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(05/24/04 2:07am)
It's so hard to believe that I am leaving Denmark in a matter of days. So much has changed since I arrived in the dreary month of January. When I moved into my yellow room in my host family's home in Humlebæk the days were short, the snow was deep and the environment unfamiliar. \nOn my second day in Copenhagen I got hopelessly lost -- and I mean hopelessly. Wandering around the streets of Nørrebro, it took all I had not to panic. Danish -- the language charmingly referred to as a disease of the throat -- was a mystery to me and I was late to my orientation. Thankfully, the Danes are a helpful bunch and I got where I was going only a few minutes late.\nNow the days are long, the flowers are in bloom and Denmark is a home away from home. Cards from friends and family dot my yellow walls, and trinkets from my travels clutter my tiny desk. The thought of someone no longer speaking Danish to me makes me break out in a cold sweat. Now, I just tell the natives -- in Danish -- that I don't speak well, but do speak English. Usually they're happy to practice their English on me when they get the chance. It's fun to listen to their opinions on anything and everything American. The Danes I have met have thus far have been brutally honest on everything from American fashion sense (sorely lacking, apparently) to American politics (not huge President Bush fans).\nI'm going to miss riding my creaky green bike ride to the train station every morning, hustling to meet my friend for the brutally early commute. I'm going to miss rushing home for whatever gourmet dinner my host dad Peter has whipped up that evening. I'm going to miss the awkward conversations I have with my host mom Helene where both of us end up more confused than when we started. I'm going to miss my host sister Cecile tearing through the house singing the latest Britney Spears hit. I'm going to miss the routine of life in my host family's home and I'm going to miss the routine of school with the friends I have met.\nCopenhagen has ceased being a mystery to me. I've seen the Little Mermaid, perched on a lonesome rock overlooking an industrial harbor. I've been to the Tivoli Pleasure Gardens. I've wandered around the Royal Palace's grounds. The museums, the treasures of the small hidden streets are no longer foreign. A city of only 1.5 million -- and that includes the entire greater Copenhagen area -- is small, friendly, and cosmopolitan. With the excitement of the royal wedding of Crown Prince Frederik to Aussie Mary Donaldson a fresh memory, I hop on a plane and get ready for the next big move of the year.\nFrom Copenhagen I am off to London -- six weeks of an internship are all that stand in between me and my home in Dyer, Ind. London will be a dramatic change from Copenhagen and I am ready for the challenge. Though I am sad to leave Denmark, I can't look back too long … I'm London-bound.
(05/20/04 1:29am)
Books about bond trading aren't usually the books one has trouble putting down -- but "Liar's Poker," a memoir penned by Michael Lewis, is not your average book about bond trading. Lewis chronicles his career with Salomon Brothers in the heady 1980s, when the excesses of Wall Street were quite possibly at their most ostentatious. Devilishly funny, Lewis describes his rise from a "geek" to a "big swinging dick" with panache and a large dose of humor. "Liar's Poker" should be required reading for any person considering a career in investment banking.\nAs a graduate from the London School of Economics with no job offers, Lewis attends a royal fundraising dinner at Buckingham where he has the extraordinary luck to sit in between the wives of two senior managers at Salomon Brothers. After unsuccessfully applying to be an investment banker after graduating from Princeton three years earlier -- investment banks weren't interested in an art history major -- he was offered the opportunity to work with Salomon Brothers. He entered the Salomon Brothers trainee class and began his education in what made the traders tick.\nWhat Lewis learned is that trading at Salomon Brothers -- the most desirable placement within the firm -- was not a place for the weak at heart. His trainee class, all 120 of them, wanted to be placed as close to the bond trading action as possible. Bonds were where the action was, and equities were for wimps. Instead of a civilized environment, the jungle mentality pervaded the trainee class, and the respected members were the ones who heckled the lecturers and harassed their colleagues. Lewis got lucky at the end of his five-month training program; he was accepted as a bond salesman in the London office of Salomon. \nHowever, the ridicule and low-level hazing that characterized the training program didn't stop once he got there; new salesmen were referred to as "geeks," not yet worthy of being called men. Lewis was given inconsequential clients and proceeded to make gaff after gaff, losing his customers' money -- or in Salomon terminology, "blowing them up." After a series of missteps, he manages to move over $86 million in bonds in one day. Suddenly Lewis was no longer a "geek," but a "big swinging dick," a term afforded to only the best of the best in the company. He was paid lavishly, even after Salomon began its decline in the late '80s. Despite the compensation, Lewis left the job at the firm because, as he said, "I didn't need it any longer."\n"Liar's Poker" is a raucously funny book about the collective greed that consumed Wall Street in the in the 1980s. Lewis carefully crafts his co-workers -- whom he gives clever nicknames like "the Human Piranha" -- to avoid turning them into blatant caricatures of Wall Street stereotypes, even though some come close. His first-hand account of the bond-dealing brouhaha rips the lid off of the obsessed, closed world of Wall Street. Breaking through the wall of gray suits, he honestly portrays the absurdity of it all without sounding like a pariah. As the bond traders would say, this book is a definite buy.\n"Liar's Poker," by Michael Lewis, is published by Penguin Books and has a list price of $14. It is available at www.amazon.com.
(05/13/04 1:18am)
Bavaria, the largest and arguably best-known state of the German Länder, is seen by many as a microcosm of the country as a whole. The picturesque landscape is dotted by castles, perched precariously on mountains and the towns are full of the traditional cross-timbered houses nestled behind blooming gardens. This is the land of the coocoo clock, the smoke-filled beer hall and the oompah band.\nThe Munich rules Bavaria as the undisputed cultural center. Renowned for its beer halls and burgeoning high-tech industry, it is a city with a tainted past. As the birthplace of the Nazi party in the 1920s, it was where Adolph Hitler first tried to seize power from the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923. Dachau concentration camp lies only a short train ride away from the city center -- 20,000 people were killed while doing forced labor within 10 miles of the daily life of Munich.\nI came back to Munich after a three-year absence. Not too much seemed to have changed -- with the exception of the currency. Last time I was in Europe, the Euro had yet to be introduced, and Germany was still using the Deutschmark. I had a little more time in Munich this time around, so I decided for a day to venture beyond the city to the town of Füssen.\nFüssen is the closest town to Neuschwanstein -- the fairy tale castle built by King Ludwig II of Bavaria. Known as the mad king, he built Neuschwanstein castle as a tribute to the operatic works of composer Richard Wagner. All work on the castle was halted upon Ludwig's death and the castle remains unfinished, but stands as a testament to both the king and Wagner. \nNeuschwanstein is one of the most opulent castles I have ever seen. The interior is laden with gilded surfaces, priceless works of art and extensive woodworking. The fairy tale association with Neuschwanstein is not accidental -- it is rumored Cinderella's castle at Disney World is based upon the Bavarian original. \nAfter a short ride back to Munich, I wandered around the city center, catching the New Town Hall's famed Glockenspiel. The clock, which has animated characters enacting a medieval festival draws tourists and locals alike to watch its twice-daily pageant. Just a stone's throw away is the Frauenkirche, distinctive among German churches for its large blunted domes on the towers.\nInside the Frauenkirke is one of the more interesting myths of Munich. On the floor there is a set of black footprints -- supposedly left by the devil himself. The devil walked into the church, pleased that he could see no images of Christ. Feeling proud of what surely must have been his handiwork, he took another step further into the church. Then he saw what was truly inside -- images of Christ everywhere. Upset with himself, he stamped his feet on the ground before leaving, permanently marking the floor with his footprints. \nAnd of course, no trip to Munich is ever complete without a stop inside the beer halls for which Bavaria is renowned. Clinking glasses and oompah bands fill the background as the tourists and Germans alike drink a maß -- the liter glasses in which beer is sold. From the touristy Hofbräuhaus to the more authentic Augustiner beer hall, the beer is an integral part of the Bavarian culture and exactly where I ended my trip. Prost!
