Book 38: The Killer Angels

The Killer Angels
Michael Shaara

This book is the second installment of the Shaaras' Civil War trilogy but, though it covers the pivotal events at Gettysburg in July 1863, it was actually the first to be written. And, though Shaara's son Jeff pulls the trick off admirably in his own work, The Killer Angels does an impeccable job of getting to the hearts- and souls- of leaders both in blue and in gray. Even readers with little previous knowledge of the battle itself or even of military strategy can jump directly into the heart of the action, and despite the meticulous research that makes the book so plausibly realistic, it is immediately accessible. Accented with the occasional map, the narrative clearly traces both larger strategies, primarily through the eyes of Robert E. Lee, and the terrors of direct combat. Indeed, though it is truly moving to sense Lee's achingly portrayed heartbreak, the most emotionally riveting scenes belong to corporal Joshua Chamberlain on the Union's extreme left flank, who experienced the horrors of war firsthand. Shaara has taken events that are seared in to the popular American memory and has thoroughly reinvigorated them, and while the book is certainly a novel and contains some speculation, it presents a readable history that reminds us that history is not the work of predestined events but, rather, reflects the outcomes of an impossibly tangled web of human actions. The prose reads nearly flawlessly, completely subservient to its narrative, a technique particularly apt for this story, the scene is set with crystal clarity, and the characterization is believable, consistent, and sympathetic. Beautiful and moving, The Killer Angels is a powerful testament to the humanity of history.

Grade: A

Book 37: Gods and Generals

Gods and Generals
Jeff Shaara

This is the book that made Jeff Shaara famous, a chronologically-minded prequel to his father's famous intricate look at the Battle of Gettysburg, and though it has some missteps, it is easy to see why the Shaaras are many historians' dirty little fiction secret. To start, however, this is not a book for those uninitiated to the events of the Civil War; indeed, for readers new to the conflict, a primer is almost certainly necessary to make any sense out of the jumbled events at hand; this confusion, however, is also one of Shaara's greatest strengths, as Gods and Generals provides a personal, close view of pivotal figures in the Virginia campaigns leading up to Gettysburg. That the action can sometimes become a bit frantic reflects not a fault of the author, but rather his ability to bring the fight down to the individual level, focusing on the commanders at the thick of the action, placing words in their mouths and thoughts in their heads until they become as real as any fully-fictional character. The approach may seem a bit disingenuous, as it sticks as closely to the facts as possible, but overall it makes the somewhat abstract concepts of old-timey warfare a bit more palatable for modern readers more used to, say, bombing raids than the antics of Jeb Stuart's cavalry. Shaara concocts an interesting mix of strategic scheming, hard-fought battle scenes, and introspection, and keeps the plot moving even as the armies aren't; strangely enough, some of the most interesting scenes in the novel take place away from the battlefield, while the author slowly probes the minds of American history's eminent figures.

While Shaara's talent and approach are no doubt commendable, the novel does suffer some hang-ups. It is often difficult to tell what, precisely, is happening at a given moment, and though this may accurately reflect some of the fog of war, readers can become confused and may benefit from a handy reference volume. Additionally, Shaara can occasionally become hampered by the actual flow of the real events he represents in his novel, and his cast of main characters feels uneven as he focuses on Lee and Jackson, the South's brightest lights, and resigns himself to less important Northern counterparts. It is not so much that the book biases itself toward the South, though Shaara's opinions about the highest echelons of Northern generalship are strongly and repeatedly stated, but rather that the preface sets up a more balanced vision of the conflict, one that is not matched by the contents therein. Perhaps the author's greatest accomplishment is to so deeply humanize each and every one of his characters that battles seem almost incidental to the grander narrative of the book; and, like the faults of the book's triumphant realism, this grand achievement also ultimately hampers the work by focusing exclusively on those in command. Even the great and terrifying battle scenes are relayed, with a few excellently executed exceptions, by those removed from command, and though readers are up close and personal with the war, they are safely shielded from battle, making the book seem unfocused and choppy. Shaara's depictions of Joshua Chamberlain's exploits at Fredericksburg showcase his undeniable talent for relaying the terror of battle, and his prowess at psychological profiling, but ultimately the book rings a bit hollow. Gods and Generals is satisfying and a very competent personalization of the Civil War, but it does not consistently reach beyond the grasp of cold fact that can, at times, dampen its effects.

