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@book2book
THE DROUGHT
When I was a kid I hated the weatherman. He was the one that told my mother to send me to school carrying a raincoat, a jumper, and gumboots. The predicted rain never came. The weatherman was highly inaccurate; that’s why my father called him a clown. A chance of showers, a possible storm, probable cold front moving in, it all sounded like guesswork. Worst of all was that my father still trusted the weatherman. He was a farmer who endured nine years of drought, holding on to the farm, believing in the ‘science’ of the weatherman, year after year, the promise of rain, the promise of a good harvest, a good El Niño; only to watch everything destroyed by a sudden hailstorm, a cyclone, or a drought that never ended.
One evening we were sitting in the kitchen, the meal sparse, the weather hot, dry, the sound of cicadas, the fluttering of moths battering their dusty bodies against the light bulb. We ate in silence, tasteless tinned something. That night, after the brief shower of rain had passed us by, the cattle unable to stand, the horses no more than bony skeletons, our family eating donated tinned food, my father shot himself.
No one had taken much notice when he stood up and went out to the shed. He was gone for four minutes, his food going cold, when we heard the sound of the rifle. Scott was first on his feet, running outside to see what had happened. There were two shots. The first one was his faithful dog, a border collie, on her last legs, 14 years old, slowly going blind, arthritis in her legs. We knew she was going to die soon, but not just then. When the first shot went off, we thought of the dog, Patti. Then within 15 seconds came the second shot. It didn’t occur to me that my father would shoot Patti, it was even more surprising that he shot himself.
My younger brother was first to the shed, where we found the bloody body of Patti, quite dead. My mother was following, a fearful moaning coming from her chest, anticipating the disaster. My father sprawled on the concrete floor, two metres from Patti, his head blown away, his body lifeless. We squatted by his body, kneeling in grief and blood. My mother, heedless of the blood, lay her head on his chest.
As I sat at the feet of my father, I made a solemn promise that I would learn how to predict the weather in advance with accuracy so that no one had to suffer like this again. I made the promise so intensely, so deeply into my inner being, that it was there for life, branded into my soul. My life’s work was prescribed, no matter how difficult, how impossible, my path was set, there could be no turning aside. I would do it, no matter what happened.
website: https://marcus-clark.blogspot.com/
THE DROUGHT
When I was a kid I hated the weatherman. He was the one that told my mother to send me to school carrying a raincoat, a jumper, and gumboots. The predicted rain never came. The weatherman was highly inaccurate; that's why my father called him a clown. A chance of showers, a possible storm, probable cold front moving in, it all sounded like guesswork. Worst of all was that my father still trusted the weatherman. He was a farmer who endured nine years of drought, holding on to the farm, believing in the 'science' of the weatherman, year after year, the promise of rain, the promise of a good harvest, a good El Niño; only to watch everything destroyed by a sudden hailstorm, a cyclone, or a drought that never ended.
One evening we were sitting in the kitchen, the meal sparse, the weather hot, dry, the sound of cicadas, the fluttering of moths battering their dusty bodies against the light bulb. We ate in silence, tasteless tinned something. That night, after the brief shower of rain had passed us by, the cattle unable to stand, the horses no more than bony skeletons, our family eating donated tinned food, my father shot himself.
No one had taken much notice when he stood up and went out to the shed. He was gone for four minutes, his food going cold, when we heard the sound of the rifle. Scott was first on his feet, running outside to see what had happened. There were two shots. The first one was his faithful dog, a border collie, on her last legs, 14 years old, slowly going blind, arthritis in her legs. We knew she was going to die soon, but not just then. When the first shot went off, we thought of the dog, Patti. Then within 15 seconds came the second shot. It didn't occur to me that my father would shoot Patti, it was even more surprising that he shot himself.
My younger brother was first to the shed, where we found the bloody body of Patti, quite dead. My mother was following, a fearful moaning coming from her chest, anticipating the disaster. My father sprawled on the concrete floor, two metres from Patti, his head blown away, his body lifeless. We squatted by his body, kneeling in grief and blood. My mother, heedless of the blood, lay her head on his chest.
As I sat at the feet of my father, I made a solemn promise that I would learn how to predict the weather in advance with accuracy so that no one had to suffer like this again. I made the promise so intensely, so deeply into my inner being, that it was there for life, branded into my soul. My life's work was prescribed, no matter how difficult, how impossible, my path was set, there could be no turning aside. I would do it, no matter what happened.
website: https://marcus-clark.blogspot.com/
Search Inside Yourself
Increase productivity, creativity and happiness by Chade-Meng Tan
Chade-Meng Tan is a Google engineer who with the assistance of some Zen Masters and some friends, devised an extraordinary mental program: Search Inside Yourself. Chade’s work at Google has been science-based, developing the incredible programs that go on inside Google headquarters. Google has long been at the forefront of…
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APPLE TREE YARD, by Louise Doughty
APPLE TREE YARD, by Louise Doughty
apple tree yard
The novel opens with the description of a court case. The woman writing the story is on trial with a man — but we do not know what crime they have committed. Was it murder, espionage, theft? The writer describes the critical moment in the court when everything falls apart. After this, the book goes back to the start, the point at which the events began.
