Massie, Allan. Dark Summer in Bordeaux. London: Quartet, 2012.

Something comforting about sequels or book series: the same characters, some nice, some not. Rather like a family with whom you become reacquainted, and, good or bad, you can’t wait to see them again. So true with Massie’s four-book offering set during World War II.
 
Near the end of Death in Bordeaux, Lannes, la police judiciaire detective, manages to see that his son Dominique is released from his military POW camp in Germany. It is through a Faustian deal that he accomplishes this feat, but the act pleases Lannes’s wife no end, not to mention Lannes himself and his other two children. The family is once again intact. The murder from the first book, Death in Bordeaux,  remains a secret, but now Lannes is faced with a new situation just as diabolical as in his first novel.
 
I thought the gay character (corpse with his penis in his mouth) was a one-off, but not so. In this sequel, Léon, a young chap who works in a bookshop (for the man whose brother was murdered) is quietly gay himself, not to mention being good friends with Lannes’s son, Alain, who is straight. Well. A young German soldier begins to flirt with Léon when he comes into the bookshop. Turns out they are being observed by an enemy operative who wishes to entrap the soldier. He enlists young Léon by raping him and saying that worse will happen if he does not help him to snare his German quarry. Reluctantly, but realizing he has no choice, Léon does the operative’s bidding. Later, the soldier will kill himself.
 
There is much more to this sequel which kept me turning the pages faster than the first one, and if you’re into sort-of murder mysteries, more thrillers, actually, then you may like this series. Oh, and this book might be renamed The Unsaid. Throughout there exist any number of inner monologues in which Lannes and others voice only through their thoughts what they would like to say aloud. Perhaps Massie is suggesting what it is like to live in German-occupied France during World War II. Effective in any case. Mum’s the word!
 
One caveat: the publisher does not seem to employ a very competent copy editor. Each book has close to a half-dozen errors in each (in Dark Summer, page 89, one main character’s name, Miriam, is misspelled, M-i-r-i-a-n). This kind of sloppiness spoils an otherwise pleasant reading experience.

Up Next:
MON 9/29: WHAT I'M THINKING ... 
TUES 9/30: A Writer's Wit | Laura Esquivel
WEDS 10/01: A Writer's Wit | Faith Baldwin
THURS 10/02: A Writer's Wit | Terence Winter
FRI 10/03: A Writer's Wit | Gore Vidal
      My Book World | TBD

​When I heard that Charlie Kirk had been assassinated on September 10, I, for a moment, went dead. It was similar to the feeling I’ve had every time a public figure in our country has been killed—beginning at age fifteen when my political hero John F. Kennedy was struck down. And in 1981, when my fifth-grade students cheered upon hearing Reagan had been shot, I roared, “Hey, hey, haaaay,” and shared with them the dead feeling I once again felt. Never mind that I didn’t agree with a single one of Reagan’s policies, couldn’t stand the sight of him, the sound of his greasy voice. No one had a right to take a shot at the man. Killing was not the answer.
 
After Kirk’s demise, a better angel seemed to appear on my shoulder (right or left? I can’t recall), once again suggesting (nay, insisting) that killing is never an answer to a disagreement: Thou shalt not kill. The angel’s darker cousin sat on my other shoulder and whispered, Perhaps Charlie reapeth what he soweth? Funny thing, I read in a newspaper article that a schoolteacher who posted those very words online (reap/sow) was summarily fired or suspended. Stupid of her. Teachers are public figures, in their own way, and they must be excruciatingly discriminating about what they post on social media. But . . . I have a feeling many of us are lambasted with the same conflict: the intellectualization that killing is horribly wrong and the visceral, almost Neanderthal conviction that maybe the guy got what was coming to him. LET ME BE CLEAR: I do NOT believe that. Yet think about it: Though Kirk said in so many (and I mean MANY) words that he was a Christian, methinks perhaps other words and actions of his were not so kind. To vilify people of color, LGBTQ persons, anyone who doesn’t fit the politically correct image for SuperWhiteChristianNationalism—which Charlie did with great vigor—is an action that does not quack like the duck of Christendom I was brought up with (and yet rejected, I must confess, for its own prejudices against LGBTQ persons). I acknowledge I should not judge poor Charlie and his followers, lest I be judged myself and quite harshly. I don’t want to get shot for publicly stating my opinion, for Christ’s sake!
 