(05/07/04 4:18am)
Cosa Nostra: A History of the Sicilian Mafia," the exhaustive survey of the Mafia's history in Italy, written by British-based author John Dickie, can be described with one word: fascinating. A non-fiction survey of the history of one of crime's most misunderstood groups, it is an engrossing narrative outlining the rise, fall and rebirth of the Sicilian Mafia. "Cosa Nostra" is also one of the few complete histories of the Italian Mafia that is available in English. \nFrom the shaded citrus groves of Palermo, Sicily, to the marble halls of Italian government, Dickie manages to make clear how the Sicilian Mafia spread its roots and managed to influence the daily lives of Italians; he also elucidates this history without bogging down the reader with dates, times, and sentences. Instead, he engrosses the reader with bold storytelling, precise details, and a flair for the dramatic. But let the reader be warned -- this book only gives a cursory treatment to the oft-glamorized American Mafia, focusing instead on its roots in the Italian province of Sicily.\nThough not as well known in the States as famous gangsters like "Scarface" Al Capone and Lucky Luciano, the Sicilian Mafioso are just as deadly, cunning, and profitable. The Cosa Nostra began about 140 years ago in the citrus groves surrounding Palermo, the largest city on the island of Sicily. There, a "protection" racket grew, extorting the citrus grove owners and cutting the profits of owning land. \nThe loosely organized gangs that extorted the landowners grew into a highly structured organization consisting of compartmentalized "families" who answered to bosses. How the Mafia progressed from the environs of Palermo to controlling interests in all of Italy can be explained by a myriad of factors.\nThe Italian state's indifference toward crime in Sicily was one of the largest keys to the Cosa Nostra's early successes. In the past, the mainland Italian view of Sicily held the Sicilians as unsophisticated peasants for whom petty crime was a way of life and who were incapable of organizing crime to a high extent. The Cosa Nostra's intimidating record of maiming or killing those who spoke out against them also hindered efforts to stop their advances. Witnesses did not live to testify against the Mafiosi, or they were intimidated into recanting their testimony. \n"Cosa Nostra: A History of the Sicilian Mafia" does a brilliant job of explaining the inner workings of the Mafia from its origins to the present day. Dickie also honors the men and women who died trying to fight against the crime and corruption that plagued Sicily-- and those people number in the hundreds.\nHistoric, yes. Boring, hardly. Though it is a non-fiction book, Dickie's flair for dramatic narrative, combined with lurid subject matter, makes "Cosa Nostra" a book that is hard to put down-- and this one is not just for Mafia buffs either. His comprehensive survey shows how pervasive the Mafia was -- and remains -- in Italian affairs.\n"Cosa Nostra: A History of the Sicilian Mafia" by John Dickie will be released in hardcover on October 29, 2004, by Palgrave Macmillan. It has a list price of $26.95 and can be preordered on www.amazon.com.
(04/23/04 4:29am)
The fact that we live in a branded world is undeniable; everywhere we turn we see ads for Pepsi, Levi's and any other brand which you can possibly think. Hell, even IU is a brand, with Indiana sweatshirts dotting our campus, courtesy of Steve and Barry's.\nHowever, most of us don't give much thought to the logos dotting our wardrobes or the companies who make and sell them. It is precisely this that Naomi Klein tries to combat with her provocative book "No Logo:Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies."\nMilitantly anti-corporation "No Logo" takes a hard look at the way global corporations do business at home and abroad. Klein takes issue with the labor practices of Nike, Reebok and Adidas, the marketing of just about every product, and companies that do business with oppressive, autocratic regimes.\nKlein is venomous in denouncing companies that put their bottom line above people; sections of this book are nothing less than vitriolic.\nKlein devotes most of her rage toward Nike and other clothing and footwear manufacturers who take advantage of the tax-free import/export zones in much of the developing world. Manufacturers clamor for space in these areas that add little to no duty on finished goods; the workers are underpaid, transiently employed and mistreated by their superiors in the ramshackle buildings. She makes dramatic examples of Nike, London Fog, DKNY and other well-known brands that have workers putting together their clothes for less than $1 a day and selling them for hundreds, making record profits from human misery. Nobody, perhaps with the exception of the sweatshop owners, finds anything wrong with denouncing the use of sweatshops to drive down the bottom line.\nHowever, I believe Klein missed the mark with her rants against modern advertising techniques. I'm not going to argue with her that the billboards lining our highways are an eyesore, but elsewhere, her pontificating is bordering on anti-corporation zealotry. Klein believes marketing to the young generation is irresponsible, and she's not just talking about alcohol and cigarettes. She thinks the marketing of shoes, clothing and basic commodities to children is offensive and omnipresent.\nKlein's greatest point comes from the concept of branding; she despises the logo most of all. She hates the logo as a status symbol, whether it is a swoosh on a shoe or an alligator on a polo shirt. Klein believes small -- and large -- logos undermine free choice. However, the fact remains that you can choose to buy clothing with logos -- or without -- and companies do have the right to distinguish their products from another's.\nKlein concludes her book with a look at the international anti-corporation movement, from large scale campaigns like the protests against Royal Dutch Shell's involvement with Nigeria's autocratic regime to smaller-scale efforts to deface billboards. She interviews the people at the head of this growing movement and concludes with an afterward about the Seattle riots following the WTO conference there.\n"No Logo" is an eye-opening book. From juicy details on how companies do business with sweatshops abroad to an inside look at advertising, Klein draws a picture of the big, bad corporation. Whether or not you agree with her views about corporations, what she has to say is important and requires some thought. She has written the bible of anti-corporation militancy, and "No Logo" offers a viable, if hostile, view of corporate practices and offers some arguments are hard to deny.\n"No Logo" is written by Naomi Klein and published by Picador USA. It has a list price of $15 and is available at www.amazon.com.
