Guest Post by Carolyn Dille.

How many tree whispers and shouts can you hear? How many mysteries and histories are there in wood and water, bird and human, ice and insect? How much do you like to travel? Go with George David Haskell to explore these questions and many others. He takes us far beyond tree rings and photosynthesis, far below roots and above crowns, though we visit those too when we read of his forest adventures around the world as a researcher and teacher of biology and environmental studies.

Listening to Haskell’s lush language, alive with many forest voices—maples and green ash in suburbs and forests, and Sabal palm forest in Georgia dunes—we attune to the wonders of our own senses of sound and touch and sight. Trees have developed their own suite of senses: They sense when water is fresh or salt and know how much to take up and conserve. How to shorten and wax-coat leaves in dry climates.

We meet individual trees and hear their rhythms throughout a year and into their afterlife. That afterlife is part of the larger symphony of nature, where the sounds and touches and sights include every sentient creature’s life and afterlife.

From an Amazon forest preserve in Ecuador where the ceibo tree is a living deity, through Echizen, capitol of Japanese artisan wood paper, with stops in New York City to listen to street trees, to the Florissant Fossil Beds in southern Colorado, and to other places with their own tree songs, Haskell writes the music of trees in a language that allows us to tune into the symphony of terrestrial life.

The Songs of Trees: Stories from Nature’s Great Connectors by David George Haskell. Penguin Random House, April 2018.

Reviewer bio: Carolyn is a poet and a Soto Zen priest who leads art and meditation retreats and workshops. She lives in Santa Cruz, California.

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Guest Post by Kayla Berryman.

In Pain Studies, published in 2020 by Bellevue Literary Press, Lisa Olstein explores her relationship between pain and chronic migraines with the simple statement that “all pain is simple. And all pain is complex. You’re in it and you want to get out.”

From there Olstein takes readers through the explorations and complexities of pain by connecting pain to language, medical dramas, translations, and surprisingly, Joan of Arc. Readers will see echoes and references of Eula Biss’s lyric essay “The Pain Scale,” as well as references to the works of the poet and translator Anne Carson, among other poets. Olstein asks readers to consider migraine as “a particular version of the present. What happens when its present becomes yours for extended periods of time, for a significant portion of your life?”

Pain Studies by Lisa Olstein. Bellevue Literary Press, March 2020.

Reviewer bio: Kayla Berryman is a graduate student at Utah State University.

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Guest Post by Hamilton Davis.

The early 1970s were rough on Vermont’s criminal justice system. Central to that era was the long criminal career of Paul Lawrence, the bad cop who, while working as an undercover narcotics agent for state and local police, framed more than 100 young Vermonters on drug charges. Lawrence’s depredations managed to contaminate the whole justice system—state police and several prosecutors and judges—and his crimes and the resulting turmoil put Vermont on front pages across the land.

One public official deeply affected by the Lawrence mess was Kimberly Cheney, a Yale Law School graduate and a Republican, who had just been elected in 1972 as Vermont’s attorney general. Cheney, in his candid memoir A Lawyer’s Life to Live, tells much about his life in Montpelier, Vermont, as attorney general but also, earlier and later, as a small-town private attorney and county prosecutor. He describes all the moral quandaries, deal-making, the courtroom dramas, and the shenanigans that readers would expect from an observant lawyer-turned-author.

But what he also offers is a striking assessment of what became known as the “Paul Lawrence Affair.” Lawrence’s crimes were committed long ago, but Cheney’s book is an important reminder of how things can go wrong. The author is as tough on himself as he is on other players who were far more involved in that affair. That’s a quality that is rare and praiseworthy in the literature of public life.

A Lawyer’s Life to Live: A Memoir by Kim Cheney. Rootstock Publishing, February 2021.  

Reviewer bio: Hamilton E. Davis has been a journalist and policy analyst for more than 50 years. He is the author Mocking Justice: America’s Biggest Drug Scandal (Crown Publishers, 1978).

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Guest Post by Kevin Wiberg.

This is a little book with a big heart and a lot of common sense.

