The Top Shelf: Best Reads of 2012 Edition

As 2012 draws to a close, the interwebs are flooded with year-end lists: the best-dressed, the worst-dressed, the best and worst movies, the most memorable moments, etc. I am not in a position to offer an opinion on the best books of 2012, since I don't keep up with the latest publications, but I did make my own list--the best books I read in 2012, broken up by genre--which was recently posted on Schaeffer's Ghost. Here's an excerpt:

Best Romance: A Long Fatal Love Chase, by Louisa May Alcott 

Did you know that Louisa May Alcott, she of the quaintly wholesome Little Women, also wrote insanely outlandish romance novels? Well, she did, and they are awesome. A Long Fatal Love Chase is full of improbably named villains with nefarious intentions and a lovely heroine whose flight from said villain takes her from yacht to convent to mental institution, through an assortment of disguises, forbidden love, and daring escapes. In short, it is flat out bonkers, and I loved every minute of it. 

Honorable Mention: A Modern Mephistopheles, by Louisa May Alcott

Full post available here.

True Grit, by Charles Portis

****

An excerpt of a review posted on Schaeffer's Ghost:

Still, for all [Mattie's] bible thumping and “moral” behavior, there does not appear to be much evidence of grace in her life. Her quest for Chaney, though in her eyes merely the pursuit of justice, is vengeance, plain and simple. Sure, she wants to bring him back so the law can punish him for his crime. But if she can’t, she’ll shoot him where he stands. And when La Beouf tries to convince her that it’s all the same whether Chaney stands trial for her father’s murder or for the murder of another man, Mattie is adamant that Chaney be punished—and know he is being punished—for killing her father. Her passion is not for justice, but for revenge. She is perfectly willing to let other, more culpable individuals go free; her only concern is Chaney. The others have not wronged her personally, so she doesn’t much care one way or another whether they are brought to justice. But Chaney has wronged her family, so Chaney must pay. Even when Mattie experiences the high cost of vengeance, she remains utterly convinced that she did the right thing. Personal forgiveness is never even mentioned as a possibility. She speaks about the grace of God, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect on the way she lives her life.

Full review available here.

Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane Grey

****

An excerpt of a review posted on Schaeffer's Ghost:

Riders of the Purple Sage is often listed among the best novels the Western genre has to offer. While Zane Grey’s pulp roots show through, his rich descriptions of the Utah landscape are extremely evocative, and he’s managed to create some fairly compelling characters in Jane, Lassiter, Venters, and the girl he befriends. Grey’s focus on friendship, religion, family, and even marriage (as well as the strength of his female characters) will likely endear him to fans of more romantic authors like Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë—authors whose fan base tends to skew more to the feminine side. Don’t get me wrong. There is action here (gunfights, chase scenes, etc.), but the focus here is on the indirect way the Mormons exert their power over Jane. They work behind the scenes, so confrontation rarely occurs. Indeed, Grey highlights both the cowardice and the wickedness of this oblique approach by contrasting the conniving Mormon methods with the more direct (and thus somehow less despicable) actions of the local gang of cattle rustlers.

Full review available here.

Sea of Grass, by Conrad Richter

***

In the late 1800s, the Southwestern United States was the domain of the cattle baron.  Herds of cattle roamed vast stretches of prairie; plump, like plump, four-legged fish in a sea of grass. That is, until farmers, or 'nesters', from the east swarm the plains, eager to carve up the expanse and try their hands at coaxing crops from the dry soil.  With rancher Jim Brewton on one side and ambitious blonde attorney Brice Chamberlain on the other, conflict seems inevitable. When Brewton marries a city girl from back east, the conflict between the two men takes on a new dimension, and future generations will feel the repercussions.

This is not a plot book.  I mean, some stuff happens, and there's, like, shootings and hangings and trials and (maybe) infidelity and plenty of shady behavior.  But that's not really the point.  Really, all that is just an excuse to meditate on the nature of the west and what it is and what it isn't.  Oh, and to point out that apparently being a selfish jerk is genetic.

When we first meet attorney Brice Chamberlain, he seems--for a moment--to be a man of the people, a man out for justice and on the side of right.  After all, he just wants to see that these farmers have a place to live and raise crops and pursue the American dream.  A real hero-type, you know?  Except, oh wait--they're in New Mexico, which means there's a legitimate question as to how much crop-raising the land will bear.  There's a reason it's a sea of grass and not a sea of shrubs and trees and lush undergrowth.  And sure enough, after [SPOILER] the farmers get their way, they get a few unusually wet seasons, produce some actual crops, and then promptly lose it all when the land resumes its normal arid state.  They went and plowed up the range for nothing, and, in the process, killed the one thing that actually did well there (the grass), so that essentially all that's left is dust and sand.  Way to go, farmers!