Ah, fear of being shot. That is an interesting proposition. In my opinion, the second amendment to the Constitution is an ambiguous, even poorly written statement. Perhaps it is not even grammatical, one that does not clearly state what it may (or may not) imply—sounding as if it were hastily tossed off one afternoon because its authors were, well, tired—which I believe some sources say the men involved were. Tired.

​Of course, I am wrong. The assertion is grammatical, “well regulated Militia” being the subject of the sentence followed by a double appositive (perhaps), and then the verb phrase, “shall not be infringed.” But do we as a nation follow it, do we really live by it? Let’s see, yes we do possess perhaps one of the best and most well regulated militias in the world if you consider only our professional military forces. God, yes. Our soldiers are fine sharpshooters also imbued with restraint and trained to employ judgment (wait till you see the whites of their eyes).
 
It is our PRIVATE militia that gives me pause. In their defense, millions of American gun owners, in fact, the majority of them, have never and will never, in all probability, kill another human being. Why? Because they’ve been trained by a loving father or other relative (Aunt Annie Oakley) to know when to shoot and when not. Or perhaps they’ve taken lessons from a professional staff. In any case, they’ve been trained to maintain and store weapons safely. A neighbor or friend might not even realize that they own guns. These good citizens we must protect. They participate in legal hunting which helps keep herd counts down among certain species (us poor Texans and our javelina infestation). These good citizens are at the ready if a neighbor should need them. They are prepared if someone should invade their home, their private space of any kind. But what about our private militia members who have not been trained?
 
Millions more of these untrained gunowners exist, and we must ask ourselves, are these parties being well regulated, as our dear second amendment suggests so lightly but clearly? In the name of safety we already require that automobile drivers must pass written and driving tests to secure a license—even if thousands still die yearly from accidents. Is our private militia well regulated when almost anyone can buy a gun of any type, including military-style automatic weapons engineered to kill people FAST? Is our private militia well regulated when absolutely no one is required to be trained (as our professional militia is) or required to pass basic tests over weaponry and state and federal laws concerning gun ownership and safety? Is it well regulated when anyone can buy any kind of weapon online without the knowledge of any governing board or governmental (state or federal) authority of any kind? Is it well regulated when anyone can attend one the myriad gun shows staged across America and purchase any kind of weapon including military weapons capable of killing huge numbers of human beings?
 
I say not. This huge mélange of people and their firearms are NOT being well regulated. What to do about it? It’s going to take the will of congress and a courageous president to change things. And it will take the will of a great flood of people to make that kind of congress truly representative of what a majority of Americans vote. If a variety of national polls are to be believed, the majority of Americans long for gun safety laws of some kind. O Master Google AI declares on the day I’m writing this piece:

​Would such laws eliminate all school shootings and political assassinations, not to mention the “little” assassinations taking place in our neighborhoods every day? I should say not. But would it not be better to save as many lives as possible, instead of relying on thoughts and prayers to get us through to the next killing field? I say yes. To so-called Originalist interpreters of the Constitution I declare: When the second amendment was written, it took perhaps 30 seconds to reload a musket. Take note, supreme court justices: Times have changed, and so should your thinking; you’re not being consistent if you believe a musket is equal to an AR-15 in any manner! Moreover, other industrialized countries, including Australia and most western European countries, already have established effective gun laws. We do not have to reinvent the wheel. We can learn from other nations, what laws work and what ones don’t, and strive toward a more perfect union for us all—if that’s what we the majority really want. And I believe it is.
 