(04/21/04 4:31am)
You Have to Kiss a lot of Frogs," the first novel from actress turned writer Laurie Graff, is a hilarious trip through the love life of Karrie Kline, a struggling New York actress living from part to part and man to man. Written as a series of short stories, "You Have to Kiss a lot of Frogs" illustrates the hazards of dating in the city. Poking fun at the foibles of both Karrie and her -- sometimes admittedly-odd -- dates, the book is a delightful romp that can be savored one story at a time, much like the box of chocolates Karrie received from a jilted lover. \nAfter going to a surprise bridal shower for her friend Marcy, Karrie Kline looks back at her life -- still single at 45, she takes inventory of her years of dating in search of love, happiness and perhaps even a husband. What she gets is a hilarious reverie of the good, the bad, and the just plain weird in her dating history. From a blind date mix-up to a barking TV star, Karrie definitely kissed her fair share of frogs looking for her Prince Charming.\nThe stories of Karrie's dates run the gamut from the hilarious date that almost wasn't to dead-serious stories of heartbreak and loss. The vignettes follow no logical order; rather than follow a neat linear fashion, the stories follow the more muddled order of human memory. While all of the short stories have their individual charms, the most interesting are those detailing her dates with the truly weird.\nMy personal favorite was the story recalling Karrie's date with a New York University graduate student working on his doctoral thesis. Drawn by his offbeat good looks, she went on a date that quickly proceeded from quirky to downright weird. Eating at a café, her hapless date detailed to her how he only wrote a few words a day on his thesis, searching for the absolute perfect words; this is in addition to eating the exact same thing for every meal, every day. Other women in the restaurant gave Karrie their sympathies, snickering at her admittedly odd date. Other similarly disastrous first -- and last -- dates dot her dating history, comprising the bulk of the book.\nAnd thus, "You Have to Kiss a lot of Frogs" ends nearly the same as it begins; Karrie is still single and searching for love. What is different, however, is the knowledge Karrie has about herself. She is aware of who she is and what she is looking for in a man. Most importantly, she knows it is OK she is 45 years old and still single, with no immediate prospects of marriage looming on her horizon. \nDelightfully fun, with a light tone and quirky narrative style, "You Have to Kiss a lot of Frogs" is a girly good time captured in a book. Graff created a great start to her writing career -- and I wonder how much of the material is culled from her own dating experiences. We've all been on our share of bad dates, and there is no better way to commiserate than reading stories infinitely worse than our own worst dates.\n"You Have to Kiss a lot of Frogs," written by Laurie Graff, is published by Red Dress Ink. The book has a list price of $12.95 and is available at Borders, Barnes and Noble, www.amazon.com and other local retailers.
(04/20/04 4:38am)
Smelly, chaotic, noisy, beautiful and charming are only a few of the words that can be used to describe Rome; the eternal city is a mixture of old and new world, Catholicism and pagan gods. The bustle that is common to this metropolis was only intensified by the weekend I chose to visit: Easter. After navigating my way to the hotel -- no small feat in the labyrinthine streets -- I set out to see what there is to be seen. As it turns out, in Rome that means the entire city.\nRome has history built on top of history -- literally. Once the seat of the Roman Empire, the decrepit ancient relics intermingle with the opulence of the Vatican and whine of the omnipresent Vespa scooters. History lives here, but so do more than three million Italians going about their daily lives. Together it creates an interesting mix of hedonism and culture, tourists and locals. \nThe Colosseum, one of the best preserved gladiator arenas of the ancient world, is perhaps one of the biggest tourist draws to Rome. The majesty of the ruins is amazing, and the omnipresent tour guides like to point out the greatest irony of the Colosseum; though it was once the center for public executions and gladiator battles, it has become a symbol of the progress of humanity.\nSince I arrived Good Friday, the guides at the Colosseum suggested I return at night to witness the Via Crucius, a Roman tradition. Every year a crowd gathers at the base of the Palentino in front of the Colosseum to watch the Pope read the Stations of the Cross. I arrived early and was rewarded for my effort with a place near the front; when the Pope arrived I was a mere 100 feet away. The crowd grew as the ceremony progressed; by the time I left there were more than 100,000 people gathered.\nThe next day I reserved for the Holy City. The Vatican is the world's smallest sovereign state by square footage and is the richest country in the world. Housed inside the fortified walls of the Vatican Museum are the Baroque and Renaissance treasures of the art world. The frescoed walls and mosaic floors were completed by the masters of the art world: Michelangelo, Bernini and Raphael. The culmination of the Vatican Museum is the Sistine Chapel, the small chapel with the famous ceiling where papal elections take place.\nHowever, the glory of the Vatican lies beyond the walls of the museum. St. Peter's Square, with its imperial columns and graceful obelisk, lies in front of what was once the largest Catholic church in the world, St. Peter's Basilica. It was here I gathered Easter Sunday with others to listen to the Pope's address to the world, when he exhorts world leaders to search for peaceful ways to resolve their conflicts. \nI was in the eternal city for only three days, and I barely began to scratch the surface of all that is hidden in its alleys, piazzas and museums. But the chaotic mess of a city captured my heart. Just before I left, I threw my coin into the Trevi Fountain to ensure my return.
