I visited Venice back in 2008 and was completely intrigued by the city. It was so hard to do just about everything. Streets that looked like they led the right direction would end at a canal, or there would be no bridge at the spot you needed to cross a canal. Despite this, I felt that I would have enjoyed living in the city for a few months to truly get the feel of everyday life.

That’s why I was so excited to see Donna Leon’s book of essays about life in Venice. She has lived in Venice for thirty years. This would truly be an insider’s view of life in a unique city. And it was. I thoroughly enjoyed each of her essays on Venice, dealing with everything from noisy neighbors to trying to renovate her house. The problem was that the book is titled My Venice and Other Essays. The Venice essays only took up about a quarter of the book. Then there were essays on opera and animals and writing crime novels. Leon is a witty essay writer. I just didn’t really care about those other topics.

If you are someone who typically enjoys reading essays, then you would probably enjoy reading this book. Leon is a good writer, who sees clearly and describes acerbically. If you’re looking for a book about Venice, though (as I was), there are probably better options.

This book was not quite what I expected, but that’s not a bad thing by any means. I expected it to be mostly personal narrative, describing Hales’ trials and triumphs as she attempted to learn Italian. What it actually is, however, is a history of the Italian language. I was a little disappointed at first. But once my brain made the adjustment from expectation to reality, I discovered that I was completely drawn into this book.

Language has always fascinated me. One of my favorite classes in college was a class about the history of the English language. So La Bella Lingua  was right up my alley. Even if the history of languages isn’t your thing, you will still enjoy this book. Hales describes complicated evolutions of words and keeps track of various historical personages with ease. And humor. Who knew a book about a language would have you laughing out loud?

Hales touches on everything from food to literature to movies. The language we speak enters every part of our lives, so a book on a language is a comprehensive look at what it means to be Italian, in this case. La Bella Lingua is well worth a read if you’ve ever wanted to visit Italy, if you’ve ever wanted to learn Italian, or even if you’ve ever eaten spaghetti.

Michael Tucker lived the dream – he bought a house in Italy, moved there, made friends, and learned how to thoroughly enjoy the Italian life. I guess all of that is possible when you’re a (mostly) famous actor (He was in L.A. Law. Yeah, I didn’t know that, either.). For those of us for whom this life remains a dream, however, Tucker’s book is the next best thing.

He portrays his acclimation into Italian living with humility and humor. It wasn’t always easy (putting gas into a diesel car doesn’t work so well), but he embraced his successes and failures with grace. He describes the food so amazingly that things I would never even think of eating sound delicious. And he gathers around himself a cast of friends, both Italians and ex-patriates, who are fun to get to know in their own right.

Continue dreaming of living in Italy. And to make your dream seem even more real, read Living in a Foreign Language.

Theological suspense. It’s really not a common genre, but Paul Maier knows how to make it work. The Constantine Codex is the third book in a series about Jonathan Weber, an archaeologist and professor at Harvard University. Jon and his wife, Shannon, discover an ancient codex, a copy of the Bible. These are extremely rare, and extremely valuable in the study of early Christianity and its beliefs. And not only is this a once-in-a-generation sort of find, but it just might contain a previously unknown book of the New Testament. All this is contingent, however, on proving that the codex is authentic and not a forgery. This process is a bit more fraught with peril than Jon and Shannon expected.

The first two books in this series – A Skeleton in God’s Closet and More Than a Skeleton – are amazing, can’t-put-them-down sort of books. The Constantine Codex doesn’t quite live up to that previously set standard, but it still is a fascinating read. Nearly the entire first half of the book is unrelated to the codex itself. Instead, it focuses on a debate about Islam and Christianity in which Dr. Weber takes part. It’s a creative way for Maier to get those arguments and proofs out there in a way that’s interesting to read and grabs your attention. I certainly learned a lot from this first half. The second half deals with the codex, and it almost feels like Maier is trying to imitate a formula that worked for the first two books of the series. It worked for this one as well. It just felt like he was trying a little too hard.