The Gospel According to Die Hard

*****

An excerpt from a review posted on Schaeffer's Ghost:

All through the Old and New Testaments we see the recurring themes of sin, sacrifice, grace, and the love that grace produces, described in terms of marriage, infidelity, separation, and unmerited rescue.

But this particular version of the story doesn’t come from the Bible.  It doesn’t even come from the romance shelf of the Christian Fiction section in your church library.  The source is perhaps a surprising one:  It’s the plot of Die Hard.

That’s right.  Die Hard.  Bruce Willis, Alan Rickman, Bonnie Bedelia, and a host of Hey! It’s That Guy-types from the 1980s.  Hardly the place you’d expect to find the gospel.  There’s swearing, for Pete’s sake.  And violence.  But then, the gospel is a bloody business, isn’t it?  Sin isn’t pretty—it’s messy and filthy and disgusting and costly.  And the cross isn’t clinical or antiseptic.  The rescue of the church from the hostile forces of sin was not without consequences.  Serious, bloody consequences.

Full review available here.

The Call of the Wild, by Jack London

***

The adventures of Buck, a ginormous St. Bernard-Scotch Shepherd cross who is kidnapped (dognapped?) from his posh California home during the Klondike Gold Rush in the late 1800s.  Buck is unceremoniously shipped up to the Yukon, where he is forced to work as a sled dog for the Canadian mail.  Despite some initial difficulties, Buck adjusts quickly to his new life, and it's not long before he is top dog (so to speak).  Buck is passed around to various owners during his time as a sled dog--some foolish, some wise, some cruel, some just.  As time passes, he feels himself increasing torn between loyalty to the world of men, where he's always lived, and the inescapable allure of . . . the call of the wild.

I can't seem to figure out if this is the first book written from a dog's perspective, but if it's not, it has to be one of the first.  Jim Kjelgaard (of Big Red fame) didn't start writing until the 1940s, Lady and the Tramp wasn't released until 1955, and lesser-known dog enthusiast (and breeder of rough collies) Albert Payson Terhune didn't publish Lad: A Dog until 1919.  Even London's own White Fang wasn't published until three years after this novella.  I don't know that he invented the genre, but I suspect this book and its widespread popularity helped lay the foundation for a genre that would be beloved by animal lovers everywhere (and myself in particular).  For that reason alone this book is significant, though of course that's not the only basis for its inclusion in the category of American classics.

The Uncle Abner Mysteries, by Melville Davisson Post

***

This book answers the question "What if Sherlock Holmes were a cowboy?"

The narrator, now grown, recalls tagging along with his Uncle Abner as he solved various 'mysteries' that utterly befuddled the inhabitants of a rural community in western Virginia (eventually West Virginia) at the turn of the nineteenth century. With the state government all but inaccessible across the Alleghenies, it falls to the rather unimaginative justice of the peace to be the arbiter of justice in this farming community. Fortunately, he has the assistance of the perceptive and devoutly Protestant Abner, who is astute (and creative) enough to think outside the box and thus unravels more than a few tangled situations to reach a just (though not always strictly legal) outcome.

So . . . Sherlock Holmes as played by John Wayne.

Quigley Down Under (1990)

***

Wyoming sharpshooter Matthew Quigley is a newcomer to Australia.  Someone in Australia wanted the services of the best long-distance shot in the world, and there's no better shot than Quigley--especially when he's using his custom-made Sharps rifle with extended barrel (and all sorts of other features I don't really understand).  Quigley is in for an unpleasant surprise, however, when he learns that his would-be employer, Marsten, wants him to use his skills to shoot not wild dingoes, but people--specifically the local Aborigines that Marsten claims have been causing trouble on his land.  Quigley is understandably outraged and refuses in no uncertain terms, but Marsten is not the sort of man you say no to . . . The next thing Quigley knows, he's been abandoned in the middle of the Australian outback with nothing but his rifle and a crazy woman who thinks he's her long-lost husband.  How will he survive?  What will happen to the Aborigines Marsten is so eager to eliminate?  And will Marsten ever get his comeuppance?

