Nebraska Books

Fresh out of Yale, McClintock went to Montana in 1891 as an employee of the forest service. He ended up living with the Blackfoot tribe and learning their way of life. One elderly chief, Mad Dog, adopted him and taught him tribal culture and rituals so that someone would write them down. This book is the result.

The bison were gone and the Blackfoot economy lay in tatters. Still, McClintock's band was following his traditional seasonal movements, keeping the Sun Dance, and trying to live as they always had - - even as everyone realized that their way of life could not survive in the face of the white man.

McClintock serves as a very sympathetic scribe for the tribe. He was clearly a good listener. One Blood chief in Alberta told him that he had vowed never to speak with white men again, and yet he ended up adopting McClintock as a son. Because the tribe trusted him, he was admitted into a tribal society, invited to participate in rituals, and so forth.

Through most of the 500 pages in this book, McClintock takes a very fair-minded approach to both the Blackfoot and to white society. He often notes how tribal norms, such as sharing, are superior to the behavior of more "civilized" peoples. He takes both Christianity and tribal religions seriously.

Oddly, all this falls apart in the last chapter, where he endorses destructive policies that take away tribal land, convert the Indians to Christianity, and force assimilation on white terms. This chapter contradicts the tone of the rest of the book so deeply that I can't imagine what he was thinking when he wrote it.

Aside from that last chapter, this is a fascinating record of the tribe's traditions at the last possible moment that the tribe was still living its traditional life.

Walter McClintock was a young man who came to the Blackfeet Country at about the turn of the century. He was a trained scientist who could use a camera and he kept careful notes. This is not a romance novel nor anthropological interpretation. McClintock was simply there and made friends well enough to be accepted. He recorded stories, rituals (also took photos), and daily incidents as well as much natural history. He was really there and he is an honest and graceful reporter.

How could it be possible to adequately describe such a powerful -indeed, magical- account of a young man's time with the Blackfeet in the early twentieth century, a time when much of the Old Ways still lived among the Blackfeet people. I have owned or or another edition of The Old North Trail since 1970, and have ever since then been entranced by McClintock's unselfconscious limpid prose style, his descriptions of a summer snowstorm, or a grand encampment of the Blackfeet, the way Indian people in northern Montana prepared and stored food for the coming of winter, or the simple, deep, and everlastingly real relationship with a culture which was even at that late date still indescribably precious and beautiful. Both a superb travelog and a microscopically observed anthropological account of life with the Blackfeet, this book is an extended love letter to the Indian people with whom Walter McC lived. As I write this review I'm transported back to my early twenties, a California surfer just out of college, immersed in a hot deep bath, reading The Old North Trail at sunup in Inverness, Scotland, and forgetting where I was, so completely did this book cast its spell. This is one of the very, very few books with which I am still in love.

David Lavender is a historian whose personal account of growing up in Telluride and Ouray, Colorado is captivating. Mr Lavender documents the arrival of the 1950's "modern age" to western Colorado and Utah. During his youth, the open desert and mountain lands evolve from a setting for silver mines, lone cowboys, and vast cattle ranches into the garden of the atomic age. He documents the arrival of uranium prospectors, the departure of independent cowboy spirits, and finally, the eventual return of the nuclear boom towns to dust. It is fascinating to read him today and to see what the southern Utah desert was like 50 years ago. If you visit these areas, I recommend that you read "One Man's West" as you pass through them. It will give significance to the sight of decaying farm or mining equipment by the roadside, and fill you with appreciation for those who make an effort to preserve the wilderness. I buy this book in multiple copies and give them to my friends. It has no particular bent for environmentalism or even "wise use" in the wilderness, but gives you some historical insight. I have never met Mr. Lavender, but I admire him as an author and historian. He has authored several other books incouding and account of the Lewis and Clark expedition which, I have heard, is quite good."One Man's West" was written in the 1940's then updated in the 1950's. The New York Times published a glowing review of the book in the mid 1940's or 1950's. Its age has only helped to enhance its significance to a contemporary reader of western history.

An excellent book! Ranching and mining, rich history, not to be missed.

