Corwin wrote two books about the LAPD, Homicide Special and The Killing Streets; both are very good, but And Still We Rise, about a year spent with the seniors in the gifted program at Crenshaw High School in Los Angeles, is even better.

There is not a single white student at Crenshaw High, and the vast majority of the students in the gifted program (and probably the general student body as well) are not merely poor and subject to racism and class prejudice, but have had the odds stacked against them since they were born: broken homes, missing fathers, abusive relatives, no relatives willing to take them, violent and drug-ridden neighborhoods, no good role models, and so forth.

When Corwin starts following the students, it's the last year that affirmative action is still in effect in California. The book is in large part an argument for affirmative action, as Corwin points out the vast disadvantages that affirmative action can only partially offset: the Crenshaw students must work part or even full-time to survive, many of them live in environments not remotely conducive to study (roach-infested apartments, gang neighborhoods, appalling group homes), their parents are absent or working all the time, there are no books in their houses, they don't get the expensive (and very effective) SAT coaching wealthier parents buy as a matter of course, few AP courses are offered at the schools (which drives their grade point averages down, as an A in those classes is 5 points instead of 4), the schools are missing vital supplies such as textbooks-- I could go on.

However, the book is primarily about a handful of the students, and their brilliant and inspiring teacher who is also an emotional trainwreck. The character portraits are beautifully drawn, and the book leaves you awed by the determination of the students (several of whom identify strongly with the social upstart Gatsby), who do their best to learn and thrive under circumstances that would daunt a mature adult. Because of this, the book doesn't leave you grim and despairing of humantity, but uplifted by the spirit of the kids and furious at the situation. Especially toward the end, when the students are applying for colleges-- and can't afford to go at all unless they get huge amounts of financial aid-- this reads like a thriller. Highly recommended.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is about the laid-back, eccentric town of Savannah, Georgia; its eccentric residents; and an unusual murder trial. Berendt is a sharp observer and his ear for the rhythyms of speech is particularly good; I suspect that his book on Venice suffered from having to translate everyone's dialogue into English from the original Italian.

Though Berendt seems more comfortable with the rich white folk, the more interesting characters are poor or black: a black transsexual, an alcoholic inventor trying to create glow-in-the-dark goldfish, a lawyer perenially in trouble with the law. Berendt loves the lush, inbred atmosphere of Savannah, but, though he doesn't dwell on it, I'm not sure conditions are much better there than they are in Crenshaw, unless you're rich and white, not to mention straight-- or, at least, well-closeted.
Jamling Norgay is the son of Tenzing Norgay, who was, with Edmond Hillary, the first person to climb Mt. Everest. Like many famous men, his children found him awesome and distant, both literally and emotionally, and a hard act to live up to. Jamling Norgay was determined to climb Everest as well, a desire that only increased after his father's death; at that point, Jamling Norgay was as eager to commune with his father by walking in his footsteps as he was to match his exploit.

The book is an account of how he climbed Mt. Everest with the IMAX movie expedition, at the same time that a number of people were killed-- a time also chronicled by at least three other books that I know of. The IMAX expedition was not directly involved in the disaster, but gave up its own vital supplies and time in an effort to help out. (This was recounted in the other books as well.)

This is, unfortunately, an "as told to" account, a genre which has not once to my recollection produced a well-written book. The first page is particularly awful. However, there is enough interest in the subject matter to overcome the prose. Jamling Norgay is a Sherpa, and has strong ties to Tibet, India, and Nepal. The hired Sherpas have taken a disproportionate share of casualties on Everest trips and the non-Sherpa climbers get most of the glory; also, the Sherpas tend to climb because it pays better than the other jobs that are available, which is not to say that in any way it pays well enough considering the danger involved.

Norgay is a Sherpa by birth and culture, but climbs as a member of a team, not as hired help; this gives him even more cultural conflicts that he already got handed to him by his mixed heritage, his cross-continental upbringing, and his father's position. Norgay is forced to think a lot more than most Everest climbers about East vs. West, cultural conflicts and imperialism, religion and spirituality, the legacy of colonialism, and so forth, and that makes the book interesting enough to overcome Broughton Coburn's ham-handed approach to the English language.

If you read this book, it will tell you more about Sherpas in five pages than you will understand from reading any five other Everest accounts in entirety. And just that says a lot about the relationship of the Sherpas and most non-Sherpa climbers. (Jamling Norgay makes a good case that Edmond Hillary was an exception.)



I have not yet read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, but I was not much impressed with City of Falling Angels, which is a perfect contrast to Touching my Father's Soul in that the prose is lovely and it's about a fascinating place and culture, but by focusing exclusively on the fabulously wealthy upper crust of society, it left out most of what I was interested in.

Berendt goes to Venice after the grand opera house, the Fenice, burns down, and decides to write a book about Venetians, rather than the more common accounts focusing on visitors to the city. He has some brilliant and funny scenes depicting eccentrics, like a rat poison magnate and a man who insists that contracts be signed with the print of the right big toe, but virtually everyone he focuses on is some sort of excruciatingly wealthy socialite. Halfway through the book, I was overcome with the impulse to join the Communist Party.

I had wanted to read about day to day life in Venice, but I had been thinking more of the day to day lives of fruit sellers and fake handbag sellers and gondoliers and artisans and restaurant owners, not gazillionaire expats and doges. There was also not much description of scenery or food or the smell of the water, nor, unless I missed it (I admit that I started skimming heavily) did Berendt once eat a cup or cone of gelato. Not bad, exactly, but not at all what I was looking for.

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