Lost in Shangri-La, Mitchell Zuckoff #50BookPledge

It began as an afternoon treat – an aerial tour of the hidden valley whimsically called Shangri-La. Stories about Shangri-La include tales of lush vegetation and a Stone Age civilization with people over seven feet tall. No outsider has ever set foot in Shangri-La, and very few have flown over it. The air space was just too treacherous. Yet on May 13, 1945, Colonel Peter Prossen decided to treat his staff to a sightseeing trip on a transport plane over Shangri-La.

Due to a number of factors, the plane crashed, and only three passengers survived — Corporal Margaret Hastings, Lieutenant John McCollom and Sergeant Kenneth Decker. They knew nothing about the terrain,

and have heard only terrifying stories about the natives. Mitchell Zuckoff chronicles their story in Lost in Shangri-La, and tells the tale of how a group of brave Filipino-American soldiers mounted a rescue operation that, by all accounts, offered little chance of survival, much less success.

I don’t read a lot of non-fiction, nor do I read a lot of history books, yet I couldn’t put this book down. It’s that thrilling. Zuckoff is an award winning journalist, and I can see why. He writes with journalistic detachment, and creates an exciting, moving narrative because of it. I love that Zuckoff doesn’t editorialize. Opinions expressed in the book are from interviews and personal documents like journals. While readers can generally guess at Zuckoff’s own slant on certain subjects (e.g. a certain comment showed frat boy humour), his language is detached, and he presents a balanced view: “Changes in a valley during the ensuing decades have been dramatic, but whether for better or worse is a matter of debate.” The picture he proceeds to paint is bleak, suggesting that the changes have been in fact for the worse, but Zuckoff uses facts (poverty levels), imagery (native elders now begging for change) and interviews (a quote from a documentary filmmaker) to make his case.

I also love Zuckoff’s attention to detail. Even the people who died in the crash were fully fleshed out because of the details Zuckoff mentions. About John McCollom’s twin Robert, who was on the plane as well, Zuckoff notes that the twins were “known to family and friends as ‘The Inseparables.’” When Robert got married, “both McColloms were in uniform [at the wedding photo]; the only way to tell them apart is by Adele’s winsome smile in Robert’s direction.” Private Eleanor Hanna, who was also on the plane “had a reputation…for singing wherever she went.” Sergeant Helen Kent, who’d lost her husband in a military plane crash, left behind her best friend Sergeant Ruth Coster, who was “swamped with paperwork” and couldn’t join the tour. These details made even these secondary characters real to me, which I appreciated.

Probably the most tense moment in the book was the account of the survivors’ first encounter with the natives. All they’ve heard was that these natives were war-like and cannibalistic. “We haven’t any weapon,” McCollom tells Margaret and Decker. “There is nothing to do but act friendly. Smile as you’ve never smiled before, and pray to God it works.” The survivors smiled and held out Charms hard candies as peace offerings.

Even better, Zuckoff has interviewed some natives who were children when the plane crash occurred, so he’s able to present their perspective on the events as well: “[Yaralok] saw creatures that resembled people, but they didn’t look like any people he’d ever seen. The skin on their faces was light, and they had straight hair. The skin on their bodies was strange. They had feet but no toes. Only later would he learn that coverings called clothing shielded their skin and that shoes encased their toes.” This, I think, was when it really struck me how alien these cultures were to each other. Yaralok and his tribe have never seen fair skin or Western clothing, much less Charms hard candies.

It’s hard to imagine in these days when we have such a global culture and meeting people with different clothing and skin colour is a daily occurrence. But what if we encounter someone who doesn’t meet any of our ideas of humanity? What if I meet a “creature” that looked like a person, but had, say, green skin, was covered in scales and was holding out to me brightly coloured balls of goo? How would I react? By telling the story from both perspectives, Zuckoff recounts cultural misunderstandings and ways in which humans adapt when faced with the unfamiliar.