Mr. Lavender recently died (April '03)and his obituary in the Los Angeles Times prompted me to go out and buy this book. I could not put it down...just as the Times stated, Lavender is a wonderful writer who knows how to describe the west. This book has it all, mountains, mining, cowboys and history with a nice personal touch. I would recommend it highly. It is an "easy" read and one that will leave you feeling satisfied once you complete the book. I am going to search out more of Mr. Lavender's works.

I read this beautiful book cover-to-cover in one sitting as I just could not put it down. I think the description might be a bit misleading as it makes the book sound like a sad lament of loss, when in fact it is a joyous celebration of life. "Phantom Limb"also puts life into perspective, and will hopefully alter yours--as it has mine.
Ms. Sternburg explores her relationship with her mother and father touchingly, as her tale weaves back and forth from the past to the present, revealing the delicate nature of the human condition. The story is written in searingly honest prose, each one a self-contained vignette that links together to form the memory of whole human lives. This book is not necessarily just for people coping with loss...it's much more than that. "Phantom Limb" does exactly what good literature should do: it transports the reader to another realm, and it's beauty will stay with you, long after you put the book down.

What a brilliant, heartbreaking, wise book. The central metaphor is haunting and unforgettable. Janet Sternburg, in her heart of hearts, is a true poet.

This story is mesmerizing and painfully real to anybody who has lost a parent to illness. It's beautifully told, without being overtly sentimental. Sternberg skillfully lets us enter her world as a daughter, a caregiver and a woman who is also dealing with the baggage of her own illness. You are with her every step of the way. It is rich in its telling and goes straight to the heart.

I also found the detail in which she describes being an advocate for her mother a fascinating study that can be useful to anyone that is put in the situation of navigating care for ourselves or someone else. Phantom Limb speaks to what so many of us have either faced or will have to go through as our parents age. Bravo!

This is a very insightful and passionate view of the game of golf. Suprisingly personal as well. I've been playing, studying, and reading about the game for over 35 years and this is one of the most original books I've read on golf. Mr. Brumer's views on life's experiences as they relate to golf will make you think about your own reasons for playing this game. His views on the playing and teaching of the game are based upon years of being exposed to some of its most original thinkers (Ben Doyle, Gregg McHatton, Bobby Clampett, etc). I don't believe Andy intended for this book to actually improve one's game but I can assure you - it will.

Andy Brumer created another masterpiece. He takes us to new places on and off the golf course. Great reading for those days that you are not teeing it up.

Andy has done it. There are lots of golf books. I was once told there are more books about golf than all the other sports books put together. The amazing thing is that so many of these golf books are the same. They just have different covers. Andy has succeeded in writing his second thoughtful and original golf book in less than a year. This is an outstanding accomplishment. To take advantage of all the work that Andy has done you need to read his book! You and your golf will be better because you did.

The Impact Zone: Mastering Golf's Moment of Truth

A friend of mine, and fellow colleague that teaches in the English department is always asking me what my infatuation with hogs is. He says, everywhere I look, there's a pig. A pig on your desk, a pig on the cover of your book, a picture of you and a pig walking down a dirt road. You own pigs or what? He asked me one day. Kind of, I answered. I own the one that's in my deep freeze. I bought it. I butchered it with some help and I now I'm eating it-trying to do my part to save and support the family farm. How's that for an answer?
Well, for some readers it might make perfect sense and to others it might not. The question addressed over and over again in Raising A Stink-the Struggles over Factory Hog Farms in Nebraska is farming. What is real farming and/or who is the real farmer? Carolyn Johnsen addresses these questions and investigates the controversies over these complicated corporate ventures and what is being done to save the heart and soul of rural America.
Carolyn Johnsen is no stranger to controversy. Johnsen is an award winning reporter and associate producer for news and public affairs at Nebraska Public Radio Network After reading about the Hog Hilton's and Initiative 300 I wanted to know where she stood on this issue.
"People often ask for my opinion about factory-like hog farms. It's not so simple as saying this method of raising livestock is good or bad. Some farmers profitably raise pigs in confinement without harming their neighbors' lives or the environment. Others profit at the expense of both the environment and their neighbors' good will. Policymakers struggle--with mixed results--to reconcile conflicting values and science related to the issue. I hope Raising A Stink informs the debate and helps readers to decide which side the accumulated evidence comes down on."
Raising A Stink makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. It scares me to think of what the Plains are turning into. It burns me, to think of what is happening to families struggling from harvest to harvest.

