A thorough, compassionate, and well-researched book on not only the Franklin expedition itself, but its fate. Following Beattie's trail of investigation, unearthing, and autopsy is riveting reading — if grim — and brings a satisfying, if tantalizing in light of the recent discovery of both ships in the last decade, theory to full light.
I was especially gripped by Beattie's own descriptions of Beechey Island and King William Island, their desolation and sparse beauty, and touched by the attitudes of our researchers when they autopsied the preserved bodies of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine.
A deeply comprehensive, deeply passionate book of the history of the HMS Erebus, and its many expeditions into the edges of the world. Palin's writing is empathetic, engaging, and (of course, when the right quotation demands it) dryly humorous if required. I was surprised at the clear passion and scholarship that shines through here, and though coming at this book through the lens of the Franklin Expedition, quickly found myself absorbed in the earlier history of Ross and Crozier aboard earlier Erebus and Terror expeditions, and the accounts in letters home from various seamen that Palin quotes throughout.
I listened to this on audiobook, and enjoyed the narration style immensely, listening for hours at a time. I'll likely add the book itself to my shelf as well, if and when I can find a copy — a tragic but rewarding, winding history, providing plenty of threads to pick up in other books, travel, and research. Well worth the read for the interested party. I rarely buy such tomes to read again, but I'll want this one by my side for Palin's empathetic, comprehensive look at a fascinating chapter in maritime history that was entirely new to me.
A strange, enchanting tale that did captivate me, even as an adult — the whimsy and angst, the mixture of childlike wonder and teenage fear and anger that courses through the novel and its characters was definitely engaging and kept me listening for long hours. The simple tension at the heart of the story — the loss of Meg and Charles Wallace's father, whom they seek out beyond the ends of the earth — keeps the story grounded, even as it travels to fantastical locations and heights. I found myself reminded of Philip Pullman, and Narnia, all at once — especially with L'Engle's invocation of Christian elements and themes, like angels and fallen stars, the power of quoted prayer or the invocation of St. Francis.
That being said, the book was quite profound, and struck me deeply at turns, and I think if I'd read this as a child, it would have stayed with me as my own beloved books already mentioned have.
The religious notes were perhaps an element that would have stood out to me less as a child, but was the only thing that struck me a bit sideways as an adult — though I recognize that may be just me, and personal noticing. I did think the ending was quite abrupt, but it helps knowing there are more to read.
I think I'll come back to this later when my nonfiction mood hits back on the topic! It was a spur-of-the-moment find, and needs to be returned to the library.
A surprisingly comprehensive overview of household (private) items of worship in Ancient Greece and Rome, well-written and easy to dive into in a balance of academic text and approachable explanations of relevant historical context.
This book won't finish your research, but it provides a solid foundation on various elements of Ancient Greek and Roman private worship icons, how they transformed with the expansion of the Roman Empire, and how syncretic efforts between Egypt and Rome changed the landscape of private worship. A good book to have in one's classics arsenal on the topic, and a useful springboard for further in-depth research on whatever of Sofroniews' variety of topics most interests the reader. Well-cited, with a nice, full bibliography and clear sourcing.
While I enjoyed certain sections of "The Witch's Cabinet" more than others, I can't say yet whether I would recommend it based on what it purports to be: "a meditation of the shrouded dimensions of plant folklore." Boyer certainly overviews a number of superstitions and tales surrounding her chosen subjects, but the folklore within is noticeably limited: she focuses (at her own admission) largely on European and Slavic folklore, with little scope for plants of North America, Africa, Asia, etc. The introduction, written by Daniel A. Schulke, asks "of what value is such [plant] lore" as Boyer has aggregated, as she has to offer, and I come away from this book feeling enriched in some ways to answer this question, far less so in others.
As both a magic-worker and amateur historian, I was especially frustrated by Boyer's sourcing: she often cites folklore collections or magical books alongside academic sources (books from university presses, etc.), which lends them the same air of credibility in her footnotes unless you look fully at the sources. Multiple essays reference "Hekate's garden," a concept which was entirely new to me and which I can't find on JSTOR nor on Theoi.com (a good first source for aggregate ancient information). References to Circe, Hecate, and Persephone as "death aspects of the Goddess" unfortunately cast a Wiccan lens on Boyer's otherwise enjoyable essay on funerary trees, which I generally enjoyed, but wasn't expecting a Wiccan slant.
I enjoyed the practical tips and recipe aspects of the chapter on Elder, as well as the inventive uses and folklore surrounding graveyard plants and trees, but there's elements of this book that are tough to swallow if one looks beyond metaphysical books for sources.