Grade: B+

Book 36: Battle Cry of Freedom

Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era
James McPherson

The task of writing a one-volume history of what is almost certainly the most talked about period in United States history can't be a particularly enviable task, and to do so without being rigidly polemic, insufferably academic, or unremittingly dense seems nearly impossible. James McPherson's Battle Cry of Freedom defies all of the odds and presents a readable, informative, and comprehensive tome that manages to remain interesting and accessible despite retaining an extremely high educational value. Perhaps the best and, sadly, most distinguishing feature of the book is McPherson's reluctance to use it as a self-aggrandizing platform or a sharpening block for any particular axe; though he obviously advocates slavery as the leading cause of the conflict and takes other critical liberties throughout the text, he does not allow a particular thesis to dominate his work. Moreover, the author is keenly aware of his purpose, and makes a special point of noting where numbers are estimates and, much more vitally, where scholarly opinion differs upon a particular point. This book is very much in conversation with the long and contentious, varied histories of the Civil War in its many aspects, and as a standalone, introductory volume this self-awareness raises it to heights of great achievement.

Nor is the text boring, or the prose labored; indeed, I had nearly given up hope on decently written intellectual books, but McPherson balances his intricate knowledge of the topic with a view of the larger picture. Though the narrative thread can become admittedly knotty at times, particularly in discussions of mid-century politics (yikes!), that is more an inevitable facet of the historical period than a fault of the author, and McPherson does an admirable job making a party system that continues to baffle bonafide historians almost understandable to the layman. Strictly military folks may be disappointed in the book's lengthy focus on the build-up to the war, as may those new to the complicated politics of the antebellum era; though it takes up a healthy portion of the book it still feels abbreviated, and McPherson would have done well to include more concrete explanations of, say, the provisions within the Compromise of 1850 rather than resting so heavily on tangled, incomprehensible implications. And while McPherson does a brilliant job adding chapters examining developments and effects on the respective home fronts during the actual war, these occasionally break up the narrative and the effect is not quite as seamless as one could hope. For what it is, however, this history is incredibly well-executed, a historical overview of a complex, overwhelmingly studied, and vital period of United States history, perhaps its most important test other than the initial push for independence. In Battle Cry of Freedom, James McPherson has created an ideal one-volume history for academic and more casual readers alike; though it necessarily has its flaws, the book deservedly takes its place as the go-to single volume history of the Civil War.

Grade: A

Book 35: Down and Derby

Down and Derby: The Insider's Guide to Roller Derby
Jennifer Barbee and Alex Cohen

With leagues forming rapidly not only in large cities but also in smaller markets such as my two hometowns of Grand Rapids and Ann Arbor, Michigan, there is no question that roller derby is a cultural phenomenon. Down and Derby, written by two members of the Los Angeles Derby Dolls (whose alter egos are, respectively, "Kasey Bomber" and the delightful "Axles of Evil"), displays a do-it-yourself ethos and aesthetic that mirrors the twin driving forces of modern roller derby, and is an endlessly enthusiastic introduction to and, to a lesser extent, shill for, modern roller derby leagues. The authors take readers on a comprehensive and appreciated history of roller skating races and the various 20th century incarnations of roller derby before launching into a more thorough description of the current movement, which began in Austin in the early 2000s. This historical context is much appreciated and sets up a rich societal context in which to examine the current popularity of roller derby and its cultural importance, and while the authors do not seem to ignore these important aspects of the rising sport, often alluding to its more overtly feminist aspects, their focus shifts instead to a depiction of the modern rules and proceeds to become an evangelical narrative of sorts.

Though there is nothing inherently wrong with this approach, and indeed the book is set up as an introduction for interested parties rather than an at all scholarly narrative, the authors almost seem to gloss over the importance of the success of such a ferocious, paradigm-challenging, all-female enterprise. Instead, the authors merely express their gratitude to be part of it and encourage others to consider the sport. Despite the blatant ulterior motives however, which admittedly may alienate those who just want to know about the sport rather than to join up right away, the enthusiasm seems borne of true passion and dedication rather than more selfish motivations; indeed, the all-consuming power of this hobby is a frequent topic of discussion. Constant humor makes the book more tolerable for less injury-inclined readers is the constant humor, with the authors willing to take a few good-natured swings at themselves and at the movement, and the entire package seems like a bit of good-natured fun. Sprinkled throughout with interviews from various derby personas (including "Jackie Daniels," a founding member of the Grand Raggidy Roller Girls whom I have witnessed in a live bout!), the book is reasonably comprehensive as a how-to text, if not as a philosophical exploration, and ultimately that's okay as it comes from the most reliable of first-hand sources and thus will prove a valuable document as derby diverges from its formative years. An appendix provides a welcome list of movies and television episodes to feature roller derby, and altogether the book holds up rather nicely with no-nonsense, yet easily readable prose. Down and Derby is, as advertised, "an insider's guide to roller derby" meant primarily for those who might strap on some skates, and serves its target audience superbly despite failing to find much resonance for a more detached, wider readership.