The first person…
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The Narrow Road to the Deep North
Richard Flanagan The Man Booker Prize for Fiction is a literary prize awarded each year for the best original novel published in the UK and written in English. It is the most highly regarded prize for literature in the UK. The 2014 winner was the Australian author, Richard Flanagan’s novel, The Narrow Road to the Deep North.
The novel is based on the struggle of Australian soldiers to stay alive…
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Power Without Glory
Frank Hardy
Before I read Power Without Glory, I had a politically simple view of the world. Of course I knew corruption existed, it was just that I expected politicians, church leaders, police commissioners, and even betting agencies to be — if not honest — then, almost honest.
The story is largely set in Melbourne, Australia, starting in 1890. It is about the rise of a man the novel calls…
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Growing up on the Spectrum
Growing up on the Spectrum
A guide to Life, Love, and Learning for Teens and Young Adults with Autism and Asperger’s by Lynnn Kern Koegel, Ph.D., and Claire LaZebnik (2009)
There are over half a million Americans under the age of twenty-one who are autistic. In the 1960s only one in every 2,500 children was diagnosed as autistic, now it is one in every 150. Autism has a wide range of intensity, that is why it is called a…
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Autism All-Stars
How we use our autism and asperger traits to shine in life
Edited by Josie Santomauro
If you are a “normal” person, you might see little point to reading a book about Asperger Syndrome. Yet if you do read it, you will be surprised at how the people in this book gradually overcame their limitations to become experts in their own field.
More importantly you will widen your understanding of…
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JASPER JONES by Craig Silvey
JASPER JONES by Craig Silvey
This novel, set in Australia in 1965, tells the story of thirteen-year-old Charlie Bucktin who becomes involved in a terrible crime with the precocious, street-smart, Jasper Jones. The story, while centering around teenagers, and told by a teenager, is suitable–even intended–for adults by its use of language and ideas.
The action takes place in a country town in Western Australia, but it…
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I SHALL NOT HATE
I SHALL NOT HATE
Dr. IZZELDIN ABUELAISH A Gaza doctor’s journey on the road to peace and human dignity.
This is an autobiographical account of Dr Izzeldin Abuelaish. He was born in a refugee camp in the Gaza Strip in 1955. His family valued education and, as he was a good student, he won a scholarship to study medicine in Egypt. He eventually became a doctor specialising in obstetrics and gynaecology. He…
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THE POISONWOOD BIBLE
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver is a fascinating novel set in the Belgian Congo around 1960. The family relating the story are the wife and children of an American Baptist missionary — a stern, authoritarian old-world missionary. His beliefs are prejudiced against anything that is not part of his own culture. He has an unshakeable belief in the superiority of his culture, ethnic race,…
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All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
Book Review
Literary Awards Pulitzer Prize for Fiction (2015), Audie Award for Fiction (2015), ALA Alex Award (2015), Dayton Literary Peace Prize for Fiction (Runner-Up) (2015), Andrew Carnegie Medal for Fiction (2015) …more
The story revolves around a blind French girl and a German boy who eventually meet towards the end of WW2 in occupied France. The father and his blind daughter flee Paris for…
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Rabbit Redux by John Updike
It must look like I’m a sluggish reader since I have had RABBIT REDUX listed as my current read for a couple of months. It looks worse than it is, first I don’t list technical books I’m reading, or books that I don’t like. The second reason is I have read Rabbit Redux three times since listing it.
I’ve read a lot of John Updike’s books over the years, but to say he is my favourite author is not…
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The best opening lines from novels
1. You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go. — Dr. Suess, Oh The Places You’ll Go. (1990)
2. Call me Ishmael. — Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851)
3. It is a truth universallyacknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good…
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Remembrance Day
Today is Remembrance Day, November 11 . We are to remember all those who died in war, all those injured, all those who survived. Yet sometimes it seems more like a celebration, a parade. Yes, it’s good that it’s over, but was the war really necessary? Where are the regrets for the war? Wouldn’t it be better to try harder to prevent war? Of course that is no easy task. But war must always be…
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The Eve of Destruction
The Eve of Destruction
THE EVE OF DESTRUCTION is a novel about America edging toward nuclear war with the Soviet Union. It would be a war that might kill hundreds of millions of people and poison the atmosphere for fifty years.
In October 1962, American spy planes photographed missiles loaded with nuclear warheads in Cuba. The Soviet Union was installing the missiles, and they could reach targets in the USA within…
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