Even if I didn’t concur with Kirk, I feel a dead spot in my life because of his loss. No matter the politician, no matter the individual you may disagree with , murder is never the answer.

Shapiro, Laurie Gwen. The Aviator and the Showman: Amelia Earhart, George Putnam, and the Marriage That Made an American Icon. New York: Viking, 2025.

I grew up in the state of Kansas, and, as a child I heard a lot about aviatrix Amelia Earhart. The ironic thing I learn from this biography is that she and her family don’t spend all that much time in her hometown of Atchison. Yet her brief life there is foundational because her well-to-do grandparents see to it that she and her sister are educated by way of local elite schools. Amelia will later graduate from Columbia University in NYC. Another surprise for me: Although Earhart does become a noted pilot, her main career is that of social worker, and she stays with it a number of years before beginning to devote more time to aviation.
 
Most readers realize how and when Earhart is going to die, but Shapiro does seem to “foreshadow” Amelia’s path to that end throughout the book, beginning with “However, dating an aviator came with exasperating asterisks, and Sam lived in fear that he might one day discover his sometimes girlfriend, whose commitment he was finally winning over, had perished, despite spending hours in the field” (68). In addition, Amelia experiences several aviation failures, including crashes that destroy a number of expensive airplanes.
 
The book skillfully weaves together the stories of two individuals, Amelia Earhart and her husband George Palmer Putnam, and both narratives are important in order to understand the couple as a “unit.” Putnam is heir to the Putnam and Sons publishing empire, but though George works there for some time, he never flourishes to the degree that he becomes qualified to take over the reins when the opportunity arises. Instead, he becomes sort of a high-class huckster, selling (mostly) literary talent—but most especially he promotes the aviation career of his wife. Earhart, it turns out, isn’t as disciplined as she should be. For one, she doesn’t put in enough flight hours to be top-notch, and later on, particularly during her final hours over the Pacific Ocean, her failure to master Morse code will more than likely affect her ability to handle the perilous situation she sets up for herself and her alcoholic navigator, Fred Noonan (yet another error in judgment, but because of her weak reputation she can’t find a more reputable person to fly with her).
 
Shapiro sums up Earhart’s epic failure in 1937 this way: “The technical limitations of Amelia’s onboard equipment soon became apparent. Inadequate equipment, an off-calibrated compass, and erroneous chart coordinates converged into a navigational catastrophe. These issues, worsened by unexpected headwinds and a major navigational deviation, led to a bleak conclusion: Amelia Earhart and Fred Noon had vanished, possibly due to running out of fuel. Luck had been a lady before, but this time, she could no longer outrun fate” (388).
 
Though Shapiro is an excellent journalist and writer, I can’t help but be put off by some typos and sloppy copyediting:
 
Here Shapiro is writing in the past tense but then she shifts to the present for no apparent reason: “When the crayon heiress felt that a bigger house was needed and asked her parents for the money, George couldn’t be more pleased” (14). “. . . couldn’t have been more pleased” seems the preferable usage here, and I wonder why a copyeditor doesn’t catch the slip.
 
Needless repetition: “George told the candidate that he wanted to do one more discreet background check but would report back as soon as he could” (88). How about eliminating the second “back”?
 
Needless repetition: “. . . a protective smile gracing her face as memories of her own childhood curiosities flooded back. With her background as a social worker . . .” (148). How about “flooding into her mind” or similar?
 
Needless repetition: “. . . leaving him furious after defeat. After Elinor underwent . . .” (182). How about replacing the first “after” with “following”?
 
Needless repetition: “She recounted an encounter with a flock of pigeons . . .” (283). These are both embedded in other words but repetition is still avoidable. How about “She recounted a set-to with a flock of pigeons”?
 
Overall, I wish to say that the book is a very satisfying read, especially for fans of Amelia Earhart. It certainly gives readers a fuller and more accurate view of the woman’s life than the short feature I was forced to teach my sixth graders from the basal reader in the 1980s. Nothing there indicated Fred Noonan’s alcoholism or Earhart’s shortcomings.