Grade: A-

Book 34: Animal Farm

Animal Farm
George Orwell

his book's status as an accepted classic of anti-totalitarian literature makes it difficult for me to presume I have anything novel or interesting to say about it, but I will add my voice to the chorus that believes Animal Farm to be an important, readable, and enjoyable fable. That the book directly takes on the post-revolutionary chaos of the "communist" USSR does not make it less powerful, and indeed may add to its efficacy; after all, it appears that Orwell's goal was not only to draw a portrait of early 20th century European socialism, but also to illuminate the ways in which any totalitarian government becomes laden with hypocrisy. By drawing upon a cast composed of animals rather than humans, Orwell is able to comment more generally upon trends rather than specific circumstances, and his mixture of historical example and Aesopian extrapolation serves his critique well. Also brilliant is Orwell's dry sarcasm, and though his tale is rather dogmatic and his political sensibilities rather obvious, the matter-of-fact narration adds a bit of cynical humor to what could have otherwise easily become distastefully polemic. It is clear throughout the book that Orwell put a good deal of thought into constructing his take on the shift from Leninism to Stalinism, complete with its own Trotsky, and the almost sarcastic telling prevents the story from going too far off the rails. Animal Farm, a surprisingly humorous and fittingly succinct, if not particularly subtle, critique of ideological revolutions fully deserves its fame, and remains relevant in the post-USSR era.

Grade: A

Book 33: The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation

The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation
Jonathan Hennessey and Aaron McConnell

The United States Constitution certainly cannot be considered underrepresented in nonfiction literature. Upon reflection, then, it is perhaps not so surprising to discover that it has been adapted- or, more accurately, interpreted, in a graphic format. Regardless, I was stoked to discover the book, and did not hesitate before picking it up; shame, then, that for all its good intentions The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation doesn't quite succeed in elucidating, or even illustrating, its source material. Writer Jonathan Hennessey certainly displays good instincts in attempting to provide historical context for the revolutionary document, but seems unable to understand the benefits of a consistent, coherent narrative throughout the book. The number of non-sequitur jumps both in the historical background (which not quite explicitly purports to deal with the Preamble) and between different clauses, articles, or amendments within the body of the Constitution is bafflingly high and makes comprehension at times impossible. Though I am by no means a serious constitutional scholar, I do have a background in the subject; at times even I had to read or re-read entire pages just to catch up or to attempt to understand a leap in logic despite my own familiarity with the source material. And while it's true that the Constitution is not at its heart a narrative document, that fact does not excuse its would-be adapters, who raise very large, complex topics in a single panel and, one panel later, move onto explaining the next article. This makes no sense, is disorienting, and actively discourages any actual understanding of, or interest in, the Constitution, making it more inaccessible than it may at first appear.

Though the script is admittedly thin and the subject matter naturally difficult to illustrate, the art in the book is not disastrous; neither, however, does Aaron McConnell create a particularly riveting graphic aspect to this graphic work. While I personally enjoy his rougher, almost harsh drawing and inking styles and his tendency toward monochrome images, there is a certain schizophrenia to the artwork within the book. McConnell's use of recurring motifs is hit and miss: the incomplete portrayal of African Americans is a clever and effective illustration of the implications of the Three-fifths Clause, but the portrayal of each branch of government as a (male) suited figure with a representative building for a head is a bit bizarre. Other illustrations bear an uncertain relationship to their accompanying text, or attempt to introduce artistic tropes in odd and ultimately disorienting ways. Moreover, page and panel design seems only half thought-out, and while the authors show some intent towards innovation, text boxes seem misplaced and reading direction is often unclear. One page, for example, shows two three-panel stories side by side, though there is no indication that they should be read as two columns rather than more traditionally left-right and up-down. The clutter of too many text boxes only adds to the discord, and illustrations with speech bubbles are more often redundant than illustrative.