Although the focus of this book is on Nebraska farming, the issues are much more universal. Johnsen's balanced analysis of factory production versus family farm production lets the reader make the value judgements. This book will also encourage a thoughtful reader to consider the sources of food production in related industries, including poultry and seafood. If you care where your food -- particularly your pork -- comes from, then you should read this book.

I recently finished reading this book, and I am very impressed with it. I consider it an outstanding work of journalism. Johnsen reports on many events over several years, and in every paragraph she is thorough, detailed and fair.
The book tells an always-interesting story of the spirited yet civil debates not only about factory farms, but about the future of farming, some of which I too witnessed and reported from 1997 to 2002 as a newspaper writer.
It is not real surprising to me, as a life-long Nebraskan, that Nebraska and its people are deeply involved in such a vital discussion, and although it is still unsettled, I am proud to see how it is faced. I think the outcome of this debate will influence the future of land, probably for another 100 years or so. Nebraska has a long tradition of small farms, small governments and individual rights. The slow, steady march of business is enlarging the size of farms at the same time many older farmers and baby boomers are retiring. Younger farmers seek work elsewhere.
For me, the profound question is -- should the future of farming be solely determined by economic efficiency; or, should farms be a place where many independent people live and work? This book is all about how people brought their beliefs on that issue to bear on reality. They not only considered the strong odors, potential enviromental harm and economic impacts of factory hog farms, they tried to apply the principles of fairness, justice and liberty.

Significantly enough, the events in this book occurred at the turn of the millennium.
As is always the case, the future depends on what people choose to do, or not do, about the challenges that face them each day, week, month and year. For anyone who is and wants to be involved in creating the future of agriculture, I especially recommend this book. It gives a strong foundation of accurate information about how rural residents, business as well as state and local governments behave when challenged with issues of immediate consequence and lasting importance.
Congratulations, Carolyn.

Woo! Robert Walser dishes out words like "lummox" and "dumb cluck" with a mastery that no other human author has ever approached. I promise. His shifts of tone have to be read to be believed. His work is more lively and present than any author I've ever encountered.

The plot of the story concerns a rascal-like fellow and his romantic interests. If you read for plot, that should be all you need to know.

The virtues of this book are too diverse to sum up, but here goes.

The Robber isn't a strictly straight-forward narrative, but there is a story arc that runs through it and which has a natural climax and conclusion. My favorite passage for example is a long stretch of text where the narrator speaks to the reader in second person ("you") and describes how to win over a lady performer who just impressed you in a music hall. I wish the book was printed with an index, because you can plant your blind finger down on any page and find Walser hilariously discussing some topic or other like that. (Other examples: modern education, platitudes, motorists, and different aspects of public behavior.) That might sound out of line, but it's never inappropriate because it's always spurred on by the main character's mentality and surroundings.

Walser possesses an extremely perceptive and imaginative understanding of social relations, and of conflicts of personality, which I might say is the main theme of the book. He's also acutely aware of his own shortcomings and anxieties, so that gets thrown into the mix too. Lastly, he brings a moving perspective to the most down-to-earth occurrences. These talents give life to all his other books too, for the record.

Walser writes with all kinds of interjections, and all kinds of short essay-like passages where he addresses some thesis, and all kinds of self-effacing double-takes where he humbles himself. But all of the digressions work perfectly, and cohere into a whole, the flow (in English translation for me, anyway) is spotless and fluid. Everything he says is perfectly inimitable, and precisely Walserian, yet unpredictable. He's the Thelonious Monk of literature.

This book is a tour de force. What else can I call it? Walser wrote Jakob Von Gunten which is pretty straight-forward, a few other novels that were either lost or destroyed, two novels that are finally being translated into English ("The Assistant" was released in July 2007, and "Geschwister Tanner" is in the works), and a huge amount of short prose pieces published in various places or not at all. The Robber is later and more developed than Jakob Von Gunten, and has the length of a novel which gives it a richness and scope that the short pieces can't manage (though Walser makes impressive achievements even in single-page stories). It's kind of nightmarish to consider that he wrote the few hundred pages of this book in micro-microscript on a few pieces of scrap paper that some fool could have accidentally rolled up and smoked.