​Up Next:
MON 9/22: WHAT I'M THINKING ... 
TUES 9/23: A Writer's Wit | Liz Murray
WEDS 9/24: A Writer's Wit | F. Scott Fitzgerald 
THURS 9/25: A Writer's Wit | Barbara Walters
FRI 9/26: A Writer's Wit | T. S. Eliot
      My Book World | Allan Massie, Dark Summer in Bordeaux

 ​In the days of the simple black rotary dialer, you might get a sales call, but it would be someone local, and you’d politely say (unless you were a bit irritated and then you’d be somewhat curt), “I’m not interested, thank you.” Or the party, if they could keep you on the line, might try to engage you further in the interest of their product, service, gewgaw. It was capitalism at its simplest: “I have something to sell, you have nothing to lose by buying it!” In any case, the encounter (hardly a conversation) would end politely, the party calling not wanting to alienate a possible future customer. That was back in the day—the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s—and then in the 1980s with advent of answering machines, we could shut out those people almost entirely. At that point some sort of poison may have begun to seep into the sweet business of capitalism and telemarketing.
 
My partner and I must receive at least six calls each per day. He has a landline and a cellphone, so it may be more. This is my cellphone-answering protocol. I put everyone with whom I wish to communicate in my address book (as you may do)—family, friends, medical and commercial connections—and when they call, I can speak to the party if I wish. However, the majority of my calls come from fake or spoofed phone numbers. You know what I’m talking about. The caller, if it is a real person and not a computer-generated voice, isn’t from around here. By way of various methods a caller can assign a certain number to their “phone,” using a particular area code, so that it appears to be local. Yet, if you should try to call the party back, there suddenly is no such number. It’s as if a ghost has called you.
 
I’ve tried so many different ways to deal with these calls. At first, I didn’t answer any unknown party and the party would leave some rambling or sometimes threatening message on my voice mail, the voice mail account THAT I PAY FOR, BTW. Then I decided to answer each and every call and deal with the party directly. This action might result in several different outcomes. One, the party aggressively wished to engage in swindling me out of my money (it’s always that). Two, a computer-generated voice would say something like, “This is Betty. Helloo, are you there? Helloo? (The computer doesn’t always have a great command of English). Three, or NO ONE AT ALL ANSWERS. The other day, I picked up, and a “ringing” signal could be heard as if I were placing the call! It’s all very annoying, and frankly, I don’t know why Americans have come to accept it as normal. It ain’t. And it ain’t a nice way to live your life, neither.
 
Are spoofed numbers legal? No! Especially if the calling party is intending to defraud you in some way: “sell” you a product or service that doesn’t really exist, or in some manner defraud you of your property or money. But what good does a “law” do you if you can’t identify the defrauding parties or (in the case of the police or FBI) hunt them down? I know one thing that could happen. Without going into great detail (google the question of spoofing) congress could get off its butt and do its job. And to give them credit, they have tried, but “tried” isn’t good enough. All Americans deserve to feel safe in their own homes and on their own phones. But I fear, until the issue irritates most Americans the way it irritates and even frightens me, nothing will be done. A line from the recent film Wonka may express it best: “The greedy beat the needy every time,” and there’s no one greedier than someone out to make a quick buck.

Lorca, Federico García. Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca. Edited by Francisco García Lorca and Donald M. Allen. With an introduction by W.S. Merwin. New York: New Directions, 2005 (1955).

A woman who taught Spanish at the high school where I once worked as an English teacher recommended that I read Lorca’s work, that we had “a lot in common.” She may have been referring to the fact that I, too, am gay. Perhaps she meant more.
 