I can highly, highly recommend A Skeleton in God’s Closet and More Than a Skeleton. As in, go to the bookstore right now and buy them. They are fabulous books. And if you like those two, then The Constantine Codex is worth a read. Enjoy encountering the genre of theological suspense!

The Daughter of Time is really not an indicative title at all. It talks neither about daughters, nor time. Instead it’s a book about Richard III. You know, the king of England who’s notorious for killing his two nephews (those darling Princes in the Tower) in order to secure his throne. The book’s purpose is to clear Richard’s name, something which, I must say, the author does quite successfully. I’ve been fascinated by Richard III since reading Shakespeare’s play in college. I’ve even visited the Richard III Museum in York, England. The curators of the museum try to do exactly what Tey tried to do: clear poor Richard’s sullied name.

The book is set up as a mystery. It’s the fifth book in a series about Inspector Alan Grant. Except the famed inspector spends the entire book in a hospital room, recovering from an injury received at the end of the last book in the series (I’m guessing at that last bit, but it seems logical). In order to keep himself amused, he tackles the mystery surrounding King Richard III. It’s a short book, but an impressive one. An awful lot of research must have gone into the writing of it. But I think the most impressive thing is how intriguing a book it was. I kept reading eagerly to the very end – even though it’s a detective book in which the detective never leaves his room. You’ve got to be an awfully good writer to make that setup work. Josephine Tey definitely does.

If you’re looking for some real history that’s easy to read (although the family trees are incredibly confusing), try The Daughter of Time. And decide for yourself – was Richard III guilty or innocent?

This book reminded me how much I love classical music, and how long it has been since I’ve listened to any. I was a music minor in college, and for a time, seriously contemplated pursuing a graduate degree in Music History. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t go that route. But I am also exceedingly glad that books like The Cello Suites can rekindle that love in me.

For many years, Bach’s Cello Suites were viewed as nothing more than exercises for cello students. Then one day, a teenage cello prodigy discovered an old copy in a dusty music store and turned them into beloved pieces known worldwide. Today, they are viewed as the pinnacle of a cellist’s achievements.

This book is divided into six sections (one for each suite), and then each section is divided into six chapters (one for each movement within each suite). You’ll know I’m a geek when I say that that structure is one of the things I love most about this book. The first three chapters of each section are devoted to Johann Sebastian Bach, his family, and his trials as a composer and a musician. This biography is handled well, especially when discussing all his musician children of multiple names (it can get rather confusing). Although the biography spans Bach’s whole life, Siblin still keeps the focus on the Cello Suites and their possible origins.

The next two chapters of each section focus on Pablo Casals, the Catalonian cellist who made the Cello Suites famous, even turning them into a political statement. (In the wake of World War II, Casals wouldn’t perform in any country that recognized Franco’s regime in Spain.) Casals was truly a remarkable man and a phenomenal musician, as Siblin’s biography of him clearly shows.

The last chapter of each section follows Siblin’s journey into the world of classical music. He tries everything from attempting to learn the cello himself to attending concerts and workshops devoted to Bach’s works. His love for Bach’s beautiful music shows through on every page.

You don’t have to be a classical music lover to enjoy this book. You just have to be someone who enjoys a good story – and even more so when the story is true.

Below I’ve embedded two videos. The first is Pablo Casals playing the Prelude from Bach’s Cello Suite #1. This is probably the most familiar of all the movements in the six Cello Suites. If you want to listen to Casals playing all six suites, you can click here.

The second video is the Piano Guys’ version of that movement. Siblin discusses the evolution of classical music into popular culture, and here’s a great example of that! (Besides, I like the Piano Guys.)  

If you’re going to read a book about long-distance swimming, this should be that book. Lynne Cox is an amazingly determined woman and an absolutely incredible long-distance swimmer. She’s done it all – from swimming the English Channel (twice, setting world records both times) to being the first person to swim across. . .just about everything. The physical feats are remarkable, but just as remarkable is her determination and tenacity. In the middle of the Cold War, she decided she wanted to swim across the Bering Strait. It took her eleven years to accomplish this goal, but she never gave up. Cox is a good writer, drawing out the suspense of each swim. She tells the story of her own life humbly, although she has done many, many things she could brag about. This is a book to show you the power of determination and setting goals. It will encourage you to work even harder towards goals of your own. 