Zuckoff also gives due credit to the Filipino American soldiers who mounted the rescue mission. From the always cheerful Corporal Camilo “Rammy” Ramirez to the shy, efficient Sergeant Benjamin “Doc” Bulatao, the Filipino Americans were heroes, parachuting into the valley on a potential suicide mission. It was courageous, especially in light of the discrimination Zuckoff shows these soldiers have faced as Filipinos. Part of this discrimination, which frustrated their captain, Earl Walter Jr, is the way the media coverage ignored their contribution. So I’m glad Zuckoff remedies this media oversight in his book. The courage of Walter and his team is balanced by their “Bahala na” (Come what may) attitude, which paints a portrait of the team as cheerful in the face of danger.

Filled with first-hand accounts, journal entries and personal observations, Mitchell Zuckoff’s Lost in Shangri-La is an exciting book, both hopeful and tragic. No wonder Zuckoff became a finalist for a Pulitzer in investigative reporting.

The Fates Will Find Their Way, Hannah Pittard #50BookPledge

I read The Fates Will Find Their Way because at least three people insisted I should. One went so far as to say it was the best book he’s read all year. Quite a bit of pressure for such a small book, eh? My verdict: I love it, and I urge you to read it as well. Fates is a beautiful, beautifully written book. Set aside a few hours (it’s a short book), make yourself a cup of hot cocoa, curl up with a blanket and lose yourself in Pittard’s writing.

Fates begins, “Some things were certain; they were undeniable, inarguable. Nora Lindell was gone, for one thing. …For another, it was Halloween when she went missing, which only served to compound the eeriness, the mysteriousness of her disappearance.” Nora was sixteen when she disappeared, and the unnamed narrators (the boys in Nora’s hometown, identified by the collective “we”) inform us, the phone tree system spread the word. “By the time the tree had been completed, many mothers had already gotten word of Nora’s disappearance—either from us…or from Mr. Lindell himself, who’d broken phone-tree etiquette and continued making calls… It was a breach in etiquette that our mothers forgave, obviously.” The latter passage, I think, sets the tone for the rest of the book. Pittard’s writing is subtle and wry, managing to treat such a tragedy as a young girl’s disappearance with both respect and light, at times self-deprecating humour.

Still, as the narrators say later on, “But forget about Nora for now. That’s the point.” Fates is not about the mystery of Nora’s disappearance. We do not get to see detectives scrounge for clues. In fact, when a reporter comes into town years later to investigate the case, the narrators balk at the idea: “It felt like something that was ours alone, and always had been, was slowly slipping away… Who was this Gail Cumming to think she could barge in out of nowhere?” Key words: ours alone. Fates is about the neighbourhood boys, and how Nora’s disappearance has impacted their lives. Fates is about childhood, about memories and the mythologies built around them, and about how much we try to hold on to these as we, inescapably, grow up.

Pittard traipses back and forth in time, often within the same scene: “At the time it never made sense to us – Trey Stephens’ insistence that he didn’t find Mrs. Dinnerman sexy – but looking back on it, we begin to understand.” The narration is wonderfully fluid, at times, making us ache with nostalgia for the innocence of the narrators’ past, because it is so coloured by the knowledge of their adult present.

Despite the narrators’ insistence that “the point” isn’t about Nora, they are obsessed with her story. What happened to Nora Lindell? Was she abducted by a Humbert Humbert in a Catalina? Did she fly toArizonaand have children of her own? Pittard grounds these conjectures in fact, however flimsy. Two of the boys thought they saw Nora get into a Catalina the day she disappeared. A flight attendant saw a girl who looked like Nora on a plane toArizona. How much can we trust these stories? Does their accuracy even matter?

Take a childhood friend whom you haven’t seen in years. What do you think he or she is doing now? Now, think: how much does this fantasy you’ve built for your friend say about you, and about your fantasies/dreams/wishes for yourself?