(03/30/04 4:25am)
As I stepped out of the U-Bahn station at Unter den Linden, I remembered how wonderful Berlin really is. There is an energy pulsing through the city with an unrivaled atmosphere. The German capital, once divided by the world's powers, now stands for the progress of the German people as a major European metropolis. The modern architecture is a reminder of the total devastation the city faced during the World War II -- Berlin, at the war's end, was reduced to rubble. \nHowever, parts of the city remained intact. One of the first things visible once you emerge from the U-Bahn on Unter den Linden is the Brandenburg Gate. This gate, built as a gift for the now-defunct royal family of Germany, became the symbol of division between the East and West during the years of the Berlin Wall. Stray a few meters away and you stumble upon the Reichstag, the seat of German government and politics. The distinctive glass dome crowning the building plays host to a dizzying set of stairs -- the reward for your climb is a breathtaking view of the city.\nBerlin has an impressive collection of state-owned museums; most of these sit on the Museuminsel in the center of the Spree River. There, hidden inside the neoclassical buildings, lie some of the world's treasures. From the impressionism of Monet and Manet to the ancient treasures of Turkey and Egypt, Berlin's museums are host to anything you could want to see.\nAmong the more unusual possessions of the Berlin museums, housed in the Vorderasiatisches Museum, is the Ishtar Gate -- the gates to the city of Babylon. Excavated by a German team in the 19th century, it has been painstakingly recreated with the animals that adorned the gate pieced together from ancient shards of pottery.\nBerlin has gone through great pains to acknowledge the painful past of Germany. Situated on Unter den Linden is the Neue Wache, a memorial to all who died in World War II. Inside this stark monument is a haunting statue of a mother holding her dead son. Exposed to the elements, the statue, though housed inside a building, experiences the rain when it rains and the sun when it shines.\nAlso serving as a reminder of the terror of war is the "Hollow Tooth." Once a glorious church in the center of the city, the left tower of the church is all that remained standing after World War II. Instead of demolishing the remains, it stayed as a reminder of the destructive power of war -- a bombed-out shell in the center of the city.\nCheckpoint Charlie, the Allied checkpoint that was the only crossing between East and West Berlin, is now the site of a museum dedicated to the history of the wall. Contained inside is the complete history of the breakdown of relations that caused the erection of the wall, including the story of the dramatic Berlin Air Lift. The ingenious inventions and ruses used by East Germans desperate to escape the tyranny of life behind the Iron Curtain are detailed by the stories of those who survived their flight to freedom -- and those who did not.\nMarring the peaceful atmosphere, there were grim reminders of the recent terror attacks in Spain. Police with German shepherds are in train stations, and the American and British embassies were virtually inaccessible, blockaded behind concrete barriers and an overwhelming police presence. Scrolling across the departure and arrival boards at Berlin Zooilogischer Garten -- the main train station -- are reminders to report unattended bags to the police. Berlin is changing along with the rest of Europe; security is now at the forefront of everyone's thoughts. Despite the security concerns, people in Berlin carry on the same way they normally would -- everybody just pays closer attention now.
(03/22/04 4:28am)
As an author, John Grisham has had a great run. Almost any book with his name on the cover is guaranteed to reach the New York Times Bestseller List, and they are usually captivating, page turners. However, what works for Grisham has become quite apparent -- a small-time lawyer stumbles into a case beyond his or her scope and that case somehow changes his life. Did I mention nine times out of 10, this lawyer will be from a small town in the deep South?\nKeeping with his formula in "The King of Torts," Grisham involves us with Clay Carter, a young lawyer who works in the Office of the Public Defender in Washington, D.C. Clay's father was a powerful D.C. attorney who left the town in disgrace and his son to work in the poorly-paid position of defending indigent criminals. After getting stuck with the case of Tequila Watson, however, his life changes dramatically.\nTequila, a street hood with a long rap sheet but no history of violence was caught nearly red handed with the brutal slaying of another hood. Clay does some digging into Tequila's background and he discovers puzzling discrepancies in his medical files from the rehab facility he was living in when he committed the murder. Another public defender has a nearly identical case, and the two puzzle over their nonviolent clients becoming murderous at random.\nClay gets all of his questions answered when he is approached by Max Pace, a man who presents himself as a "firefighter" for major corporations. The long and short of the story is Max's client, a well-known pharmaceutical firm, was illegally running human tests of a promising new drug that miraculously cured crack addiction in Washington, D.C. rehab clinics.\nThough the drug, named Tarvan, had amazing results, in about 8 percent of the recipients the drug caused an insatiable blood lust -- previously non-violent offenders would kill people at random. The company had done everything it could to cover up the tests, but Clay was the only person who began to piece together the conspiracy. \nMax presents Clay with a deal. Since Clay is the only person who knows of Tarvan and its victims, he will be paid millions for his silence. Max also gives Clay the information necessary to assault a major pharmaceutical company with a class-action lawsuit, alleging their drug causes tumors. Thus, Clay Carter is thrust into the high-stakes world of tort lawsuits.\nThe majority of the book focuses on the tactics used by the lawyers assailing firms with class-action lawsuits. Clay is thrust into this world and becomes greedier and greedier, and suddenly the millions he is making is barely enough to cover his living expenses.\nClay becomes so blinded by the money he is making that he forgets the suits he files affect real people and have real consequences. He is forced to confront the fact that he bankrupts his company and an entire town ruins several people's lives. Attempts are made on his life, and the game he is playing has higher and higher risks. Eventually his whole world crumbles down around him and he leaves the U.S. with his tail between his legs. \nWhile "The King of Torts" is an entertaining read, it is the same formula used by Grisham in several other novels. If you have read any other of his books you aren't in for anything new, but it still makes for a good, quick read. If you've read Grisham before and enjoyed it, you will most likely enjoy this one. Conversely, if you have been unimpressed with his writing, steer clear of this novel. \n"The King of Torts" retails for $19.57 at www.amazon.com.
(03/09/04 6:00am)
Don't get me wrong -- I absolutely love the city of København, despite the dismal weather. However, after spending a week by myself in my host family's home (they were skiing in the Italian Alps), I was ready to get out of the house myself. Since just about every other European destination is warmer and cheaper than København, I was faced with a bevy of options. Where to go?\nI was limited in destinations by the Eurail ticket I was holding, so I decided on a weekend in Amsterdam. The notorious city of sin and culture was accessible by my train pass, so off to Amsterdam I went -- and what an adventure it was.\nGetting to Amsterdam via train was more than a little tricky. The main office at the København central station incorrectly booked our outgoing reservations, leaving us in a tiny German town. Thankfully, the error was caught, and we made it to Amsterdam a little later than expected but still in one piece. The ride back was even worse, if possible. My Eurail ticket's ink was smeared, and the universally surly Dutch train personnel threatened to throw me in jail for a smudged number on my rail pass. I finally agreed to be charged for an extra day, and though I was out an extra $50, I did manage to avoid prison.\nDespite the hassles in getting there and back, Amsterdam itself was a weekend excursion well worth the trip. The weather seemed downright tropical compared to Denmark, and the people in the city were marvelous, helpful with directions and the public transportation. The vibe of Amsterdam was completely different than the reserved manner of the Danes -- the streets were boisterous with people cheering games of gigantic chess, hawking tulips and racing on their bikes from place to place.\nMy must-see stop in Amsterdam was the Van Gogh Museum. \nVan Gogh, a Dutchman, has an entire museum devoted to his and his contemporaries works, situated near the Rijksmuseum, which houses works by the earlier Dutch masters of art. Spanning his entire career, I was able to see some of the most famous paintings in the world, including my personal favorite, Van Gogh's bedroom. After wandering around the museum for awhile, I decided to explore the reason Amsterdam has become infamous worldwide -- the Red Light District.\nIt's hard to describe the Red Light District of Amsterdam. Marijuana plants lined the window sills of coffee shops, and people just look the other way at behavior that will ordinarily result in an arrest. The scene is in a way incongruous, with the glow of red lights from the windows of prostitutes lighting the antique canals and historic buildings. Hustlers lined the streets, and shills corralled the gawking tourists into their live stage shows. Every sin and vice imaginable can be sated in Amsterdam -- for a price.\nAmsterdam is a wonderful city full of culture in the day and something entirely different at night. The contrast is as marked as possible: the home of world famous art is also home of the largest semi-legal trade of soft drugs in Europe. There are a multitude of reasons to visit the Dutch city of sin, and the charm of the city is overwhelming. I am counting the days until I go back -- and I am flying this time.