I probably appreciated most of all the poems written when Lorca lived in New York City, not only because it is material with which I am more familiar but because he does seem to touch a nerve concerning our shared sexuality. In “Ode to Walt Whitman,” “the boys were singing showing, their waists” (131), as if to tempt me into this kingdom already tempting me with Whitman himself. Lorca invokes Whitman with descriptors such as “aged,” Whitman, “old man” Whitman and other variations of the grand poet’s name, as if he might rise from the very grave he has occupied, by that time, at least forty years. Almost as if Lorca wishes to crawl into the crypt with his hero.
 
Not for one moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman,
have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies,
nor your shoulders of corduroy worn out by the moon,
nor your thighs of virginal Apollo,
nor your voice like a pillar of ashes:
ancient and beautiful as the mist,
you moaned like a bird
with the sex transfixed by a needle,
enemy of the satyr,
enemy of the vine,
and lover of bodies under the rough cloth (133)
 
I would be tempted to copy out the entire poem for readers, but it is best you secure your own version of the book, underline and savor the passages you wish to remember.
_______________________________________________
Up Next:
MON 9/15: WHAT I'M THINKING ... WHAT HAPPENED TO LABOR DAY?​
TUES 9/16: A Writer's Wit | Lord Bolingbroke
WEDS 9/17: A Writer's Wit | Cheryl Strayed
THURS 9/18: A Writer's Wit | Francis Parker Yockey
FRI 9/19: A Writer's Wit | William Golding
      My Book World | Shapiro, Laurie Gwen. The Aviator and the Showman: Amelia Earhart, George Putnam, and the Marriage That Made an American Icon

. . . what happened to Labor Day? All day on TV’s Smithsonian channel, it was World War II, time slot after time slot. While I appreciate that sort of programming on Memorial Day or Veterans Day, why on Labor Day? Not one hour concerning American’s labor movement?
 
Google AI defines the holiday this way: Labor Day is a federal holiday in the United States celebrated on the first Monday of September to honor and recognize the American labor movement and the works and contributions of laborers to the development and achievements in the United States.  And yet what are some of those contributions? 
 
Google AI continues our edification: The U.S. labor movement is a historic and ongoing effort by workers to gain power through collective action and unions to achieve better wages, safer working conditions, and fairer hours, starting with the Industrial Revolution and evolving through key legislative acts and events. Despite declines in membership since its 1950s peak, the movement has influenced the establishment of the weekend, the 40-hour workweek, public schools, and benefits like pensions and paid leave, and is currently seeing a resurgence with organizing efforts at major companies. 
 
If the Smithsonian and other relevant broadcast stations, even MSNBC, were to consider honoring the true spirit of American labor, they might add to our understanding through some meaningful programming. How about at least an hour on the history of the movement: how it began in the 17th and 18th centuries, when the country moved from a rural to a more urban society (a transition we might still be making)? Perhaps a program or two about the very first unions, their successes, their failures? What about an hour on labor’s major accomplishments over the last 250 years: the forty-hour workweek? How about at least an hour each on key legislative events concerning labor, including the Haymarket Riot (1886), the National Labor Relations Act (1935), or the Great Postal Strike of 1970? Perhaps these programs already exist, and I just haven’t seen them.
 
When I taught public school in Texas, I joined the Federation of Teachers, even though, because of Texas’s right-to-work laws, the organization didn’t have much influence. Why join? For one, it offered a million-dollar liability insurance policy in case a parent or administrator or district took legal action against me. And why might they have done that? Because I am gay, and not long before I began teaching it was possible for teachers across this nation to be fired for being gay. You bet I belonged to the strongest teacher’s union in the nation. I never had to call on that insurance policy, but it was there each year, allowing me to teach with confidence, without fear that I might lose my job just because I loved another man and lived with him openly in a conservative West Texas city. Most of all, I enjoyed being part of a strong national organization that exclusively defended teachers’ rights, unlike other Texas teacher groups that sometimes included administrators and their interests. I also joined to stand, coast-to-coast, with a much larger group of professionals. Solidarity!
 