The visual cacophony of the book, combined with over-zealous text that alternately provides too much and too little detail, makes it a far less effective teaching tool than it otherwise could be, and ultimately this adaptation of the Constitution tends to make matters unnecessarily complicated. The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation is an encouraging attempt at making American governmental structure accessible to a new audience, but unfortunately cannot create that harmony between pictures and text that is necessary in creating an effective, enjoyable graphic narrative.

Grade: C

Book 32: The Dispossessed

The Dispossessed: A Novel
Ursula K. Le Guin

While I am admittedly a sucker for utopian and dystopian literature for the unique, detached views it provides of modern society, it is often difficult to separate the author from what often becomes a polemic. Given the relative absence of plot in The Dispossessed, the nuances and balance inherent in Ursula K. Le Guin's novel are remarkable, and the book is a powerful force of literature that successfully taps into deep, fluid characterization both of individuals and of two disparate, disconnected societies to create a satisfying, if slightly aimless, story. Le Guin turns her anthropologically-oriented attentions to lush Urras, a blatant stand-in for the dual-superpower Earth of the 1970s, and its barren moon Anarres, home to a self-exiled colony of anarchists. The plot, such as it is, revolves around Shevek, an Anarresti physicist traveling to Urras, though the chronological interweaving of his unprecedented journey and the life that led him there clearly illustrates the importance and interconnectedness of past and future. In this book, as in Shevek's pseudo-physics (which seems to this Terran mind to be much more mythologically and philosophically oriented), time is like, well, a book, and the thematic unity between its seldom-disorienting structure, its content, and its primary themes is remarkable for any work of fiction, let alone one so firmly and unapologetically written in the oft-maligned genre of science fiction.

This novel is remarkable not for its simplistic plot and somewhat maudlin ending, but for the ideas it so seamlessly explores within. Le Guin extrapolates the future of an idealistically anarchic society, describing not only what it might look like but also examining those elements of power that might necessarily manifest themselves in such a community despite, and perhaps because of, the lofty ambitions of its people. The setting is clearly well thought out, as are the practical implications of anarchist philosophy as applied in an unforgiving and nearly uninhabitable environment. Yet more realistic than the setting of the novel is its people, who range from the dogmatic to the schemers to the outcasts, those who dare to think differently but who run into walls even in the most ostensibly free systems. Walls, both visible and invisible, are a recurring theme within the book, which deals with barriers to communication and, more importantly, to truth. Though the book's plot denouement is clunky, the ideas it explores are potent and relevant both to the worlds of Urras an Anarres and to our own. The allusion to U.S./Soviet conflict in Southeast Asia is a bit thin and can make the book appear dated, but Le Guin's concern with feminism, though clearly predicated on the concerns of her era, remains (sadly) relevant to contemporary readers, as does much of the social criticism. This novel is brilliantly composed, told in beautiful prose that, even at its most flowery, only serves to illuminate its beauty and the simplicity of its meaning; though Le Guin spins artful sentences, they are never indulgent, instead representing simply the best ways to convey their implicit ideas. The Dispossessed fulfills the greatest promise of science fiction, getting away from our Earth and our present to explore the philosophies that drive us, presenting a grand thought experiment that is always enlightening yet rarely heavy-handed, driven by an adequate plot, keen observations, and realistic characterization.

Grade: A

Book 31: The Forever War

The Forever War
Joe Haldeman

Science fiction is notorious, perhaps, for tackling difficult subjects under the guise of fantastic narrative worlds, creatures, and situations. This makes the genre uniquely suited for rich, absorbing, and effective satire, and Joe Haldeman utilizes the power of science fiction to its full force in his exploration of the effects of bureaucracy on war and, to a larger extent, on the nature of humanity. On first glance, The Forever War may seem too expansive, tackling not only the intricacies of an interstellar conflict but also dealing with the implications of relativity and, therefore, with centuries of projected human history. Haldeman, however, manages to craft a pivotal, lasting novel that rightfully deserves its various accolades for its vision, satirical impact, and, though to a lesser extent, for its engrossing story. Though his anti-military stance is anything but subtle and warrants comparisons with Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, Haldeman is able to throw readers immediately into his narrative world, offering details of the near future’s normality in short, effective asides from William Mandella, his narrator. Though the science is soft and details relatively scant, readers are quickly engaged and comfortable enough with their temporal surroundings that the quick-moving story begins and continues with few unnecessary interruptions.