This book blew apart my understanding of what literature can be and can achieve. And who an author can be, and who a person can be. Still, you should start with JAKOB VON GUNTEN because it's the best starting place-- don't be a bellyacher.

I also have to give applause to the translator Susan Bernofsky, because every passage of this book is impeccable and unique, which I assume means the translation is superb.

I'm going to provide an excerpt here.

"In wine lies something like a right to superiority. When I drink wine, I understand previous centuries; they too, I tell myself, consisted of things contemporaneous and the desire to find one's place among them. Wine makes one a connoisseur of the soul's vicissitudes. One feels great respect for everything, and for nothing at all. Wine shimmers with tact. If you are a friend of wine, you are also a friend of women and a protector of all that is dear to them. The relations, even the thorniest, that exist between man and woman unfold like blossoms from the depths of your glass. All the songs to wine that were ever composed ought to be acknowledged as justified. "For a Dätel, that's unsuitable," I was admonished not long ago in a certain house. Since then I have confined myself to gazing at this house from a distance, timidly and with a sensation of oddness. Dätel is the title for a soldier. In the military, you see, I was only a common soldier. Of course, this circumstance does me immeasurable harm. In this age of perspicacity, all things come under inspection, so why not, in particular, one's rank in the army? I see nothing amiss here."

10 stars. You know what to do.

In review of writers far worthier than I, and contemporaneous of Walser: Robert Musil said: Walser writes as "an ice-skater executes his long curves & figures...these little endlessnesses waft over into the void...as in the hours between a suicide's decision and final act(1914). The most Illuminated of all assessors of literary greatness, Walter Benjamin said (admittedly of Walser's anti-fairy tales of himself in drag of Cinderella and Snow White): "Walser begins where the fairy-tale leaves off"(1929). But none has equaled what Elias Canetti wrote as late as 1978, with an angry unmercy for all critics who live off other writer's wounds: Walser is 'The most camouflaged of all writers (who) never formulates his motives...his work is an unflagging attempt at hushing his fear...and that is why it is sinister (the work, not the words)...as he escapes everywhere before too much fear gathers in him...in order to save himself...his experience with the 'struggle for existence' takes him into the only sphere where that struggle no longer exists: the madhouse, the monastery of modern times."
This is Robert 'Robber' Walser's last novel written before his grand finale of silence upon admittance unto the mad houses of final quietude. Beyond even the beautiful miracle of Rilke's Elegies or Bruno Schulz's phantastics, it's as if a Henri Rosseau painting were stepped in upon by lovingly devoted thieves who only want to live there a while...I recall Aleister Crowley's words speaking of a friend's madness: "It was if a man had stepped outside of himself to go on a long walk". That is what happened, so they say, 'Robber Walser' Did upon completing this holy novella in the poetic excesses of his Blakean view of the world where all's Holy. Intermingled as it is, with his own Dostoyevskian Doppelganger & fleeting doves of the Holy Ghost; in one of the most intimate of doubles Literature's ever known. Here in these pages whispers the secret treasure of a Robber, a writer, & a Walker, all centered around 'one singular man' name of Robert Walser. The watercolour on the cover is by his brother, Karl Walser, circa 1894; they were close as a Theo to a Vincent in our Robber's heart. This is the only known photograph of Walser's Robber, who reminds me of a cross betwix Billy the Kid & Peter Pan? We cannot spiritually afford to give the 'plot' away as Walser's words are all about Freedom from the bondage of one's inner demons, and therefore costs an unpronounceable price beyond even American currencys can purchase, amen. For those without the right amount of time to dedicate to All Walser wrote, I would refer them to the Quay Brothers film: 'Institute Benjamenta'---which is a rare species of film indeed to capture the dream world of our hero 'Jakob Von Gunten' in cinematic black-n-white exposure. Of Walser's supposed 'Mental InStability', (however undersimplified) I feel his suffering comprises a beautiful exception TO suffering; a rare species of 'beautiful suffering' had from his own Superbly Sound Sensitivity to Sensations a great many regrettables shall most likely never become aware of without the Romance of a Robber such as Walser's being born along inside us...on a romantic lark such as this carefully pocketed jeweled compass is sure to lead its thieves far, far away, to where 'Here Be Dragons' is writ on old incunabular maps. One merely has to read Walser, so unlike the multitude of unstable geniuses one need not make the sign of the cross to ward off the evil peering from inside so many ingenious but dangerously depressive works. Inside Walser's heartrending Romantic prose his ever-active eternal spirit takes on alarming fleshly precedence though still omnipotent enough to take over the world dressed in cool sunglasses shading that evil eye; in luminous gowns made of 'white magical' tissue paper, all the better equipped to wipe away tears at the same time as reading. The Robber respectfully bows deeply before all that's worthy of beauty, including every woman ever born so graceful a creature, A-men? Walser never screams but shouts out to greet every overcautious reader who dares to tread his pages lovingly; he never runs but walks at an amazingly quick-pace through literature, town & city, and of course, the vast countryside that replaced words for Walser to wander in; falling down dead one Christmas day in the snow; & as William H. Gass so poetically envisioned him at the end, falling down upon a field: "smoothly white as writing paper". There is nothing in this book a Robber would pawn without an excess of tears hot enough to scald the vision & heart from which they were taken, so innocently, out of boundless admiration & unrestrainable worship! If you read only one writer or one book in all of Earthly existence, let it be by Robert Walser, a humble man with an inborn pride of thieves; who takes from his own rich Heart and gives Poetic alms to those poorer in spirit or in need of fellow grievance, commiseration, companionship, or simple celebration before those horrid if 'entertaining thoughts of suicide' are finally exorcised from the Book of Life. Walser's books are integral in every first-aid literary kit for bandaging burnt souls and crushed spirits. Each sentence is like a shot of hot fiery spirits to chase away throats sore from yelling all the time, and at the ones they love sadly screaming the most. The subtle irony of each paragraph is stretched across the boards of Literary history to flatten out the riddles & wrinkles of a Kafkian love of cosmically-inclined intrigues & double meanings. The mystery is deep as a sea full of Leviathans; and Walser navigates straight through the groping tentacles of mythological monsters to purge the heart of all its fictions. He is, along with Hoffman, Goethe, Kleist, one of the Magical Immortals in the realm of Germanic & Romantic Phantastics. And without equal whence it comes to the one & only artistic pre-requisite of mine: Sincerity!

