Review: In Defence of Food – Michael Pollan

The key for whether this book was going to be rated a success or failure lay in the authors willingness post all of the criticism of his readerships diet to provide genuine responsive actions that one can take. In this Pollan can be said to be a resounding success.

Cover image thanks to bookdepository.co.uk

Pollan's contention is that the West became throughout the the 20^th century so focussed on the individual nutrients and other bits and pieces that made up food that it lost sight of the reality that food is more than the sum of all its parts. In the West's quest to understand every little part of every food not only have we (I am a Westerner myself) lost the vast majority of the physiological benefits of food, but also the cultural, sociological and spiritual benefits that for thousands of years humans have derived.

The author, Michael Pollan, is a vehement critic of the western diet. An American, he believes that it has solely been the influence of economics, and the selfish quest for more, that has led to the West now facing a problem of over-nourishment (obesity) than the malnourishment that has more often been humankind's problem for centuries.

For those of us not from the USA we need to read the criticism with a grain of salt. The problems still do exist in our societies, however they will be to differing degrees. The greatest learning I gained from the book was a view of just how far culturally we neglect some of the greatest purposes of eating. Meals and food for thousands of years have been cultural centrepieces through which we interacted with each each other. In a time when mental health is deteriorating it may be worthwhile for us to consider the changes made to the human condition from its natural state rather than seek an answer in medicine.

The responses Pollan gives to the problem of poor diet are well thought through, and very practical. They are difficult to read for us as society who have previously placed so much faith in what we thought was correct, but they are not without basis. Pollan does not shy away from the fact that change is hard, and there are sacrifices to be made, and this is commendable as even the thought that a set of recommendations might make our lives more difficult can dramatically affect book sales (the more preferred option often is 'Lose Weight in just 5 minutes a day!').

Give this book a read and ask yourself the hard questions about diet and society. Not only may you improve your health physically, but your life will probably be fuller also. Basketballs.

Review: Chocolate Thunder, by Darryl Dawkins and Charley Rosen

Darryl Dawkins is nothing if not an entertainer.  The names he gave his dunks were awesome, his proclamations about coming from the planet Lovetron were - and still are - amazing, and he was an effective NBA center for a decade before succumbing to injury.  He broke two plexiglass backboards during his days in the League and another one when playing for Torino of the Italian League - dude was a beast.

His book, penned alongside experienced basketball ghost-writer and free spirit Charley Rosen, is therefore a very entertaining read.  In fact, it's one of the books I've most enjoyed going back to pick up in recent times.  It's lightweight, honest, good for a chuckle and well worth a read.

At the same stage, it's also hardly a work which will truly describe the NBA's Dark Times to younger generations with the appropriate reality.  While it ploughs head-on into drug use - especially the casual stuff of Dawkins and the sadness of teammate Micheal Ray Richardson's addiction - it also presents most authority figures as broken men trying to compensate for a lack of control. 

In fact in places, it appears as if Dawkins - always the most likeable of souls - is simply unencumbered with an accurate version of reality.  The rate at which he bitches about referees and - without the same malice - most of his NBA coaches enlightens the reader as to why he wasn't the All-World player his talent said he should have been.  While refs did perhaps victimise DD (kiiiiind of), he was a notoriously bad defender and bought up-fakes like they were Internet futures in 1996.

courtesy: sportclassicbooks.com

We've been writing at Books with Balls for a while.  Chocolate Thunder is also the first book I've ever read where I've bookmarked certain pages for either being so deluded they're worth mentioning in and of themselves.  Examples?  How about when he suggests Phoenix Suns coach Alvin Gentry is so bad "he must have a photo of an NBA GM f***ing a goat or something"(pg 135).  Or when he says he "practically won Game 5 [of the 1980 NBA Finals] on my own".  In reality, Kareem led the Lakers to a huge win after really badly spraining an ankle and Magic Johnson jumped center in the decisive Game 6.  Maybe that's what he meant by "practically".