In the fast-paced, high-stress world of securing competitive funding, it can be easy to chase opportunities and lose sight of what matters most—the people and communities who rely on the success of your work. While chasing the dollars is often driven by the organizational imperative to survive, it is an ineffective and uninspired strategy to engage grantmakers.

As my career has moved from grantseeker to grantmaker, Barbara Floersch has identified critical themes and strategies that I continue to look for when evaluating proposals. Don’t assume a grantmaker knows who you are and what you do; but do assume that most grantmakers will be deeply grounded in the fields, populations, and issues that your organization addresses.

A critical part of your organization’s work is to demonstrate competency, document a solid grounding in data trends from national to local levels, promising and best practices, identify who else does similar work, and how your organization collaborates with others to produce efficient and impactful outcomes. These are just a few of the critical lessons Floersch has shared with thousands of grantseekers around the US and internationally. I credit Floersch’s teaching and mentorship over the years with my success in securing millions of public and private dollars and these lessons continues to inform my work as a grantmaker.

A real strength of Floersch’s new book is her engaging and authentic communications style. She practices what she preaches, and I’m so pleased she continues to share her knowledge with a genuine interest in your organization’s success in addressing critical and compelling social issues and needs.

You Have a Hammer: Building Grant Proposals for Social Change by Barbara Floersch, Rootstock Publishing, January 2021.

Reviewer bio: Kevin Wiberg lives in Vermont and is the Philanthropic Advisor for Community Engagement at The Vermont Community Foundation.

Guest Post by J. Gauner.

As a literary pilgrim and a John Steinbeck scholar, John J. Han has traveled to Japan since 2007 to attend the annual Steinbeck conference and roam to some famous literary sites and Zen temples to pay his respects to iconic writers such as Matsuo Basho, Masaoka Shiki, and Yasunari Kawabata and delight himself in learning about Japanese culture. His literary travels have borne fruit, a collection of ten photo essays titled On the Road Again, which follows the footprints of Matsuo Basho’s well-known work, The Narrow Road to the Deep North, a poetic narrative in the form of haibun.

Han’s collection visually presents the literary sites he has visited. The unique lenses bring the reader the mindscape of the author’s literary pilgrimage and sensibility to Japanese literature and culture.

Like a tour guide who has a backpack of stories, Han leads the reader to see the sites and “listen” to his narratives. Sometimes he offers his own haiku to accompany his photos. For example, his response to the replica of Basho’s hut sounds pleasant, though slightly ironic:

a long pilgrimage
to Basho’s hut
a fake front

Another interesting part of Han’s book is that some captions provide useful information for better understanding of the sites presented by his photos. Below is the one accompanying the photo about Masaoka Shiki writing his death haiku (used also as the book cover):

Shiki died of tuberculosis at the young age of thirty-four. In this scene, displayed in the Shiki Museum, he writes three death poems (jisei) in haiku form on September 18, 1902, one day before his passing.

Han includes Shiki’s three death haiku in the caption to satisfy the reader’s curiosity. For some photos, especially the ones on the Basho and Shiki haiku rocks, it would make the tours more curious if he includes haiku in the captions.

Han’s literary pilgrimage helps him understand that “one of the best ways to maintain international peace is to learn about each other’s cultural heritage.” He believes this learning can start with a visit to famous literary sites because “literature is one of the best ways to understand and connect with people of another country.” Han gets his mission into literary travels in On the Road Again.

On the Road Again by John J. Han. Cyberwit, 2020.

Guest Post by Claude Clayton Smith.

I was 13 in 1957 when my junior high English teacher asked us to read a book about someone in the career to which we aspired. I enjoyed school, so I figured I’d become a teacher. Happily, I found what I thought was the perfect book at our town library—My Life As A Teacher by John Erskine. But no doubt its opening sentence spun my 13-year-old head:

Nothing in education needs explaining more than this, that a teacher may be neither a professor nor an educator, that a professor may mature to the age of retirement without teaching or educating, and that an educator, without loss of reputation, may profess nothing, and never face a class.

