The Age of Wood: Our Most Useful Material and the Construction of Civilization
(Scribner, $28)
“From the forest canopy to skyscrapers, the whole human story can be told from the perspective of wood,” said Michael Strevens in The New York Times. Biologist Roland Ennos does just that in his perspective-altering new book, which points out that even the Stone, Iron, and Bronze Ages, wood was more critical to human existence. His account starts long before that, because our clawless fingers are inheritances from primate ancestors who needed them to swing from trees, and also because primates are just as apt to create spears and digging tools from wood as early humans were. Wood fires were even more transformative, enabling humans to cook food and fuel the growth of their unusually large brains. Ennos sometimes moves almost too quickly, but the “principles of every significant technology, from tree felling to shipbuilding, are described with a precise, almost mesmerizing detail.”
The story of America’s rise can hardly be told without wood, said Daniel Immerwahr in The New Republic. Pre-Columbian North America was especially rich in thick forests, and Britain, confronting a shortage of timber to house and warm its population, had a strong incentive to colonize the newly discovered continent. The development of balloon-frame construction in the mid-1800s made housing cheap and easy, and Chicago, before the Great Fire in 1871,
by Gustave Flaubert (1856). The gaps in my formal education led to more than a few gaps in my tally of the classics. At age 40, I had never read Madame Bovary. My wife, Polly, rightly insisted that I right this wrong. The book is romantic as hell, and just as tragic.
Madame Bovary
by Ron Chernow (2010). I once accompanied Ron on research expeditions to Princeton and Valley Forge, talking nonstop (mostly me asking him questions and listening). I was relatively new to American history before reading Washington, at least to the particulars of the first phase of the American experiment under Washington and others. Chernow is a master storyteller—end of story.
Washington: A Life
by John MaxtoneGraham (1972). The history—or “saga,” more fittingly—of the great transatlantic ocean liners. The book’s vivid details and many anecdotes are matched in their capacity to produce pleasure by the design and technical profiles of the ships. Shortly after reading this book, I painted my R.M.S. Tyrannic series for National Lampoon, and it’s one of best things I ever published, so I
The Only Way to Cross
owe a debt of gratitude to Maxtone-Graham.
by Alice Munro (1994). As a fellow southwestern Ontarian, I can attest to the stinging veracity of Munro’s depictions of a conformist, rigidly Calvinist world of modest lives and even more modest expectations, where shame inevitably gnaws and one’s personal discontent is hidden or denied. All of this was rich territory for a scholar of everyday despair. Munro is also funny and, again, Canadian. What more could you want?
by Vladimir Nabokov (1938). A wonderful story: the age-old love between a guy and a gal, made unique because everything Nabokov did was unique. All of Nabokov’s books could have a place on my list, but The Gift is the one that I keep at hand.
by Alan Moorehead (1960). I hadn’t read much, if any, travel literature when this came out. Moorehead was an intelligent writer and a serious student of the regions he covered—not a given in travel writing, I would discover. I’ve never traveled to Africa myself, so I thank Moorehead for the next best thing.
Open Secrets The Gift The White Nile