The Robber is a guidebook for disappearance, an endlessly tangential map of the transient ghostliness of the ever-elusive self written by a gentleman who has politely bid farewell and stepped outside of his person. It is a precious hoot. It is a picaresque series of tiptoes around a goblin-infested forest. It is a shared narcissistic prism. It is a suite of rapid motions that spins in place. It is a needling delight, a frustrating pleasure.

Dear Walser has pulled out of thin air a labyrinth constructed of air.

Although I loved the Rough Riders movie on TNT, they got the character Buckey O'Neill wrong. This book will set you straight on a forgotten hero, who did more in 38 years than most men would do in a life time. Just how far would he have gone had he not been killed at Kettle Hill? The next time that I'm on Whiskey Row, I will give a toast to William Owen O'Neill. This is a great book.

Buckey O'Neill was a legendary lawman, a gallant soldier, and a Democrat when being one meant fealty to the flag and country. Even in a Republican state like Arizona Buckey O'Neill is a state hero - and much revered in Prescott.

This son of an Irish immigrant and Civil War Veteran risked death many times, chasing outlaws across the deserts and praries. If he hadn't recklessly strolled along the front lines facing the Spanish emplacements on San Juan Hill, O'Neill might very well had gone on to bigger and better things, including possibly being territorial governor. He was a particular favorite of Theodore Roosevelt's, who took his death very hard.

Dale Walker has already written a superb book about the "Rough Riders" in the "Boys of '98" and here he sets the record on the man who is arguably Arizona's favorite son - above and beyond t Goldwater, the Earps, and perhaps even John McCain. Only the late hero Pat Tillman's life and career might be as adventurous and as legendary as O'Neill's was.