Rachel Friedman had one year of college left and no idea what to do with her life. Her solution? Move to Ireland for the summer. Suddenly a whole new world (literally and figuratively) is opened to her. She catches the travel bug, and she knows what she wants to do with her life, at least for the immediate future – see the world. She spends four months in Australia with a friend she met in Ireland, and then travels around South America with that same friend. Along the way, she discovers who she is – and it’s a very different person than who she thought she was.

Friedman’s memoir is wonderful. She describes her transition from a terrified-let’s-just-stay-in-the-hostel-instead-of-exploring sort of traveler to a sure-let’s-go-bungee-jumping-why-not sort of traveler in such a humble and engaging way. And amusing. This book was nothing if not funny. She constantly steps outside of her comfort zone and challenges herself. She grows into  the sort of traveler I want to be (minus the death-defying bus trips through mountains in South America). This book perfectly embodies Thoreau’s quote: “Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” Friedman discovered herself through her travels. By following along with her, we can maybe discover something about ourselves, too.

My family visited Yellowstone National Park the summer after I graduated from eighth grade. I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember Old Faithful and walking on very specific paths past brightly colored, bubbling hot springs. And the smell of sulfur. Oh, yes, that lovely smell.

I’m looking forward to visiting Yellowstone again someday, which was why I was excited to pick up Jack Turner’s travelogue about the National Park and the area surrounding it. He lives in a cabin there, and has spent many days and hours exploring and communing with nature.

The parts of this book that simply described his surroundings were wonderful. I found myself on Google Images several times searching for flowers that he mentioned (pink elephant head flowers are the coolest flowers ever). I’m not a fishing sort of person, but I even enjoyed his descriptions of angling (what a complicated sport). What I got tired of, however, were his diatribes on the lack of proper conservation and wildness. I don’t fault his enthusiasm, nor do I disagree with his position. I just wish he didn’t feel the need to elaborate (or rant) on it eighteen times (or more) in a 250-page book. If you’re more of an ardent environmentalist than I am, you may not find this quite so tiresome and therefore enjoy the book better overall. As for me, I’ll take my travelogue without excessive soapbox lecturing, please.

Kate Hubbard does a remarkable job of making Serving Victoria an extremely interesting book to read. After all, it is essentially a book about being bored. Ladies-in-waiting were called that for a reason. They waited until the queen needed them. And then they waited until she was done needing them. It sounds like a glamorous life, but it really isn’t. It sounds like a book about such a life would be deathly dull, but it really isn’t. In fact, it’s a fascinating look at life in Queen Victoria’s household.

Serving Victoria introduces us to six people who served Queen Victoria – from ladies-in-waiting to her private secretary to her doctor. Using information culled from diaries and letters, this book paints a picture of a life of service to the whims of a monarch. It shows us Victoria as a young bride, full of excitement, as well as a Victoria brought down by grief, obsessing over details and remembrances. It doesn’t always paint a flattering picture of this beloved queen, but I have no doubt it’s a realistic one.

The bottom line is that Victoria was a person just like anyone else. She had the same cares and concerns for her family as any of her subjects. She felt the same emotions when life was good or bad. She, too, worried about people’s opinions of her. This intimate portrait of Queen Victoria stands side-by-side with the portraits of those who served her. Both are painted with a sympathetic brush. Hubbard has made Queen Victoria and her household come to life in a way that shows both sides of the story.

The Boys in the Boat is the story of America’s 1936 Olympic rowing team. The event involves an eight-man crew, but the book focuses mainly on one of the eight. It’s Joe Rantz’s biography combined with the events leading up to the 1936 Berlin Olympics. I found that the parts focusing solely on Rantz could sometimes be tedious, but they all ultimately served the purpose of giving us a picture of the times.

I know next to nothing about crew, and after reading the book, I can more or less say the same. Daniel James Brown does his best to explain the intricacies involved in putting together a crew, the discipline involved in rowing well together, and the mechanics of building the best boat. He really does explain it well, but I have to admit that not much of it stuck. That’s perfectly all right, though, because you can enjoy the events without mastering the behind-the-scenes details.