(02/24/04 4:17am)
I have been living in Denmark for about a month now, and the city of København seems more and more like my home. Though, it's about 4,200 miles from my hometown of Dyer, Ind., what I have found here is a second home living with Danes and studying with Americans, Czechs, Poles and Chinese. \nI am living with a host family in the town of Humlebæk, which is situated about 45 kilometers north of København and 15 kilometers south of Helsingør. It is a tidy town full of impeccable streets and bike paths, friendly people and excellent public transportation. My host family has taken me into their home for the next four months, and I have loved every minute of it -- even when my host sister Cecilie squeals with delight at my stilted attempts of Danish.\nThough I have not explored København to its fullest extent yet, I wanted to check out what else Denmark has in store for me. Kronborg Slot, the castle of Helsingør, was one of the first places I visited. Those of us who read "Hamlet" in high school remember this lonely castle not as Kronborg, but rather as Elsinor, the castle that hosts the bloodbath. Located on the chokepoint of the Øresund, the straight between Denmark and Sweden, it is an impressive sight on the harbor. From the ramparts of the castle you can see the Swedish town of Helsingborg; the straight is only four kilometers wide at the location of castle. \nAnd Kronborg was not used as a royal residence, as depicted in Hamlet, but rather it was used to extract exorbitant tolls from passing ships. The castle was traded between the Swedes and the Danes numerous times and was known as the "Keeper of the Sound" to the ships that warily passed beneath its ramparts.\nThe tour of the castle was amazing; though most of the furniture and artwork is not original to the castle. The castle was sacked by the Swedes on numerous occasions and the majesty of the castle is undeniable. From the soaring ceiling beams in what was once the largest ballroom in Scandinavia to the gloomy casemates of the castle, it is a decidedly different castle than any other I have seen. Instead of gilded interiors and intricate ornamentation, the stark interior is a testament to Scandinavian austerity.\nThe highlight of the castle interior is the casemates, the bowels of the castle. Poorly lit and ventilated, the casemates of Kronborg give a whole new life to the word "dank." The casemates of Kronborg were once used to hold the slaves that toiled away under the king's command until they were freed, executed or died of the unsanitary conditions -- the gloom the inmates must have felt has never left the casemates.\nAlso housed in the casemates is the Viking Helgor Danske, the mythical savior of Denmark. As the story goes, Helgor Danske will remain stone until the day the kingdom of Denmark is threatened. When the Danes are threatened, Helgor Danske will awaken and lead an army of old men and young boys to save the kingdom from destruction. But Helgor has remained stone in the casemates of Kronborg, awaiting his turn to rise to glory and impressing a few tourists, myself included, on the way.
(02/18/04 4:35am)
"Guilty Feet," an unabashedly girly novel by British author Kelly Harte, is a delightful pleasure. Part of the invasion of British penned novels in our post-Bridget Jones world, this is a delightful addition to the genre of Brit chic lit. If the neon pink cover isn't a hint to any unsuspecting male, I don't know what would be. This book is by a girl and for a girl, no doubt about it.\nOur heroine, Jo, is at a crossroads in her life. She is freshly unemployed after her e-commerce firm folded as well as freshly single to boot. She moved out of her boyfriend Dan's apartment after he made a cruel remark during a fight and now Jo can't figure out why he isn't chasing after her. On top of this, she is sharing her apartment with her father after he decides he needs to take a break from her harpy-like mother. Leeds, England, feels like it is suffocating her, but she has neither the desire nor finances to leave.\nJo decides to escape her reality by striking up a virtual friendship with Dan. Dan, a writer, has long published his e-mail address and Jo knows she can create a friendship with him if she pushes his buttons the right way. This she does with Sarah Daley, her new online alter ego. \nOf course, creating a virtual friendship with your ex-boyfriend is not the best way to recover from a smarting heart. Nor is it a great way to earn your way back into his heart and apartment ... but there is more than Jo's virtual friendship conspiring against any future she has with Dan. Add into the mix a sexy Italian waiter who wants to sweep Jo off of her feet, a statuesque publicist with her pretty eyes on Dan and a psychotic scheming neighbor who will stop at absolutely nothing to keep Jo and Dan from getting back together. Life can be complicated in Leeds. \nOver the course of a few months, "Guilty Feet" takes the reader on the wild ride of Jo's love life. From a venomous childhood friend who steals her boyfriend in retaliation for something that happened in high school to the psychopathic neighbor being caught red handed in her schemes, Jo's world gets turned upside down. The real highlight of the book is Jo's crazy mom and everything she is willing to do to get some attention, even exploring her sexuality to get her husband back. Unsuccessfully, I would like to add.\n"Guilty Feet" is not what I would call world-class literature by any stretch. It is fun fluff, and for what it is, it is a great book. The characters have dimension and are wickedly funny, both in their conversations and their actions. This is the type of book I love to read but am embarrassed to be seen with; it's something about the pink covers and girly themes. "Guilty Feet" is truly a guilty pleasure, and an incredibly enjoyable one.\n"Guilty Feet" is published by Red Dress Ink, and has a list price of $12.95. It is available at local retailers or Amazon.com.