This plot is, as you may have noticed, is on the dark side for a Western.  Not that the genre is all sunshine and rainbows normally, but I'm used to seeing good cowboys pitted against, I don't know, robbers, brawlers, and drunken, lecherous fools.  Even the ones guilty of murder seem to steer clear of killing women and children. Marsten's men are certainly qualified in drunken lechery department--when we first meet them, they are trying to force Crazy Cora into their wagon, presumably for nefarious purposes. But their villainy does not end there. In an interesting (and unsettling) spin on the usual cowboys-and-Indians conflict, Marsten's men are slaughtering native people by the dozen--including women and young children. In one particularly disturbing scene, a group of Aborigines is herded to a cliff's edge where they are essentially forced to jump to their deaths (including mothers with children screaming in their arms). Thus, while the overall tone of the film is not terribly somber--there's plenty of good fun along the way, and the violence, while distressing, is not graphic--but there's no denying the stakes are higher than in your average lighthearted, high-octane action movie.

John Carter of Mars (2012)

***

Civil War veteran John Carter just wants to be left alone.  Well, to be left alone so he can find a legendary 'cave of gold'.  His plans are rudely interrupted, however, when he is mysteriously and unceremoniously transported to the planet Barsoom--or as you and I know it, 'Mars'.  Life on Barsoom is hard; the ruthless four-armed Tharks have no patience for weakness (even killing children who are deemed too weak to survive), and the power-hungry ruler of Zodanga is poised to overthrow the city of Helium . . . of which uber-hottie Dejah Thoris is (conveniently) the princess.  John Carter, acclimated to the heavier earth gravity and thus possessed of seeming super-powers in Mars' reduced gravity, is heavily recruited by Helium for its defense.  Will he be persuaded to take an interest in the events around him?  What of the godlike Therns worshiped on Mars--what is their role in the conflict between Zodanga and Helium?  And what can one man do about it?

This movie is about par for the course in the sci-fi/action blockbuster genre--which is to say: critics were unimpressed, and the audience by and large enjoyed it.  The original novel, while a 'classic', is far from a literary masterpiece--it was one of many pulp stories published by the truckload in the early 1900s.  The writers here clearly played fast and loose with the source material, tweaking the plot wherever they saw fit.  Some of these tweaks--like the superweapon known as 'the ninth ray'--unnecessarily complicated the plot and ultimately contributed to the confusion surrounding the film.

More troubling than the plot changes, however, were the character changes.

The Dry Divide, by Ralph Moody

***

For starters, this book is loads better than Shaking the Nickel Bush.  Not that it would take much.  Here we rejoin Ralph Moody (now going by 'Bud') sometime after he and Lonnie parted ways in Shaking the Nickel Bush.  Lonnie is never mentioned here, and perhaps it's for the best.  This time around, instead of discovering yet another new and random talent, Moody returns to previously established abilities.  He takes a job working for a wheat farmer, and his work ethic and ingenuity enable him to overcome many seemingly insurmountable obstacles.  If ever there were a man with the soul of an entrepreneur, Ralph Moody is that man.

Cowboys & Aliens (2011)

***

Yeah, I definitely liked it.  Granted, I knew I would.  They had me from "Cowboys & Aliens."  Actually, they had me from "Directed by Jon Favreau."  I thoroughly enjoyed Iron Man and Elf, and Favreau has always struck me as someone with skill who genuinely loves the nerdy stuff he makes movies about.  There's a self-awareness and humor there that is often lacking in Hollywood (or so it seems).  The addition of Indiana Jones, James Bond (sort of), and Sam Rockwell, with Ron Howard and Steven Spielberg producing, were icing on the cake.

Plus it is such a fun idea.  And clever, too.  I mean, if aliens exist, why would they have to wait for the present (or the future) to make contact?  Why not pay a visit to earth during the days of the Old West?  It's exactly the kind of idea little boys have dreamed of for decades--Woody and Buzz, together for real!

Shaking the Nickel Bush, by Ralph Moody

*

What a disappointing book! After four excellent entries--some of which were truly stellar--I can't believe the sudden drop-off in quality. Allow me to elaborate.

~~SPOILER ALERT~~

1) Lies, lies lies. Gone is the highly scrupulous Ralph Moody we came to know and love in earlier volumes. His desire to honor his father's passion for honesty, integrity, and forthrightness seems to have disappeared completely, and with no explanation whatsoever. He routinely lies to his mother throughout the book and doesn't object in the slightest when his traveling partner repeatedly steals chickens, "borrows" horses without asking, and otherwise makes free with the belongings of others. While it is certainly true that those raised to be honest sometimes waver in their devotion to the cause, Moody offers no explanation whatsoever for his sudden departure from his family's values.