Some inaccuracies, like "Fast" Eddie Johnson being dead, or Micheal Ray Richardson embarrassing white Point guards like Mark Price (whose NBA career only barely overlapped "Sugar's") can be put down to poor editing.  Others can only be thought of as fallacies brought about by a combination of ego and a grasp on reality which perhaps occasionally slips, unhelped by the cocaine he freely admits to taking during his playing days.

Despite the obvious ego, there's a real sense that Darryl Dawkins loves life, no matter how hard it has occasionally gotten for him.  In fact, he comes off as a really admirable guy, which in itself is testament to his likeability.  For his words to burst off the page as they do, the reader is left not only with a sense of DD's conviction, but also of his irrepressible joy.  Naming dunks, sleeping with maybe 1000 women and enjoying coaching as much as he does are all signs of la joie de vivre.  And Chocolate Thunder's got that in spades.

Darryl Dawkins is a fascinating man and in some ways it's a pity he's chosen to deliver such a lightweight memoir.  In other ways, however, apart from his physical size, Dawkins is a man driven by levity.  That in itself makes this book about a "coodabeen" well worth the 220-page read.  Recommended, but only if your knowledge of basketball history doesn't object to occasional inaccuracies.  Tennis balls.

Review: The Once and Future King by T.H. White

You know what?  It's hard to review this work for what it really is.  What it is - four books written over two decades - is overshadowed by its status as the "ultimate" Arthurian novel, the definitive fantasy novel instrumental to the characterisations in everything from Excalibur to Doctor Who and Harry Potter (but everything has influenced both Who and Potter).

Each book of the quadrilogy is markedly different both in tone and style to its brethren.  The first sees King Arthur as a boy, the second as a young leader and introduces the Orkney clan, the third almost entirely deals with Lancelot and the final with the war which eventually rent Camelot in two.

courtesy: indiebound.org

As White moves from the optimism of youth into the darkness of a young leader, it's obvious that this chapter of the narrative was penned during the early years of World War II.  As he ages - to all accounts, becoming quite a bitter older man - he retains the uncanny ability to dispense chunks of wisdom in bite size pieces; this allows the reader discomfiting glances at the state of the world during that war and it's chilly successor.  On the other hand, however, the tale of friends Lancelot, Arthur and Guinevere in wrapped in a sadness not felt in almost any Arthurian sequences.

As is now the norm - but TOAFK begets - only the man whose ambition destroys all that Arthur - who in the end loses faith in justice - had judicially achieved, is portrayed as evil and motivated by hate.  His brothers - a few of them co-conspirators - are unlikeable or selfish, but none so evil as Mordred.

White's obvious gift was in taking an idea and running with it - The Sword in the Stone could praecied as two hundred pages of one boy's experiences as a pike, hawk, goose and frog.  That Merlyn, a proto-Who/Dumbledore, lives backwards in time only serves to highlight an almost futile existence.

It's certainly languid, expansive and a little self-indulgent, but enjoyable nonetheless.  It'll take you a fair amount to get through, but this isn't a typical light-hearted swords-n-sorcery epic.  This is big, sad and will always be theArthurian novel against which all are judged.  Footballs - but I preferred The Winter King.

Review: Shoeless Joe – W.P. Kinsella

I have great difficulty in reviewing this book objectively. The movie version of this book, 1989s 'Field of Dreams', formed such a spine to my imagination as I read through 'Shoeless Joe' I admit I will never be able to provide objective review of the book. Therefore I have not sought to be objective, but to weigh off the merits of one of my favourite movies of all time against the book which inspired it.

Blessedly, the book is different enough so as to make differentiation and create points of discussion. Primarily, Where in the film we go on a journey with Ray Kinsella, finding purpose along the way for other characters but not knowing what is the ultimate purpose for Ray is until the very end; in the novel we are presented up front clearly what Ray wants in the end but its the journey teaching him about why he wants it. A change in emphasis making the book deeper and more worthwhile I feel.

