My edition of the book contained Huxley's forward where he asserts that his major omission was nuclear fission. After WWII and the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, one can see why Huxley would have made such a statement. Imagine, though, if he would have hinted at something like the Internet! Mustapha Mond often says that the residents of BNW are conditioned to the point that they cannot be alone...that their lives are ordered such that they don't have many chances to be alone. Are we really that different? Our closeness, though, is facilitated more by technology that Huxley imagined. Our cell phones - now smart phones - are attached to our hips unless we are asleep. Most of us have multiple media to access our social networking sites. Our connection is unending, but, as Huxley's tale warns, too much connection can have a numbing effect.

I found two things very interesting. First, Henry Ford's major “contribution” to society - the assembly line - is the starting point of the BNW. Everything is an assembly line, even pleasure. Secondly, the Savage's demise suggests that the future can survive in the past (as Linda did), but that something accustomed to the past (i.e., savagery) cannot survive unchanged in the future. Huxley takes the notion of “adapt or die” to the metaphorical extreme.