My overwhelming emotion at the end of this book is respect for these boys and anyone who rows. It doesn’t seem like it would be that difficult to row a boat down a river or lake, but I now believe that it is one of the most difficult sports to do well. In order to go fast, every movement has to be timed precisely and lined up exactly with every rower in the boat. And then speed up or slow down at the same time, according to the directions of the coxswain. What a feat! I most certainly plan to watch these events during the next Summer Olympics, now that I understand somewhat just how difficult it is.

The ending of this book is astounding. It’s hard to believe that this is actually what happened because it reads like a movie. Mark Twain was right when he said that truth is stranger than fiction. Brown does an awesome job of describing the races in a way that keep you on the edge of your seat. This isn’t an easy task for a writer, but Brown succeeds every time.

This is a story that deserves to be told, and Brown does it well. He introduces us to a crew of boys that you wish you could be friends with. He paints a picture of the times – America during the Great Depression and Germany as Hitler rises to power. This book holds an uplifting story of the power of hard work and dedication to your teammates.

Following the Sun is the story of John Hanson Mitchell’s journey from Spain to Scotland. On a bicycle. He begins in Spain on the vernal equinox and ends in Callanish on the summer solstice. Along the way, he encounters many interesting characters and stories – and a lot of flat tires.

Mitchell tells the story of his bicycle journey in a laidback fashion. Even when he’s battling against wind and rain, it doesn’t seem to faze him much. His descriptions of some of his meals made my mouth water. And who wouldn’t want to travel around to little villages all over Europe, staying in bed & breakfasts (a.k.a., a very nice person’s spare bedroom), and sampling local delicacies at the town café (or pub)?

This was also an educational book. Mitchell is a lover of the sun and sun lore. He intersperses stories from his journey with stories from world cultures. He covers everything from mythology to the development of the heliocentric view of our solar system. Most of this was interesting. Some of it I could have lived without (there’s a lot of sacrificing to the sun god in world history). And as a Christian, I didn’t really appreciate him lumping Biblical events in with world myths and trying to explain how these stories evolved over the past five million years.

A minor pet peeve – his writing style really bugged me at the beginning. He is a great user of run-on sentences. For example: “They wore wide-brimmed straw hats held in place with white bandannas tied beneath their chins, and they all had round, nut-brown faces, with rosy cheeks and white teeth, and many of them wore full-cut blue or brown skirts and heavy shoes.” Seriously? Why isn’t that three separate sentences? After awhile, though, he either stopped writing like this or I stopped noticing, because eventually it no longer annoyed me.

As an armchair traveller, I like being able to learn as I read. But in my opinion, this book could have used more travel narrative and less history lesson, especially since his worldview didn’t agree with mine. I picked it up because the idea of riding a bicycle from Spain to Scotland intrigued me. That’s the story I was hoping to read. It was in there, but there was a lot of other stuff that got in the way.

I love books. And I love owning books. And I most certainly love old books – the smell, the look of them lined up on my mahogany bookshelves. But as much as I admire the look and the smell, I also have every intention of reading them someday. Unlike most of the people in The Man Who Loved Books Too Much.

The person referenced by the title is a book thief with a penchant for rare books. He steals credit card numbers and then orders rare books with them. It’s a scam that worked amazingly – and scarily – well. He “acquired” hundreds of books, but not for the pleasure of reading them. Simply for the pleasure of owning them, accompanied by the impressed opinion that others would have of him upon seeing his taste in books. As beautiful as old books are, that’s the one thing I don’t understand about those who collect rare books. Why would you own hundreds or thousands of books with no intention of reading them?

Allison Hoover Bartlett does a great job of introducing us to the world of rare books. She traces the parallel journeys of John Gilkey, the book thief, and those bookstore owners who are desperately trying to catch him. She explores the reasons behind collecting rare books – both legal and illegal. And she finds herself being drawn into the realm of rare book collecting.

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much is a fascinating look at rare books and the people that love them to the point of obsession.