(02/04/04 5:02am)
My first thought after finishing "Crawling at Night," a novel penned by Nani Power, is one of confusion. This book literally drips of sex and booze, but remains resolutely devoid of passion and life. No character in the book calls for sympathy from the reader ... everyone is a member of society living on the fringes. A novel exploring the loneliness that envelops the lives of its characters, "Crawling at Night" passes on the opportunity to draw any form of a conclusion and ends in an unsatisfying, tangled knot.\n"Crawling at Night" follows the lives of several unsavory people through the course of their memories and a couple of days. We discover Ito, a sushi chef from Japan who is longing not only for his dead wife, but also his Chinese prostitute mistress, Xiu Xiu. Ito abandoned his son to his sister-in-law and packed up his bags for America after the child murdered the prostitute. Ito lives alone, speaks stilted English and longs for his homeland and the love of a woman.\nIto's infatuation falls upon Mariane, a hopeless alcoholic waitress who is pining over the loss of her daughter. Mariane cannot picture her daughter as the 13-year-old she is, but constantly thinks of her only in the terms of a baby. Though she dreams of being reunited with her daughter, all Mariane does is drink away her pain and have sordid sex with strangers.\nThe reader is dragged along with the two lost souls as they go through their days. Along the way, they encounter a Chinatown prostitute who fears Ito and a slow, Vietnamese man who loves the prostitute and dreams of marrying her. These characters circle each other in a haphazard mess of a plot -- and I use the word plot loosely.\nThere seems to be no drive to the novel at all. Power emulates the life of these people, and some lives have no direction. What the reader gets is the haphazard memories of these four characters intermixed with the present day. What is intended to be an emotional book ends up tedious as Power abruptly jumps from character reverie to character reverie. Just as abruptly, the book ends.\nWhile life doesn't come to neat conclusions either, the haphazard ending of this novel seems to imply Power just got tired of writing, and ended her book. I was left wondering why I had even read the thing at all -- the characters had not grown and their situations were still hopeless. \nI ponder why this book was written. "Crawling at Night" piles on stereotype after stereotype about Asian cultures. Power seems to rely on the foreignness of the characters to build interest in their plights. There is no real story behind the 'exotic' characters and none show any growth. Ito remains lonely, Mariane is still an alcoholic, and the Vietnamese man and Chinatown prostitute remain static. Some stories just aren't worth telling, and "Crawling at Night" is one of them.\n"Crawling at Night" is published by Atlantic Monthly Books and the paperback edition has a list price of $13. It is available at www.amazon.com.
(02/03/04 4:21am)
Two checked bags. Wow, SwissAir has got to be kidding on this one. I am packing up to live in Europe for six months, and SwissAir thinks I can do it with only two checked bags? Funny.\nDisbelief aside, I am forced to comply with the airline restrictions concerning my personal effects. After all, if you go over 70 pounds on any one suitcase, it's another $100 to get it to where you're going. So I am forced to stuff my entire life into two checked bags that weigh less than 70 pounds each.\nThe first bag packed and ready to go is probably a bit superfluous. It's not that my skis are a necessity, but I really, really want to ski while I am there. Besides, you can cram all of your ski gear in with the skis themselves, so I am set. One bag to go.\nClothes and other necessities are a completely different story. What to pack? I will be spending the semester in Copenhagen, Denmark. The weather in the Danish capital makes Seattle look completely dry, and the wind can whip off the North Sea and cut to the bone worse than the breezes I am used to in the Windy City. Oh yes, and the city is so far north that it begins to get dark around 3 p.m. local time. Wet, cold, dark winter -- here I come! \nNot, of course, that I have any first-hand knowledge of the weather patterns of Denmark. The first time I will step foot in the country is when I get off the plane and go to my new school for orientation. And orientation means something more like "repeat kindergarten lessons because everything here is different, and we mean everything."\nThe addresses are in a different format, the phone numbers are a mystery to me, and I don't speak a single word of Danish, unless you count their drinking toast "Skol!" Since Denmark is not a member of the European Monetary Union, they still use their own currency, which has no nice and easy one-to-one relationship to the dollar -- quite unlike the handy-dandy Euro. But I digress.\nThe bulky items are going to be a problem, not to mention the zillions of restrictions the Danes have about bringing just about anything into the country. After carefully reading what is forbidden, I decide on some tame solids I can mix and match. I need to bring my suit for all of our field trips, and I have one dress in case I have an occasion to dress nicely. Those bags that suck out the air from your belongings are the coolest, and have allowed me to pack a few more things in. Besides, if I forget anything, my parents can just ship it to me.\nSo I'm ready. I've got my visa, my tickets, my bags and my sense of adventure. I'm off to a city 4,300 miles from my hometown. I'll be moving into a family's home and living as the Danes do. Maybe I'll even pick up some Danish. I'll be traveling on a shoe-string and visiting my friends whom are flung as far away as Paris, London, Rotterdam, Frankfurt and Florence. The thought is scary but invigorating at the same time. I'm ready. Let the adventure begin.
(01/26/04 4:24am)
I taught myself to knit fairly recently, but I was still mired in the world of scarves and hats; I had yet to find a pattern that was not only easy to make but also easy on the eyes. Unfortunately, the majority of beginner sweater patterns look like just that -- sweaters made by the novice knitter, and something that should probably not emerge past the doors of your own home. I didn't want to spend hours of time working on a sweater that looked as if it originated at an outlet for irregulars.\nEnter "The Yarn Girls' Guide to Simple Knits." This book of instructions and patterns, written by Julie Carles and Jordana Jacobs, is the novice knitter's dream. The pair, owners of New York City's haven of trendy knitters, The Yarn Company, took the expertise that draws celebrities to their Upper East Side store and put it all into an easy-to-use pattern book. If you're looking for a perfect pattern for yourself or for a gift, there is bound to be one that draws your eye in this collection.\nIncluded in the beginning is a beautifully illustrated section on the bare bones basics of knitting. Knitting, purling and ribbing are covered, as well as increases, decreases and shaping. After all of the boring stuff on the how-to's, there is a section on swatching, and then the fun begins.\nIncluded in "Simple Knits" is a collection of thirty patterns, ranging from classic to downright funky. There are funnel neck sweaters, tank tops, ponchos for women and three patterns sized for men as well. All of the patterns are knitted on large needles, and even a novice knitter can finish a wearable project in a week or less, a far cry from other beginner pattern books.\nI began with the pattern for a hooded sweater. Not only is the pattern easy to follow, but there are cheat sheets for the shaping of each side and the hood. I would even venture to say that this pattern could possibly be idiot-proof. Trust me, if there is a way to mess up a handicraft, I know I could find it.\nDespite the range of patterns and beautiful shapes, there is one major problem with the patterns provided in this book. As a general rule, the yarns used are very expensive, with the average sweater cost hovering about $90, prohibitively expensive for the college student on a budget. However, the authors do provide detailed instructions on how to substitute yarns and still have patterns turn out properly, so it's a problem that is surmountable.\nAll in all, "The Yarn Girls' Guide to Simple Knits" is an ideal first pattern book. The instructions are clear and precise, and the patterns yield beautiful sweaters with minimal effort. If you've ever wondered how to make your own sweater that looks like it came from a boutique rather than your grandma's attic, this is pattern book you want to leaf through.\n"The Yarn Girls' Guide to Simple Knits" by Julie Carles and Jordana Jacobs is available at Amazon.com. The list price of the book is $30.00.\n-- Contact staff writer Brittany Ausmus at bausmus@indiana.edu.