Upon instruction from a mysterious voice, Ray builds a baseball field among his corn crop in rural Iowa. Building the field elicits visitations from disgraced yet oft forgiven ex-baseballer 'Shoeless' Joe Jackson, followed by many other former players who look for a chance to play the game they love more than any other. Strangely although the book is named after him, the character of Shoeless Joe has very little part in the story.

The characters of the book are very different to Field of Dreams that may prove challenging for lovers of the movie. Ray Kinsella in the movie is a soul somewhat lost in life, having rejected the great passion that he and his father had for baseball. In the book he remains an obsessive fan of the game and litters his narration with facts from its history. The movie used baseball as a vessel to try and bring a moral story, the book is more deeply entrenched in the history of America's summer pastime describing how it touches each of the characters lives.

Reclusive author J.D. Salinger (based on the genuine reclusive author of the same name) is harder and less emotive than the movies equivalent reclusive author character Terence Mann. The dialogue between him and Ray reads as more terse, giving a feeling that although they need each other to continue to journey together they often pull against each other. Archibald 'Moonlight' Graham is an objective and a driven character, lacking the genteel nature that the movie brought him as.

Ray's wife Annie has little influence on the story. Lovers of the movie will no doubt remember the unquestioning devotion she has for her husband Ray. The relationship for the movie is a highlight, but although Ray states in the book just how much she supports and means to him we do not observe this. Without the movie it may not have ever come to my attention as a flaw, however it has and it to mine is a great shame.

The movie allowed the viewer the freedom to not have much interest in baseball and keep pace with the story. The book does call upon the reader to at least be familiar with its terminology and gameplay. That you are well aware from the start the story is of the journey towards ones dreams rather than the dreams being an end in themselves keeps you reading on and on. The difficulty is how would Kinsella close out this story – he does not, giving it the perfect ending.

My review here is not at all objective, and I make no apologies for this. For mine having watched the movie and now read the book I believe both could be improved by unique elements of each. For a book that I rate Footballs this means it falls short, but still worth reading.

Cover image thanks to bookdepository.co.uk

Review: Killing Rommel, by Steven Pressfield

Steven Pressfield has built an impressive folio of historical fiction works: The Legend of Bagger Vance achieved him notoriety in the movie world, while his novel The Gates of Fire has become almost required reading for the US Marine Corps.  To paraphrase former Doctor Who script editor Terrance Dicks  - "Selling out storyline for a pot of historical reality" is not what Pressfield's about.

His novel Killing Rommel is, much like the war in the desert, gritty, realistic and slightly overglorified.

Of all the Generals of World War Two, Field Marshal Erwin Rommel was probably the most respected by both sides.  He was close to the Fuhrer, displayed bravery and leadership beyond that of many other generals and a respect for the rules of war that others in his position failed to emulate.  He was also, alongside Patton, the most awe-inspiring General, manning a staff car alongside the advance ranks of his men rather than being secreted far behind.

He was also a Nazi.

Given Pressfield's willingness to sacrifice some plot aspects for storyline, he pitches the Long Range Desert Group - a group of British and New Zealanders in trucks - in a series of long-range missions aimed at demotivating their German and Italian opponents by assassinating their inspiring leader.  Who, in this universe, isn't a Nazi and displays a code of honour that even Judge Judy couldn't match.

courtesy: tower.com

Occasional historical dalliances aside, the greatest failing of the book is in the mechanism of the narrative.  It is pitched in the time-honoured style of  "a manuscript discovered"; in this case an American who's adapted a memoir bequeathed to to him by a mentor who was an English member of the LRDG.  Pressfield's talent is for describing real-life battles and their consequences, not for understanding "Britishness", resulting in overuse of phrases and hackneyed British stereotypes.

However, he more than almost any other historical fiction author, fully allows the reader to grasp the combination of the vital importance of the North African campaign, the gravity of dying comrades and the incredible comradeship found amongst men on the battlefield.  Pressfield attempts to take his readers of a journey of what it meant to be part of a force comprised of individuals but larger than the the sum of those people.  It is unfortunate that he doesn't completely succeed.