Dale L. Walker's biography of O'Neill, one of the early West's most fascinating figures, is richly drawn, authoritative, and distinguished. O'Neill is best known as one of the Rough Riders of the Spanish-American War, but Walker meticulously depicts all the other facets of this legendary Arizonan. This is surely the standard work on O'Neill.

Kellie Wells' fiction stands out from most fiction being published today as exceptionally erudite, original, and provocative. She is a writer worth reading and attending to. Wells challenges us to reconsider "the heartland" as a place that is not predictable, mundane, nor worthy of being ignored. Wells also challenges readers to consider (or reconsider) the human condition, to experience (or re-experience) the potential of language, and to think (or re-think) narrative and how it reflects and represents reality. In fact her readers are enticed to contemplate the nature of what we consider reality. By switching point of view regularly, Wells builds a more comprehensive, intriguing view of her community (What Cheer, KS) than a single narrator would allow for. I admit that I wanted the story to stick with Ivy at first (a very compelling character). But by using multiple voices Wells helps round out the story and the community in an effective fashion reminiscent of the style of Louise Erdrich. Wells' command of the English language shines throughout, in a style that is compact and yet effervescent - as when she describes the bats in the first chapter. Her characters are moving without being maudlin or overdrawn. Wells' wry humor permeates the prose (reminiscent of Joy Williams), showing her fine ability to handle the complexity of her characters, whose lives and stories might otherwise overwhelm. Wells' prose exemplifies what the best prose provokes in readers - thoughtfulness, originality, and joy in language and storytelling.

I read this book in 45 ninutes, for it is the kind of story that keeps you reading anxiously from one page to the next. Kellie Wells has a naturalist's gift for describing human and animal behavior as though we were all of us plants, with the natural behavior cycle of the flora kingdom. She knows how to create suspense with a simple twist of phrase, and all of her characters, no matter how eccentric, speak from the heart, no matter if they are elderly or quite young. Most of all I enjoyed the plot in which a teenage boy has moped scars running up and down his legs, and he coinsults his best friend, Ivy, about if the scars are growing or not. Yes, literally growing like ivy. It seems to her that Duncan's scars are on the move and he resolves that he won't die without having sex with her. This delights and confounds her no end for, if truth be told, she has always been a little in love with neighjbor Duncan, referring to him as "boy poetry," with skin white as Elmer's Glue and gray green eyes you could drown in. It's a cute plot, fairly reminiscent at times of something Carson McCullers might have written.

I also liked Zero, the hairdresser with a fondness for movies with Merle Oberon and Dorothy McGuire, movies he thinks are "safe." Then there is Rachel, with a collection of 70s 45s including the Archies, Melanie, Cher and "Little Willy." No matter how fantastic Wells' storylines get, and they are pretty strange, Wells is able to keep her book "grounded" by the simple trick of using brand names, a la Stephen King. You can see in the example of the Elmers Glue above. Elsewhere a third grade savant, Ruby Tuesday Loomis, applies Bugs Bunny Band Aids, a neighbor pops Tums like Sweet Tarts, and in fact on every page you can see something of the sort. It's not just product placement either, it's Kellie Wells' incredible knowledge of just what needs buttressing in her fantastic fiction and what she can leave alone, knowing her readers will find their own way through her James Purdy like tales of What Cheer (the name of the tiny town they all live in, deep in the Midwest of Magic Realism.) Thank goodness for canny Nancy Zafris, the perdurable editor of Kenyon Review who suggested to Ms. Wells that she might as well expand an exquisite short story into a sort of novel.

"Skin" is a good name for it! Like Ayelet Waldman, Wells seems to know all about the difficulties of mother and daughter communication (Rachel and Ruby) and how to keep your faith together in a time of agnostic belief. Like Waldman, she shields her simple parables in the clothes of the contemporary, but never losing sight of the imagination nor its pull, like a dragonfly, towards moonlight. She even makes use of the resonance of her own name, dropping it like a stone, casually, into one of her beautiful sentences: "[Rachel's] eyes appeared dark in the diminishing light of the room, as though they were all pupil, sinking into her head, eyes dropped down dark wells, out of reach." Not every writer could do that--not even some of the best, like Nancy Zafris or Ayelet Waldman. Their names wouldn't pose as nouns.

