Book Review: The Lost Continent

Powell's Books · Barnes & Noble

Bill Bryson ©1989

Was this a great book? No. Was it even a good book? Not really. Not unless you find riding 13,978 miles around our country with a paunchy, sarcastic, middle aged, cheap-ass, wuss of a man across the United States. At least that how he describes himself… (Well, I added the wuss part, cause it's true.) Then I thought about it, he could have shined it all up with poetic lilts to describe the unique beauty inherent into each little town and turned this into a fake tribute to America's variety and beauty. But he didn't. He was honest, (refreshing!) humorous, and painted the picture as he saw it, allowing us to see the country and himself through his eyes. I can respect that.

Bill Bryson grew up in Des Moines, Iowa. As soon as he reached adulthood he fled his dull, idyllic, mid-west life and spent the next decade or so in the UK. Now 36 years old, (1987) with a wife and kids, he returns to home to a country that is barely recognizable to him. His father, the architect of the arduous road trips of his youth has passed, baseball teams were in the wrong cities, old city squares were supplanted by strip malls… This trip was journey to reconcile his past with his present, his father's presence in himself, and rediscover the home he had left behind, and to some degree lost. Upon his return to Iowa, a waitress asks him, “You're not from around here, are ya?"

All of those inferences aside, I would have loved for him to just once to go beyond the window facade that is a small town's center, make a connection with a local, and uncover the magic that lives there. I'm a small town kid, and we had a hate/love relationship with tourists. They infused enough money into our business for them to thrive during the summer and survive the winter, but we didn't want them hanging around and mucking the place up. Only a select few were invited in to see the magic, and more often than not, they'd stay… If I was a waitress waiting on the Bill Bryson of this book, I would have handed him his check and sent him on his way too…

Book Review - The First Four Years

Powell's Books · Barnes & Noble

Laura Ingalls Wilder ©1953
I read several reviews for this book and it was critiqued pretty harshly. People said the writing was poor and not at all like the rest of the idyllic Little House series. I, however, liked it—a lot.

First of all they're right, it is not a literary work of art. It was actually published from four notebooks, a handwritten rough draft, found after Laura’s death. But, what resonated with me was a feeling of authenticity. The other book I've read, Little House in the Big Woods, was wonderful, but felt censored—highly polished? For example, she’s afraid of being spanked by her Pa, but instead he curls her up in his lap for a moral story. Leaving me feeling that this man never, ever, lost his temper… Not even when his daughters disobey him, not once, but twice. But, if she was afraid of being spanked then wouldn't she have to have felt his belt before?

Laura and Almanzo are married early on in the story. Laura is nineteen and Almanzo twenty-nine. That's what attracted me to this story, I was twenty when I was married and part of me wanted to revisit those newlywed years and contrast them with hers. The comparisons in our daily lives are that there aren't any. I lived in a cozy little apartment in the suburbs and she lived in a government homestead in the Dakotas. However, Laura and Almanzo are immediately recognizable. Laura is still a woman/child, (like I was) who spends a snowy day playing and sledding, (like I did). Almanzo is an earnest, hard working man that doted on his young wife. (Like mine did.)

Laura has doubts (what? Laura has doubts!?!) about Manly's choice to earn a living by farming a homestead. She doesn't want to spend her life poor and broken from work. Infinitely optimistic, Manly convinces her to try it for three years. Each year their labor is devastated by forces of nature. Their wheat is filling out beautifully, then heat swoops in and dries it out. All that hard work was for naught. Plowing, seeding, tending… Done. Gone. The livestock, the prairie grasses (sold as hay) and Almanzo's strong back, provides just enough to get by and they try again the next year. Then Rose arrives.

Authenticity aside, I was a little relieved that Rose didn't arrive by stork. Although when Laura's labor began, the doctor arrived and then she fell asleep and the baby was here. Woah. I think modern medicine has taken a step backwards. Or she did a little creative storytelling to protect her modesty. I can understand that in a pioneer era woman.

The next three years are rife with disasters and oddities that can only be real, fire, losing a child, fever, Almanzo's stroke, their friendly neighbor who offers to trade baby Rose for a horse. Through it all, Laura never despairs and Almanzo never loses faith. After hail flattened $3000 in ripe wheat, money that would render them debt free with some to spare, Almanzo cheerily suggests they use the hailstones to make ice cream. Laura and I decline, and wonder if he’s a little touched in the head..