While not an exciting, compelling read, Killing Rommel is enjoyable and can be ploughed through quickly.  It also has it's share of poignant moments strewn amongst intimate descriptions of battle.  Tennis balls.

Review: The Appeal – John Grisham

I have long been a fan of the work of John Grisham who has carved out the market of legal thrillers to be his own over the last 20 years, but in this instance he has fallen well short of his own standards. The Appeal lacks much when compared to Grisham's earlier works.

It appears that Grisham's desire to write more widely, including dramatic works such as 'Bleachers' or youth novels in his Theodore Boone series has weakened his ability to write on his original genre. This book lacks the grittiness of 'A Time to Kill', 'The Chamber', 'The Firm' or the 'King of Torts'. Though set up to have the reader ask questions about the decisions of major corporations and there effect on humanity, the story goes nowhere near hitting the mark as it skips along with surface concerns without truly opening up the true issues and character roles.

The plot is so thin has the ability to resolve itself within 200 pages yet Grisham feels the need to over-explain everything about the legal system that the story operates within which becomes tiresome as the book is pushed out to 500 pages for little return. By the time the end comes it is concluded briefly with no thought to wrapping up the questions readers have that it has gone nowhere near answering during the story. This leaves the reader feeling as though the time spent reading through the book have been a waste.

Another fault of the book is its inane desire to provide the political position of the author and explain to great detail that is just annoying. Whether you sympathise with the political position presented or not, the time spent on explaining these peripheral issues to the actual story adds to the confusion and frustration the reader feels that the book goes nowhere. Any frustration and confusion is only heightened by the 'Author's note' at its conclusion where he highlights these political issues as the core of the story.

Confusing, frustrating, and ultimately a fruitless read, this book from Grisham isn't worth investing time and money into. No Balls.

image courtesy of jgrisham.com

Review: Blood, Sweat and Treason – Henry Olonga, My Story

If you were looking to pick up a book that is not the 'bog' standard ghosted autobiography of a sports person, then this is the read for you. That former Zimbabwean cricketer Henry Olonga has been allowed to tell his story in his own words was incredibly refreshing for this addict of cricketing literature. Most sports persons biographical works use clichéd wording and structure to try and breath life into their uninteresting lives. This story has not been manipulated to make good reading; recognition that Olonga's story itself is good reading. 

 

Although maybe more widely known as a cricketer who took a political stand against a tyrannical regime, Olonga speaks of himself throughout the book always as just a man. Cricket is a part of a life where it intertwines with music, art, faith, family and politics. Predominately told in chronological order, events move seamlessly between these topics as life was lived for him.

Take Olonga's Christian faith for an example. Often an individuals faith will either be minimally mentioned in an introduction or 'covered off' in a specific chapter under advisement from publishing house editors worried about sales. But here we find Olonga regularly referring back to his faith and prayer life, it ebbing and flowing as his life ebbs and flows. 

 

He is a deep thinking and sensitive soul, keen to explore in retrospect the events of his life and make apology where he believes he wronged others. His stand along with Andy Flower during the 2003 Cricket World Cup is not told in a heroic manner. Presented with an opportunity to stand up against Robert Mugabe and the wrongs perpetrated, Olonga made the decision that he could not stand passively by any more while his country suffered. 

 

Olonga does not dwell on describing the terrible atrocities committed in Zimbabwe in recent history. Selected examples of events affecting his life up until the point he went into exile serve the purpose enough of educating the reader on his motives. Despite the terrible events, and the struggle that life in Zimbabwe is for most of her citizens there is no bitterness in Olonga and a substantial amount of love for his country still. In an amazing passage of the book Olonga describes his shock at the poverty in Bangladesh. This is not the shock of an upper middle class westerner on their first visit overseas, but of a man well versed in what injustices exist in the world.

Olonga's life needed and received much blessing post his 2003 stand, but it has not been easy nor necessarily freeing for him. Nevertheless he chose to tell his story that reaches far beyond the 'faux' battle that is the professional sports field. Basketballs.