2) The devil is in the details.

Mary Emma & Company, by Ralph Moody

*****

Another excellent read from Ralph Moody. I think I liked this one more than Fields of Home and very nearly as much as Man of the Family--largely because the Moodys are once again trying to make a living at odd jobs in a new situation. Ralph exercises his ingenuity and incredible work ethic, his mother works to provide for her family while also protecting their education and childhood.

I think I particularly like the way his sister Grace is portrayed. As a girl, she doesn't have the same ability to get the jobs Ralph gets, but she seems to be every bit as bright and hard-working as he is, and she gets her own sort of odd jobs and helps tackle family projects with gusto and creativity to match Ralph's. Although she doesn't get to go to school (education being less important for girls) she is presented as Ralph's equal, and they work well together.

In Little Britches, Ralph excelled at everything he tried and he was lauded by everyone he met. In this book, as in Man of the Family, he has to overcome obstacles to provide for the family, and his incredible talent, rather than being superfluous and suspect, is necessary--without it, the family might not have made it.

Here, too, Ralph encounters a new kind of injustice, in the form of a school teacher who has it out for him from the first. The teacher gets him into trouble with the law on more than one occasion, and for actions that were accidental or justifiable. Yet he bears the injustice with good grace--he addresses the police officer respectfully and answers honestly (in fact, it seems that the police officer ends up liking and respecting him in the end). He doesn't talk back to the teacher or complain about the injustice done him. He just buckles down and tries to stay out of trouble. In our current climate of whining and complaining about fairness and rights, his submission to authority is an excellent example.

All in all, this continues to be an excellent series--entertaining to be sure, but also convicting. The Moodys set a compelling example for children. If and when I have my own kids one day, I fully intend to read them this series. Hopefully they like it as much as I do.

The Fields of Home, by Ralph Moody

***

Not quite as good as Man of the Family or Little Britches. Moody's grandfather is infuriating to read . . . I can't imagine what he was like to live with. I was reminded of the frustration I felt in reading James Herriot's accounts of his partner Sigfried (though Moody was not quite as long-suffering as Herriot). I suppose, too, it was refreshing to see Moody's brilliant ideas fall short a few times (after essentially two whole books about his agricultural, equestrian, and engineering genius)--even if the cause of the failing was often his grandfather's interference. Objectively speaking, it's an excellent book, and one with a strong story arc--his grandfather's adjustment to time and progress--but it's hard to me to rate too highly a book that annoyed me so much. Still, I look forward to continuing the series.

Man of the Family, by Ralph Moody

*****

Another stellar entry from Ralph Moody. Even if it does make me feel like a lazy, incompetent layabout in comparison. I think I liked this one better than Little Britches--instead of being the superstar golden boy, Ralph is forced to use his skills to provide for his family.

This would be a great book to read to little boys . . . plenty of action and cowboys and adventure and shenanigans for them, but Ralph's moral center (impressed on him by both his mother and his now-deceased father) makes him an admirable role model for kids in many ways. He is hard working, uncomplaining, creative, devoted to his family, and tries very hard to be honest and fair. Hard work is presented as the norm and even a blessing, which is a much-needed lesson in our complacent, affluent, and entitled society.

Shane, by Jack Schaefer

*****

I am not much for westerns, but this book is fantastic. There's a reason the hard-as-nails, dangerous-but-trustworthy hero is so popular in books and movies--when done well, it works. And this books does it very well.

Like Little Britches, the story is told through the eyes of a child, and to great effect. And the author keeps the hero shrouded in mystery throughout the story, which keeps the reader on edge and makes Shane excellent fodder for the narrator's hero-worship. And Shane's inner struggle further heightened the tension of the story.

Also, I may have cried. BUT YOU CAN'T PROVE IT.

Little Britches: Father and I Were Ranchers, by Ralph Moody

****

Little House on the Prairie for boys. Well-written, and in a matter-of-fact and even appreciative tone that keeps the story from getting bogged down by otherwise depressing tales of the necessary hardships of ranch life. Ralph Moody shows a rather suspicious talent for everything he tries (as does his father, for that matter), but I look forward to reading the rest of the series nonetheless.