(01/22/04 4:43am)
Bringing Down the House," the first foray into non-fiction by novelist Ben Mezrich, has all the trappings of a delightful adventure caper; however, the twists and turns this tale takes are too bizarre to be merely cooked up in an author's imagination. \n"Bringing Down the House" is the true story of how several Massachusetts Institute of Technology students created a way to play the Blackjack tables in Las Vegas and win astronomical sums of money along the way.\nHow do bright M.I.T. students begin counting cards and fleecing Vegas casinos for hundreds of thousands of dollars in an evening? For Kevin Lewis, it began with two of his friends who dropped out of school and had no jobs but seemed to live the high life anyway. \nCurious about how they made their cash, he accompanied them on a trip to Atlantic City. What Kevin saw astounded him; his friends were high stakes gamblers receiving VIP treatment, but all of this was done under the cover of aliases. Later, his friends confided that they count cards to increase their odds at winning blackjack. While not cheating, counting cards is toeing a line casinos do not want their patrons to cross.\nKevin gets drawn into the M.I.T. blackjack team, the "Amphibians." Mickey, the shadowy head of the team, teaches him the ropes of card counting, including an elaborate system of relaying how hot a deck is to his other teammates. What made the team different than anything that hit the casinos before was the team play method used. Instead of playing individually, hoping to hit a favorable deck, the team had several players watching the decks, and the high roller players would be called to the table when the cards went hot.\nUsing this system, with Mickey at the head of the team, the Amphibians played every weekend in Vegas for over a year. Despite being barred from a few casinos, the team took money from the most powerful casinos in Las Vegas right in front of them. However, some of the team members were unhappy with the pay they received from playing. The Amphibians decided to remove Mickey from the head of the team, keeping their payout for themselves.\nThe ousting of Mickey didn't sit too well with Kevin, but the year following of fabulous winnings took his mind off his former captain. The team was doing so well Kevin had a hard time concealing the amount of cash he was taking home. He hid his trips from his parents and other friends, living a double life. However, Kevin's luck with Vegas was about to take a decidedly different turn.\nThe casinos caught up with Kevin and his team on several occasions. They were roughed up in ritzy VIP suites of Vegas hotels, threatened by police in Louisiana riverboats and ejected from Chicago casinos. They were burned by casino security, and they were unable to play anymore. Kevin decided to walk away from blackjack, but the rest of his team started a new one based on the west coast, and they still rely on the winnings of blackjack to support themselves.\n"Bringing Down the House" is a fascinating look into a world I hardly knew existed. I always knew that there were professional gamblers, but I was under the impression that they barely eked out a living on the margins, always drawing the ire of casinos. However, this book shows not only that professional gambling is doable, but that fabulous sums of money can be won in a short period of time. Though nonfiction, "Bringing Down the House" has the twists and turns of a great adventure story, paired with meticulous research and immaculate detail. It's the book to read on the plane to Vegas; it makes clear that it takes practice and planning, but ordinary college students can bring down the house.\n"Bringing Down the House" by Ben Mezrich has a list price of $14, and is available at several local retailers.
(01/14/04 4:28am)
I'll be up front. I have always been a fan of the work of Jon Krakauer. He has struck a reputation of being a top-notch outdoors journalist, carefully and obsessively researching topics before writing about them. "Into Thin Air," his personal account of the disastrous spring of 1996 on Mt. Everest, is no different. Expertly written and exhaustively researched, it captures the horror of being stranded at 24,000 feet above sea level with little hope of rescue.\n"Into Thin Air" recalls the events of the spring of 1996 on both the Tibetan and Nepalese sides of Mt. Everest, as well as the 150 years of mountain exploration that preceded it. The tallest peak on the planet has captured the imagination of mountaineering people worldwide since it was discovered to be the highest peak on the planet. \nFor many years after its designation as the highest mountain on the planet, Everest remained forbidden as it sat on the border of Tibet and Nepal -- two countries that were resolutely off limits to foreigners. It took more than 12 expeditions to finally reach the top of the forbidden, craggy peak; in 1953, Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay summited the 29,035 feet, instantly making them worldwide celebrities.\nIn the years that followed, Mt. Everest remained a place only for the mountaineering elite, and climbers were only invited on an Everest attempt after they proved themselves on the dangerous slopes of other mountains. This ceased when Dick Bass, a fabulously wealthy but inexperienced mountaineer, paid guides to lead him to the top of the mountain. From there a new world was born: the commercial Everest expedition.\nThis is how Jon Krakauer, an accomplished technical climber with no high-altitude experience, ended up climbing Mt. Everest. The Outdoor Magazine wanted a story on the commercialization of Everest; Krakauer was going as a field reporter, climbing the peak with other customers who paid up to $65,000 to summit the mountain. \nAs part of a commercial expedition, the Sherpa support, oxygen and necessary permits were arranged for the customers. All that was expected of them is that they were in reasonable physical condition and ready to be shepherded to the top of the mountain. The outfit Krakauer traveled with was led by a climber with a spectacular history of getting clients to the peak and down safely; the Kiwi guide, Rob Hall, was an accomplished Himalayan climber with sterling credentials.\nAfter acclimating his clients to the high altitude of Everest, Rob Hall's expedition, as well as a rival commercial expedition led by Scott Fischer, attacked the summit of Everest on May 10, 1996. What should have been a routine summit attempt turned into a struggle for climbers to survive a storm that pinned them to the mountain, resulting in the deaths of both expedition leaders, additional guides and several paying clients. \n"Into Thin Air" is one of the most powerful books I have ever read. The detail used to describe the agony of hypoxia experienced by the climbers is sobering. Clearly, climbing a mountain whose peak is approximately the cruising altitude of jetliners is not an endeavor to be tackled lightly. Krakauer uses his extraordinary gifts as a writer to place the reader right along side him on the mountain; the pain, terror and shame of the events is palpable. \n"Into Thin Air" should be required reading for anybody who dreams of touching the roof of the world. While it is at times graphic and disturbing, it is a sensitive look into the disaster that claimed the lives of so many. It does not look for easy answers for why people died, and Krakauer takes responsibility for his own actions that may have contributed to the deaths of some of his fellow climbers. Pick up "Into Thin Air" and you probably won't put it down until you turn the last page; it's that good.\nThe paperback edition of "Into Thin Air" has a list price of $13.00 and is available at several local retailers.