While Haldeman certainly isn’t a master of the literary arts, his prose is serviceable and sits, for the most part, out of the way, allowing the story and the world he constructs to take prominence and to envelop the reader. This, in turn, lends power to the satirical aspects of the story and builds the credibility so necessary to successful science fiction. The Forever War doesn't, however, drown its readers in overly political messages- while they're there and ripe for the taking, they are woven into Mandella's firsthand narration and ring true as the opinions of a drafted, enlisted man. While I'm not sure quite what to make of the homosexual aspects of the book, which include a future humanity composed almost entirely of gays and lesbians, I found them significantly more intriguing than offensive, particularly for the era in which the book was written. Most importantly, while these extracurricular elements are all in place, they exist within the framework of an engrossing, fast-paced story that feels like far more than its relatively small number of pages. Mandella travels throughout time and space with lightning speed, yet the story hardly ever feels rushed; nor does it suffer lulls. And while the love story feels forced and a bit odd in the overly sexed army ranks, it does anchor the story in human emotion (if not entirely convincingly) beyond Mandella's cynicism. A thoughtful and thought-provoking story rooted in the horrors of Vietnam, The Forever War is a brilliant work of military science fiction with an emotional core, and while it is never particularly spectacular it well deserves its status as a science fiction classic.

Grade: A

Book 30: Go Blue

Go Blue
Jack Beam

It should be obvious to anyone who knows me why I picked up this particular book, and the book's author, Michigan Law graduate Jack Beam, certainly plays up the glory of both the institution and its state. Unfortunately, that devotion to Michigan and his choice of an interesting environmental issue to drive his pseudo-thriller are the only two redeeming qualities of the book, and the former is so overdone even I had to groan aloud at times. It is evident that Beam has a deep love of Michigan and of the Great Lakes that so define the state, and his chosen plot (evil desert corporation wants to drain the lakes) is timely and definitively evokes a sense of place within the novel, but absolutely everything about his handling of the English language is a bit off. Beam's mistakes range from the trivial ("allude" for "elude" forced me to re-read the passage about four times before I figured it out) to the grievous (horrifying racism masquerading as respect). Sometimes, bad writing can be masked by a swiftly moving plot or by intriguing character portraits but, alas, our intrepid lawyer here settles for a disturbingly blatant pair of Mary Sue maverick- ahem- lawyers and a cardboard-cut Star in the Making, fresh with awkwardly revealed details that utterly fail to round her out. The characters' motivations are baffling and their relationships impossible to understand; so much in this novel is esoteric that readers are forced to take every clumsy, omniscient revelation for truth due to the lack of supporting text.

Yet it is not only the grammar and the (lack of) characterizations that make this novel…difficult. These are, in fact, rather minor when compared to the over the top, fresh out of writing class structure and the innumerable unhelpful similes that dot the text. The latter are frustrating not because they are inapt, but because they are inept: when Beam compares a flare to a firework, his description of I-69 near the Indiana border is terrifically accurate but entirely unnecessary. At one point, our omniscient narrator notes that there is "nothing relevant" about an action, and then abruptly ends a chapter. Yet, again, these may not be the author's greatest sins: the poor writing certainly does not aid reader comprehension, but the structure seems designed to hamper understanding rather than foster any semblance of coherent plot. The brisk chapters are surely drawn from the breakneck pace of the thrillers this book aspires to match, but breaks are poorly calculated and the brisk shifts in action would be nauseating if they weren't so completely bizarre. One second, we're in an Indian casino in Manistee; the next, in a Christian Reformed Church in Grand Rapids, and while Beam (along with his characters) appears to be convinced there is a deep-seated connection between the woefully exaggerated (and far beyond satirical) portrait of west-side evangelicals, a water-grubbing casino development company based in Nevada, and the "bad" sect of Ottawa Indians (his language, not mine), readers may not be so easily convinced as the whiplash from the ever-changing scenery causes their heads to spin.