Kellie Wells has a flowing style underscored by her twisting wordplay and startling juxtapositions. For those who say "Midwestern" as if it were a bad word, Skin might make you change your tune. The novel is a witty and poignant construction of life in the Kansas town of What Cheer, where the strange isn't so out-of-the-ordinary and it's amazing what you might suddenly find under your skin.

I read this book while I was in high school. I loved it so much that I wrote a term paper on it. That was 10 years ago. I recently picked it up again and rediscovered every description of the prairie, every breathless detail. It still remains my favorite book of all time. I was so endeared to it again that I am searching for all titles written by Bess Streeter Aldrich. It is amazing how she writes such timeless words that touch your heart and senses.

In my family, this is a favorite of three generations-my grandma, in her 80s, my mother, in her 50s, and me, in my 20s. We all find the characters to be believeable, and they stay with us long after we have finished the story. This book appeals to readers on many different levels. First of all, there is the historical aspect of the struggle of life on the prairie when Iowa was just becoming state. Added to that is the impact of the Civil War. Second, there is the story of a young girl, unsure of herself, growing to womanhood and finding out who she really is as she faces events that are out of her control. We witness Suzanne's first infatuation, her crushing disappointment when she realizes her feelings are not returned, and, eventually, a true love that will outlast anything, even war. The reader realizes that though the times may change, the emotions of growing up do stay the same. Lastly, this book is a wonderful break from the stories of today that feel they must contain some sex, violence and profanity. At times, we just need a good, old-fashoined story where that stuff doesn't get in the way. I can't begin to describe the well-worn condition of my grandma's original book. It just shows that it has been a close, personal friend to three women who love it dearly.

Read this in high school. Loved it. My mom loved it. Then found it later as an adult and realized I now lived by "Suzanne". It was awesome.

I don't think I'd be stretching things too much if I said these journals are almost as important as those kept by Lewis and Clark. Smith's expedition to California in 1826-27 had been known about, of course, but no written account ever appeared until the account presented here was discovered in 1967. (Later travel journals by Smith were discovered in the 1930s.) In Smith's eulogy in 1832, the fact that Smith had kept notes of all his travels was mentioned. Interestingly, in 1840 the "Missouri Saturday News" reported that it was about to publish all of Smith's travel accounts in the West for subscribers, as compiled by one Alphonzo Wetmore, but it never happened. The final coming to light of this missing portion of Smith's adventures is a major find in Western exploration.

Smith left the 1826 rendezvous on the Bear River in Idaho, heading to the southwest, to explore new territory and evaluate the country in terms of beaver productivity. He skirted the Great Salt Lake and headed toward Utah Lake. Here he turned to the southeast to the Price River, and then south to the Curtis. Turning west he struck the Sevier River and then crossed the Escalante Desert to the Virgin and the Colorado. He followed the Colorado to the Mohave Villages (near present-day Needles). Apparently his original plan was to return to the Bear Lake region, but believing the season too late to do so, decided to continue to California.

Crossing the Mojave Desert he made his way to San Gabriel, sidetracked to San Diego, got in trouble with the Spanish governor, and hitched a ride on a ship back to near San Gabriel. Heading back toward the Mojave to appease the Spanish, he diverted north up through the center of California to the San Joaquin and then the American River. Backtracking to the Stanislaus River he crossed the Sierra Nevadas via Ebbetts Pass. Passing south of Walker Lake he crossed the desert wastes of Nevada, suffering great hardship (the first white to do so), then northeast across Utah, reaching the Bear Lake rendezvous in July 1827. As soon as the rendezvous ended Smith went back to California taking pretty much the same route, but that journey is not included here.

As with the Lewis and Clark journals every mile traveled and described was new. But Smith wasn't just keeping an explorer's log, as important as that is. We also get his impressions - of the wealthy Spanish at San Gabriel, of the governor of San Diego, his description of a woodpecker south of the San Joaquin. Above all we get a strong sense of Smith's incredible bravery and perseverance, especially in crossing the Sierra Nevadas, when every passage he tried to get through was a dead end, and while crossing the Great Basin where he and his party almost died of thirst. It's a magnificent travel account. Also magnificent is the editing by George R. Brooks, which is very full and detailed. There are a couple of decent maps thrown in as well. This book is a major American document in the development of the country.