(01/09/04 6:20am)
I Don't Know How She Does It," the debut novel from British author Allison Pearson, is a delightful romp through the hectic world of Kate Reddy, a senior fund manager at a British money management firm and mother of two small children. The trials and tribulations Reddy experiences at home and work are hilarious. The overworked and underappreciated Reddy manages to get herself into predicament after predicament that help the pages of this book turn themselves.\nKate Reddy is a working mother in a posh area of London. Not only does she have the pressure to be the perfect money manager, but also to be the perfect mother. That's no small job when her work takes her overseas once a week, working day and night when she is there. Add two demanding children and a lackadaisical husband, and you have the recipe for one stressed-out mother.\nReddy's world turns upside down when she meets the man whose money she is managing in the United States. Jack Abernathy, a suave New Yorker, makes Kate long for the days when she wasn't tied down by her husband, children, a deadbeat father and a house that is falling apart. The pair exchange e-mails all day, and Kate believes she is falling for a man an ocean apart from her.\nTo complicate matters, when she meets Abernathy in New York to discuss his fund, Kate manages to make a spectacular fool of herself after imbibing a few too many at a Sinatra-themed restaurant. After slinking back to London, Reddy once again resumes her hectic life complacently, all the while avoiding Abernathy's e-mails.\nKate gets jolted out of her daze by two traumatic events: her husband leaves her while she is on a business trip, leaving a note for the nanny to read Kate, and her assistant is sexually harassed by one of Kate's boorish peers. Kate realizes how much of a strain her jet-setting life has put on her husband and secretly wishes that they would get back together. Kate's assistant's problem takes a bit more creativity.\nAnd what is Kate to do after all of this? What else but move out to the English countryside, stay at home with her children and reconcile with her husband. That is, until Kate once again hears the siren call of the business world, leaving the reader wondering whether or not she goes back.\nAll in all, "I Don't Know How She Does It" is a delightful romp through the toils of a posh British working mother. It is stylish and well written -- you can practically feel the exasperation Kate exudes. However, the book is not very substantial and doesn't make any significant statements. In the end, it is formulaic and a bit disappointing. Take the book for what it is: delightful, entertaining fluff. \n"I Don't Know How She Does It" is available at several local retailers. The paperback edition lists for $13.95 but is discounted at several locations.
(12/11/03 6:45am)
Corrosive, vitriolic, insightful. All were words used to describe Mike Royko, the late Chicago Tribune columnist who was described as the best journalist of his time by many of his peers. In "Royko: a Life in Print," the life behind the legend is examined by F. Richard Ciccone, another Chicago newsman. "Royko" is the first comprehensive biography of the man who became a Chicago legend through his words.\nBorn as the son of a bartender into one of Chicago's many ethnic neighborhoods, Royko experienced a rough-and-tumble childhood that left an indelible mark on his world outlook. Emerging from Chicago's streets, he became a reporter while a member of the Army; however, the bulk of "Royko" focuses on his transition from reporter to columnist while working for the Chicago Daily News, Chicago Sun Times and The Chicago Tribune. \nStarting as a city hall beat reporter, Royko made his mark on Chicago journalism by his dogged, insightful stories following the pools of corruption that have marked the city hall of Chicago since it was built. Writing about city politics when Chicago was the Democratic machine under the tutelage of the first Mayor Daley, Royko managed to make friends and rake up muck at the same time.\nHowever, he soon made the transition to the column. \nNot content with a once-weekly affair, Royko wrote five columns a week for The Chicago Tribune until he neared his retirement, when he cut back to four a week. It is for these columns that Royko became famous. He was insightful and wielded a poison pen, producing work that was syndicated in over 600 newspapers nationwide. He became the epitome of Chicago journalism and was a living legend by the time of his death in 1997.\nStill, behind the byline there was a tempestuous man who dealt with his own demons while torturing those around him. Murder to work for, he would harangue his runners while falling off his bar stool at the legendary Billy Goat Tavern. The man clearly took out his anger and frustration on those who surrounded him. His insatiable pursuit of perfection, paired with alcoholism, tortured him and those around him; Royko was a workhorse who would not leave until his column was perfect, down to the last period.\n"Royko" is an excellently written biography of a journalistic legend; however, be warned that it is written from a clearly favorable point of view. The author was a close personal friend of Royko for much of his life, and thus, the book is a positively skewed look at his life and work, even though it shows the ugly side of his personality as well as the good. \nDue to this slant, this book is probably not the best objective look at the life of Royko for a critic of his work. Though widely recognized as a man of his time, Royko has as many detractors as rabid fans. Though it is slanted in Royko's favor, it is not a glowing eulogy, but still probably is too rosy for a critic of the man. Much like Royko's writing, you will probably either love the book or hate it, depending on your view of the man behind the legend.
(11/19/03 5:13am)
Tom Clancy just never quits, but he probably had a quandary when he decided to write yet another novel focused on the enterprising Ryan family. Jack Ryan has been the driving character in many of Clancy's classics, including "The Hunt for Red October" and "Patriot Games." He's got to be getting on in years. But hey, he's had a good run, rising from a Marine with a bad back to the commander in chief.\nBut President Ryan is retired now and writing his memoirs and Clancy needs a new protagonist. In the case of "The Teeth of the Tiger," he has three. The latest addition to the library of Clancy writings follows the exploits of Jack Ryan Jr., the son of the revered Ryan Sr. and Dominic and Brian Caruso, the cousins of the younger Ryan.\n"The Teeth of the Tiger" introduces the Campus, a secret government agency working under the cover of Hendley Associates. The legitimate side of the agency does a profitable business in international stocks and currency exchange. Interesting, maybe, but the fascinating side of the Campus is the behind-the-scenes work.\nTerrorism leaves a trail of money; this is the basic tenet of the Campus. Analysts follow the cash trails of known terrorism financiers to learn the identities of the foot soldiers. This is the sector of the Campus that the younger Ryan works in, tracking the soft money a wealthy Saudi expatriate uses to fund violent militants. This is the cleaner side of the Campus. Jack Jr.'s cousins are the start of the dirty side.\nDominic and Brian have been retained by the Campus as hired assassins. Dominic came to the attention of the Campus after resolving a particularly violent kidnapping turned murder as an FBI agent. Brian is a Marine whose expertise in Afghanistan marked him as a man on the rise. Both were recruited by the Campus to train as the first assassins; their targets were to be terrorists flushed out by the analysts. \nPitted against the United States is a man known only as Mohammed. This man controls a terror network spanning the Middle East and Europe. With the assistance of his new allies, the drug lords of Columbia, he manages to smuggle in dozens of operatives through Mexico. Once in the United States, the terrorists stage attacks on the suburban malls of America. Killing dozens of civilians in the midst of their daily lives, they arouse the anger of the world.\nIt is in this environment that the team of Dominic, Brian and Jack Jr., go to Europe in the hopes of eliminating some of the operatives of the elusive Mohammed. The team is unstoppable in Europe and ends up eliminating their foe Mohammed on the streets of Rome.\nWhile thoroughly implausible, "The Teeth of the Tiger" is a good yarn at times. However, don't pick up this book without reading the other books in the Jack Ryan series. The stories are incredibly interdependent on each other and a novitiate to Clancy's writing would probably be thoroughly lost in the twists, turns and character relationships. \nBut if you've read the rest, pick up "Teeth of the Tiger." If you haven't, pass it up for another book.