Despite the many, many mistakes that litter this novel, however, I found myself strangely intrigued. Perhaps it is a bit like watching a train wreck, but I do truly believe that Beam created a compelling, deeply intertwined, and theoretically well-constructed story; he just wasn't able to tell it. Though his portraiture of Native Americans is so faux-respectful and ignorant it could arguably be construed as more offensive than blatant racism, somewhere in the muddle he does raise an important point about environmentalism and about the impact that casinos have both on their communities and on those who run them. Some of the ever-present similes are thoughtfully constructed, if idiotically reported and burdensome, and if the plot would have been a bit more clear throughout I believe it would have been fairly intricate. At the end of the day, the book needs an editor; passages carry on too long, extra characters and pointless details litter the text, and parts of the book are simply incomprehensible. This book is needlessly- and distractingly- harsh in its "satire," its characters are simply impossible to believe, the frenetic plot is barely held together by an author grasping at straws, and the writing is the work of an absolute hack. Yet Go Blue is, nonetheless, a loving (if misguided) tribute to my own home state, and might make a good tale in the hands of a more competent teller.

Grade: D+

Book 29: The Answer Is Never

The Answer Is Never: A Skateboarder's History of the World
Jocko Weyland

Perhaps it is the decidedly non-academic air of skateboarding that keeps its mysteries isolated largely to a select in-group of its own practitioners, or perhaps it's the defiant anti-authoritarian attitude long associated with the lifestyle, or even its relative newness, that has kept skating largely from the prying eyes of academics and the other upper class suburban types it so alienates. Regardless of the cause, it's remarkably difficult to find a good book on the subject that doesn't fall into the "how-to" genre, a tricky charge regardless due to the esoteric nature of skating's most potent tricks. Longtime skater, bona fide insider to skating's adolescent 1980s, and the pleasantly literate Jocko Weyland does his part to trace the history of the sport from its origins to the beginnings of its current superstar, X-Games incarnation. The fact that Weyland's own coming of age period mirrored that of his chosen passion adds the solidity of firsthand reliability and an air of forbidden insider's knowledge to the volume, which makes The Answer Is Never accessible to outsiders but at the same time renders it a passionate history of the sport for its current crop of riders and devotees. Everyone knows who Tony Hawk is, but Weyland may be onto something when he laments the fade of pivotal skaters such as street-style founder and genius Natas Kaupas into the mists of history. Skating and the inherent alterity of its culture has never, as Weyland points out, been a particularly literate endeavor, and his attempt here to recapitulate its beginnings rings with an air of necessity paired with its labor-of-love vibe.

Weyland begins not with Dogtown and the rise of pool skating, but instead offers a look at the rise of surfing and the myth of Southern California as the true historical birthplace of skate culture and its many spin-offs. Though some illustrative specific stories are plagued by an infuriating lack of last names (though it is unclear whether they are meant to typify different kinds of experiences or refer to specific individuals, some guidance would be much appreciated), they blend in well with the greater narrative and help elucidate the unique pull skating (and surfing before it) have had over their most devoted practitioners. Weyland's insertion of his own skate history also ties in nicely, but the non sequitur oscillations between information and memoir can rock readers a bit and lend the book a bit of a schizophrenic air. These are, however, the book's most lucid exploration of the influence of punk culture on skating (and, to a more limited extent, vice-versa) and illuminate the idea of skating-as-lifestyle like no amount of removed anecdotes ever could. Though his reminiscences could be better integrated into the text at large, Weyland's instincts were in the right place when he decided to include them, and they personalize the book as well as lending it credibility.

Despite Weyland's obvious passion for the subject, his understanding of the skateboard as both object and phenomenon, and refreshingly literate prose, the book does take some missteps. The author explains in the books' afterward that he intended The Answer Is Never to terminate its story just as street skating began to dominate the scene, but the cutoff isn't made nearly as obvious at any point before this postscript, and Weyland's focus on vertical skating can seem at times myopic. Though this accords with his own experience, a better initial definition of the book's scope would serve readers far better than the existing declarations of love for the sport. Nonetheless, and despite some heavily opinionated anti-BMX and anti-inline banter for which he only offers the minutest of explorations, Weyland has put together a brilliant history of the first- and perhaps most dominant- "extreme sport". The Answer Is Never: A Skateboarder's History of the World is, in many ways, exactly that: it is a lucid and personal examination of the formative years of skateboarding that can be enjoyed and appreciated by both those within and without skating's strange magnetic hold.

Grade: A