Yes, we should really rethink our observance of Labor Day, include some parades sponsored by current labor union members, floats that celebrate the history, the legislative gains, the dreams that labor still has for the future. Yes, that might be a beginning for a better Labor Day holiday. Then the celebrative picnics in the backyards of Americans might mean something more than a time to down a beer or two and smoke our favorite meats outdoors one more time before summer passes. A more enlightened celebration might (gasp) guide ever younger and newer laborers to join or form a union protecting their work places. What could be more American! Oh, by the way, speaking of Google . . . nice tribute!

Hao, Karen. Empire of AI: Dreams and Nightmares in Sam Altman’s OpenAI. New York:  Penguin, 2025

I occasionally read out of my fields of study (literature, writing, and music) or out of my depth, to give myself a challenge. In the case of this title, I have done both, but once having begun the task, I was determined to finish the book. I perhaps liken the experience to being a second-year French student attempting to read Camus or Molière; you might comprehend only a fraction of what you’re reading. Problems for the general citizen hoping to understand Artificial Intelligence (AI) can be considerable: apprehending modern technology in general; absorbing specialized vocabulary (AI engenders a very slick and plentiful argot); and fully grasping the culture of people in this field who may believe that AI is capable of solving all human problems, and that there is very little chance that AI could ever advance far enough to think for itself and thus rule our lives without human intervention.
 
As the subtitle would seem to indicate, the book is about one forty-year-old-man named Sam Altman, the CEO of his own company, OpenAI. It begins as a nonprofit, using its lofty goals of employing AI technology to benefit all humanity. However, the organization gets lost in the weeds along the way. Repeatedly, throughout the book, Hao demonstrates a certain duplicity on the part of Altman. He assuages one party in the company by taking their side and then does the very same thing with a different party. Then he acts all What? Me? when confronted. It is a behavior that cannot be sustained over time, especially in light of the fact that the company, and Altman particularly, begin to make money by the fistful. 
 
There are two chapters out of the twenty or so that regular people will more readily understand. One is when Hao takes readers to South America (Venezuela) to view how OpenAI exploits its employees there to perform tasks for cheap that no one in the States would do: really tedious work for which workers are paid literally pennies for each task. In other words, AI uses—let’s be honest—slave labor. Oh, and along with its other insipient problems, OpenAI consumes a great deal of electricity which, in turn, creates a great deal of heat. Such heat must be reduced by using cooling units like water, exhausting a resource already in short supply in Venezuela (later the company does develop air-cooled methods).

​Another chapter is about Annie, Altman’s younger sister, who, through a series of misadventures winds up nearly destitute. Her family members believe that she is largely responsible for her own misfortunes, and they do not help her beyond minimal financial gestures. Sam Altman, the family member who, by now is the most able to help his sister, does perhaps the least. The situation becomes stickier when she accuses him, quite convincingly to readers (although Hao makes it clear we cannot know for sure), that he has sexually molested her throughout her childhood. The remaining chapters of the book, at least to this reader, are largely written for people in the biz.
 
Readers must understand the vocabulary of AI, that “compute” is no longer a verb but a noun, according to Hao, “a term of art for computation resources, that Open AI would need to achieve major breakthroughs in AI capabilities” (59). As in “Does the program have enough compute to do the job?” Although Hao does define certain words from their first use, it would also be nice for the publisher to provide readers with a glossary should there be a second edition in the offing (that is if the publisher is really attempting to inform the hoi polloi about AI). Despite this shortcoming, Hao is a well-respected and well-informed journalist who has done a tremendous multi-year job of researching the heck out of this book, yet, for the most part, it is not easy for the non-IT person to understand. Seems as if there might be two books squeezed between these covers: one about AI and its many wonders and downfalls, its unexplored routes of endeavor. The other is about the miscreant personality of one man who gains power too early in his life and does not know how to manage it. If one wants to read about how these two subjects merge, then this is that book. Happy reading!