I understand why Laura, herself, never published this book. I also understand why she had to write it. Sometimes a writer is not in charge of what she writes. Sometimes a story becomes a nag, crowding out other ideas demanding to be written. So she did. However, she chose not to publish her doubts, trials and pain.

I am glad she wrote it. I’m glad it was eventually published. I'm in awe of their perseverance and hope. I'm in awe of their evident love for each other. I’m touched by Laura’s vulnerability and support of her husband despite her reservations. Perhaps their struggles bound them as a couple. In modern “me” times, it seems to tear couples apart.

Three ways I felt this book's authenticity:

• Laura is not always happy.
• The Dakotas are a scary place to live—weather wise. You could go out for a walk on a mild spring day, get caught in a freak blizzard, and be found frozen to a rock three days later.
• I closed the book feeling admiration for what they endured, and wholly fortunate to live in modern times.

A Story - Curious Berzo Gets a Haircut

(Inspired by a blog post describing Berzo's first haircut. Written in the style of the Curious George books wherein George is left unsupervised and gets in trouble, and by pure circumstance, it all works out to everyone's benefit in the end.)

This is Berzo. Berzo was a good little monkey and always very curious. Today Berzo and the lady with the blue hat were brushing their hair.

“Berzo your hair is getting long, let’s go to the hair salon for your very first haircut,” said the lady.

Berzo and the lady drove to the mall and found the hair cutting salon.

They went inside and talked to a lady behind the counter. “I’d like a hair cut for my monkey,” said the lady.

“Please put her name on the list. I’m alone today, but I’ll be able to see her in about ten minutes,” said the stylist.

“Berzo, I’m going to the next door to get a new pair of snowshoes. You can play with the trains while you wait your turn. Be a good little monkey and don’t be too curious,” said the lady as she left the salon.

Berzo could not believe her eyes. She saw chairs in the shape of cars and airplanes, a jar full of lollipops and a screen playing a movie about a princess. Toward the back of the room several ladies lounged in chairs with a funny looking space helmet covering their heads. Berzo watched as the stylist squirted funny smelling stuff on a woman’s hair and folded it in tin foil, while the woman sat with cucumbers on her eyes. Another lady with wet, funny smelling hair moved to a lounging chair and the stylist put a helmet on her head too.

Berzo was curious, could she style hair too?

Just then the phone rang and the stylist rushed to answer it.

Berzo grabbed bottles of color and squirted it on the lady’s hair and wrapped it in tin foil.

The lady started talking, “So as I was saying, I told June that she just doesn’t need to sign Roger up for so many sports. He needs that energy for his school work. But does she listen to me? Oh no…”

Berzo grabbed more colors and more foil. It was fun to be a stylist. Then she picked up the scissors and started to cut the lady’s hair.

She hopped over to the ladies under the helmet. She noticed a hole on top of the space helmets. Would those ladies like a stylist treatment too? Berzo was curious. She squirted in one bottle then the next, and the ladies didn’t seem to mind. They were busy chatting to each other over the whooshing of the machines.

The stylist hung up the phone. “Berzo, I’m ready for you now…” Berzo ran over to the fire truck chair and hopped in.

“How did you get these colors all over your hands?” She looked around. “Oh no!” the stylist cried.

She pulled up all the hoods and the woman pulled the cucumbers off her eyes… The stylist took the foil off—her hair was three different colors, and the cut? “Oh no!” the stylist cried again.

The other ladies hair frizzed and had splotches of red, blond, bronze, even purple!

Berzo was worried. Had she done something wrong? She had only wanted to help the nice lady while she was on the phone.

Just then the lady with the blue hat came back.

“Look at what your monkey has done!!” the stylist shouted.

The lady in the blue hat dropped her bag.

Just then the door swung open and a man in a funny looking suit and sunglasses came in.

“Helloooo, I’m Fabien from Fashion Forward magazine and I’m looking for a salon to feature on next month’s cover.”

“Oh, hello ladies!”

He flitted from woman to woman, admiring Berzo's work.

“Oh yes! Finally! Ma’am, you have created music for my eyes. Such originality! How ever do you come up with your ideas?”

“Oh, I had some help…”

“Mustn't be too modest now. I’d like to feature your salon in our magazine. Ladies, how would you like to model for the cover shoot?”

He turned towards the door and shouted, ” Get those photographers in here, NOW!”

“Berzo,” said the stylist, “you sure gave me a shock, but without your special brand of art, my salon might not have been selected. You can come back anytime, but leave the hair styling to me, OK?”

“ Now, let’s cut your hair.”

“Would you like a lollipop?”

Berzo did.