Nora Lindell is gone. Like phone trees and curfews and furtive drags of pot behind the school, the reality of Nora Lindell is in the past. Her mythology however is very open to interpretation, and her storyline, as constructed by the neighbourhood boys, reveals much about these boys as they grow up. The idea of Nora falling victim to a Humbert Humbert comes with both the present-day narration of one of the men having been arrested for having sex with an underage girl, and the childhood memory of a female classmate who had been raped. The idea of Nora starting a family of her own inArizonais interspersed with scenes of the boys themselves growing up and struggling to accept their new roles as adults. And, as we read their stories, we too remember our childhoods, and understand, along with the narrators and along with their fictional Nora, just how much we’ve changed since then.

Fates is a soft, haunting narrative of growing up. Read it. Savour it. And I hope you end up loving it as much as I did.

A Lesson in Secrets, Jacqueline Winspear #50BookPledge

It all started when my friend Jen asked if I read Maisie Dobbs. She knew how big a fan I am of Agatha Christie, and thought I’d enjoy Jacqueline Winspear’s novels as well. She happened to have an advanced reading copy of the latest in the series, and gave it to me. All I can say is, thank you, Jen! I just love Maisie Dobbs, and, like the Harper Collins executive who wrote the ARC’s cover letter, I too have become “an unabashed fan.”

A Lesson in Secrets begins with Maisie realizing that her car was being followed. In a style that reminds me of classic Nancy Drew, Maisie turns the tables on her pursuers and quite charmingly requests that they tell her why they were tailing her. It turns out the British Secret Service wants Maisie to go undercover as a lecturer at a private college in Cambridge, just to keep an eye out for any potential threats to the government. It’s 1932, and while the up-and-coming Nazi party still isn’t viewed as a threat, Britain is still reeling from the First World War and eager to establish stability. The college’s founder, Greville Liddicote, is a staunch pacifist, a controversial stance when love for one’s country is equated with the willingness to fight and die for it. So when Liddicote is found murdered, the novel broadens far beyond one man’s death, and tackles the overall sense of fear and confusion in Britain post-World War I. Winspear portrays the era wonderfully – we see the struggle between the war-engendered suspicion of foreigners and the desire for international cooperation, the discrimination against conscientious objectors to the war and its effect on their families, and Maisie’s own growing apprehension about the Nazis.

In Lesson, Winspear makes a strong case for the power of words. A lot of the mystery focuses on a children’s book about a group of fatherless children who try to end the war. The book was censored for its effectiveness at promoting pacifism: “The plight of orphaned children will always tug at the heartstrings.” Still, it was distributed widely through underground channels, and was rumoured to have caused a mutiny and an increase in conscientious objectors. Later on, during a debate, Maisie “felt a tremor of foreboding” because she sensed that a student “had stepped up with an intention to set the hall afire with his rhetoric” rather than “win the debate with honor.” Quite fittingly, Maisie’s primary weapons are her words. She investigates by talking to people, by reading between the lines and using sympathy and charm to get the information she needs. She lies easily, and more than once wonders at her ability to lie without blushing.

Above all, in an era when the very idea of nationalism is questioned, Maisie is adamant in her belief in Britain, to the point that her concerns about its future palpably affects her: “She had already seen much that she thought was not in the interests of the country she had served in a war still too easily remembered.” She, like Britain, has been scarred by the War, and again, like Britain, all she wants is to be able to live in peace. And she fights for this peace, eagerly and with conviction.

I especially love Maisie’s vulnerability in her personal life. In contrast to her confidence in solving murders and acting as a secret agent, Maisie is very hesitant when it comes to romance. Upon finding out that her lover James may have lied to her about his whereabouts, Maisie worries that her internal sensors have failed her somehow. Asked by friends about the possibility of marrying James, Maisie balks, partly because of the social convention that women give up their careers after marriage, but also partly because, she realizes, she’s afraid to believe in a “happily ever after.” Her concerns are very much grounded in the reality of women in her time, reminding us of all the women who have been left behind by those who’ve died in the War, and making her even more real.

A Lesson in Secrets has nuanced characters and an interesting mystery, and offers a fascinating look at Britain between the wars. I am now officially a Maisie Dobbs fan, and will be checking out the other books in the series.