If you like unprocessed, uninterpreted real history, you can't do better than reading original journals of people who experienced it. This treasure of a journal, discovered in an attic just a few decades ago, tells the day-by-day adventures of Jedediah Strong Smith, one of the greatest American western explorers. His travels are second only to Lewis and Clark's in significance for the opening the West. This book is the journal of Smith's first trek to California from the Rockies and back. It is filled with both the excitement of discovery, and the perils of horse-and-foot travel among potential enemies in inhospitable lands. You will read first-hand accounts of near starvation and thirst, of Indian attacks, of mountain blizzards and waterless deserts, of near drownings in rivers, of weary travels over wastelands and mountains, and other accompaniments of exploration in a day without roads, maps, telephones, electricity and fast food.

What makes this account so valuable is Jedediah himself. Serious and unpretentious, devoutly Christian and a man of high integrity, Smith was not the stereotypical Mountain Man. In just eight years since joining William Ashley's band of trappers (1824), killed by Indians at age 32, he had traveled most of the Western United States, surviving herculean odds along the way. One unforgettable scene in this journal has Smith meditating to himself atop a peak in the Sierras, after having suffered severe hardships with his men against snow and Indians. He reminisces about the comforts and joys of his childhood home back East, but then in the spirit of true courage, faces the desperate reality of his situation and the fact his men are counting on his leadership. From there he faces several life-and-death struggles getting over the Sierra Nevada (first white man to make the crossing) and across the desolate Great Basin wastelands and back to the Rendezvous near Salt Lake. When he arrives, his friends, who thought him long dead, celebrate by firing a cannon they had carted over the Rockies from St. Louis. [Historical note: within days, Smith was off to California again, this time to suffer even more hardships all the way to Oregon, including two Indian massacres.]

This was one of Smith's most important journeys; known previously only by some letters and pieces of the journal, we now have the full account! I'm surprised this book doesn't get more attention; I found it captivating. The descriptions of Mission San Gabriel, early Pueblo Los Angeles and the Mexican-controlled early California culture are revealing. Having seen the mission today hemmed in by the city, I now have the eyes of Smith and his aide Harrison Rogers (who died the following year in the Umpqua Massacre in Oregon), to see how it must have appeared in 1827. George R. Brooks' helpful footnotes give background information and locations, so that you can follow the route on a map. I think it would make a terrific family vacation to retrace his journey. From your air-conditioned van, along I-40 in desolate eastern California, or along I-80 in Nevada, look out your window and imagine Smith and his weary men in a desperate search for water, as you cover in a half-hour what took them two days.

In an age where history is processed through Hollywood tall tale tellers, who don't hesitate to rewrite what happened according to their politically correct biases, we need to get the story straight from the source. (Hmmm, this journal would make a great film epic, though.) We also need to appreciate the courage and fortitude of our pioneers, who accomplished great things with much less. Get a map of the Western states, open this book, and discover America with Jedediah Strong Smith!

Few men parallel the exploratory achievements of Jedediah Smith in the western U.S. This journal, written by Smith, illustrates the many hardships and sacrifices one must overcome in order to accomplish those dreams of exploration. Extremes of desert heat, impenetrable mountain snow depths, thirst, hunger, fatigue, momentary disorientations, spatterings of Indian hostilities, indecisions of Mexican officials in Spanish California, etc. were all obstacles to conquer on the road to uncharted territories. He attempted peace treaties between the Utes and Shoshonies, spent time with the Mohave Indians along the Colorado River (one of the first written accounts of their culture), describes Spanish mission life in southern California, the trek northward encountering Indian animosity, the first crossing of the Sierra Nevadas by a U.S. citizen and finally, the Herculean journey across the Great Basin to the 1827 rendezvous at Bear Lake. We are very fortunate that this journal came to surface as it is of major historical significance. Mr. Brooks' editing is exceptional.