Sixty-four years later, after ten years of teaching English at the secondary level and thirty as a professor at the university level, I appreciate what Erskine was saying. But all I could remember from junior high was that he had taught at Amherst College.

Re-reading Erskine confirmed my best instincts. “I wanted to be a teacher,” Erskine wrote, “and I wanted to write.” In the classroom he developed writers by “encouraging each individual to discover for himself the manner and the style which was natural and characteristic.” The teacher’s part was “to connect the reading with the pupil’s experience.” What could be more simple or obvious?

Erskine began teaching at Amherst in 1903, and later, at Columbia, became the father of the Great Books course. There were negatives, certainly. At Amherst, Erskine found his students ill-prepared and had to institute a course in spelling. (“The elements should have been acquired in high school English.”) Erskine also soon discovered that: “No professor is thought so necessary as the coach.”

It’s now 2021. What else is new?

My Life As A Teacher by John Erskine. J.P. Lippencott Company, 1948.

Reviewer bio: Claude Clayton Smith, professor emeritus of English at Ohio Northern University, is the author of eight books and co-editor/translator of four others. His website is: claudeclaytonsmith.wordpress.com.

Guest Post by Michael Coolen.

“I remember coming to one village whose streets were black with priests, and its taverns full of seething atheists.”

Almost every page of Laurie Lee’s memoir As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning: A Memoir is filled with redolent writing. Like many writers supplanted by magical realists, deconstructing whiners, and much less gifted authors, Laurie Lee is receding into the past for many readers who don’t even know his name, much less his exquisite writing.

As a composer and pianist for many decades, I draw inspiration and comfort not only from contemporary music, but from music from the distant to ancient past. Similarly, from time to time I seek out writers from the distant past, Virgil, Herodotus, et al., whose writing confirms to me that Time is just a word we use to measure grief and laughter and insight and children and love.

A friend with similar tastes introduced me to the writings of Laurie Lee just recently. I did not even know who he was. And now I can’t wait to read everything he ever wrote, where every page can contain sentences like the following: “Segovia was a city in a valley of stones—a compact, half-forgotten heap of architectural splendours built for the glory of some other time.”

As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning: A Memoir by Laurie Lee. Nonpareil Books, 2011.

Reviewer bio: Michael Coolen is an Oregon writer/pianist. He is also a composer, with works performed Carnegie Hall, MoMA, the Christie Gallery, Europe, Japan, and Russia.

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Guest Post by Glen Donaldson.

Last year I went along to see an arthouse movie a lot of people were raving about starring William Dafoe and Robert Pattison called The Lighthouse. I wasn’t that fussed on it but it led me to seek out an autobiography of sorts published the same year called The Last Lighthouse Keeper.

Exhilarating, profound and exquisitely written, probably the highest compliment you can pay a memoir once you’re done reading it is think to yourself—even if it’s only for a few brief moments—”I wish I’d lived that life.” That’s how I feel about The Last Lighthouse Keeper.

John Cook spent twenty-six years as one of Australia’s longest serving lighthouse keepers. In the 1960’s, he was running a service station and picking up the pieces after a marriage breakup. Seeing an ad one day in the local newspaper, he applied for a position with the Australian Commonwealth Lighthouse Service. So began his decades-long love affair with ‘a life in the lights.’

The book centers chiefly on his time spent on two Tasmanian lighthouse islands, Tasman and Maatsuyker (the last spot between Australia and Antarctica). It ends with his transfer to a third, Bruny, where he stayed on for another 15 years.

The presiding tone of the book is summarized on page 55 when the author, referring to his first posting on Tasman Island, notes, “Either people come here crazy or this place turns them that way.”

From fisticuffs with fellow lighthouse keepers to removing his own rotten teeth with a wood punch to the microscopic gaps in brickwork that, via howling winds, could turn a lighthouse into an oversized whistle and drive a person insane with the sound, this book is crammed full of riveting anecdotes.

Simply one of the best reads I’ve ever enjoyed.

The Last Lighthouse Keeper by John Cook with Jon Bauer. Allen & Unwin, July 2020.

Reviewer bio: Glen Donaldson pens weekly and uniquely at both SCENIC WRITER’S SHACK and LOST IN SPACE FIRESIDE.

Guest Post by M.G. Noles.

Never Give In!: The Best of Winston Churchill’s Speeches is a book that lends itself to this hour in history when nothing seems certain. This collection, assembled by his grandson, Winston S. Churchill, includes his many famous speeches and some that are less widely known.

At this moment, while the entire world seems to be holding its collective breath, Churchill’s words offer hope and solace. His extraordinary knowledge and insight glisten though these speeches. His call for bravery and courage strike a vibrant chord at a time when tomorrow seems to be as unstable as anything we have ever known.

Take a moment to read his speeches and find yourself infused with a sense of destiny and the hope that we may overcome this dark hour just as the British overcame theirs in WWII. As he most nobly said, “We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.”

Never Give In!: The Best of Winston Churchill’s Speeches by Winston S. Churchill. Hachette Books, November 2004.

Reviewer bio: M.G. Noles is a freelance writer and history buff.

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Guest Post by Kim Horner.

The first time I heard of Audre Lorde was on a Facebook page for women who had gone flat or who, like me, were considering going flat after having mastectomies. Posted on the site was one of the poet’s striking quotes: “If we are to translate the silence surrounding breast cancer into language and action against this scourge, then the first step is that women with mastectomies must become visible to each other.”

Lorde wrote those words in The Cancer Journals, a collection of essays about her breast cancer experience. First published in 1980 and reprinted this past October, the author’s entries still resonate decades later as she confronts her diagnosis and questions the norms and expectations for women facing the disease. Especially powerful are Lorde’s passages about not wearing a prosthesis after her single mastectomy. In one entry, she says a disapproving nurse told her that not wearing her foam padding was bad for “morale” in the breast surgeon’s office.

Lorde’s work comes as many women continue to face social pressure to have reconstruction or wear prostheses. More than 40 years after its initial publication, The Cancer Journals is inspiring new generations of women to deal with breast cancer on their own terms. Lorde’s essays, as Tracy K. Smith writes in her new foreword, serve as a “guide to survival for the twenty-first century body and soul.”

The Cancer Journals by Audre Lorde, with a new foreword by Tracy K. Smith. Penguin Classic, October 2020.

Reviewer bio: Kim Horner, author of Probably Someday Cancer: Genetic Risk and Preventative Mastectomy, is a writer who lives in Richardson, Texas. Connect with her at kimdhorner.com.

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Guest Post by James Gering.

The rudimentary jacket design of this book is deceptive—you suspect 179 Ways to be another generic book on craft. Not so. What you have here is a treasure trove of writing insights delivered in no-nonsense fashion by a natural teacher and wordsmith. Peter Selgin expertly balances analysis of craft with the more elusive elements of art to deliver a masterful study of fiction at its best.

179 Ways begins by addressing that perennially perplexing issue—is autobiographical material taboo? No, Selgin says, so long as you deftly employ the imagination to elevate the substance of your story into the realm of art. The challenge lies in sifting through the dross to find the dream—fresh events that defy mere anecdote, have a current of emotional significance, and a sense of inevitability.

Selgin supports his flow of ideas with pertinent references to successful stories and novels. What often distinguishes the master works, he says, are two things: a sense of authenticity and an unswerving flair for storytelling. In other words, be true to the work and find the drama in your tale.

Let me finish this brief commentary with a Selgin quote from the final section, “Each of us must strike our own balance between Apollonian impulses (harmonious, measured, ordered) and Dionysian (wild, orgiastic, unbounded) . . . . However we do it, somehow we have to find ways to put our own visions into the heads of strangers.”

After 30 years of collecting books on the art and craft of writing, three hundred of them grace my study shelves. Peter Selgin’s text is one of my top five.

179 Ways to Save a Novel by Peter Selgin. Writer’s Digest Books, 2010.

Reviewer bio: James Gering is a poet and short story writer from the Blue Mountains in Australia. He welcomes visitors at jamesgering.com.