In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex

Book after book, genre after genre, century after century, tales of animals seemingly "turning against" man is considered unfathomable; at once scary, un-Godly, un-natural, and - to us - completely unprovoked. Take the year 2012 in which James Patterson's Zoo was published. A relentlessly stupid, over-dramatic story so obviously written to appease the warped minds of TV producers and directors that the point of the story was completely lost: humans are not just mere spectators in this melting pot of ecosystems.

Almost 200 years earlier, the disaster of the whaling ship The Essex follows a similar pattern and familiar theme; both books - one fiction, one non - leaves us with the ever-burning question of if and when animals will finally turn against man for real.

While Nathaniel Philbrick doesn't outwardly explore this particular theme in In the Heart of the Sea, choosing instead to focus ,,more on the intricacies of nineteenth century sailing and whaling more than anything else, it can't be ignored by the avid reader, especially since most of the whaling industry was fueled by ego, machismo, and the supposed ultimate dominion over the world. Philbrick expertly articulates this idea in his book, but perhaps a little too well.

In shockingly few pages, Philbrick relays a sea of information that is at times helpful but mostly confusing, speaking as if the reader already has a working knowledge of Northeastern shipping, whaling, and societal culture. He, however, does an admiral job of linking information he previously mentioned to what is currently happening in the story, and any conflicting accounts and fictional tales; Moby Dick makes several appearances as a point of reference and almost as proof to his tale.

Aside from what those of us who have never been whaling find confusing, In the Heart of the Sea is a captivating story of the lengths people go to to line their pockets.

While the book does make central the animalistic instinct of survival, it's hard to miss the underlying point that man wouldn't find themselves seeking revenge on giant whales (both metaphorical and literal) had they not put themselves in those very positions in the first place; and for little else than a chance at a paycheck. And although seeking wealth is taboo among many major religions, Philbrick subtly points out through his story that our interest in defeating nature as a means to wealth perhaps stems from our need for spiritual guidance, with many sects preaching man's superiority and rule over Earth as a right and truth. Such is the case here in regards to the Quakerism practiced among many a whaler. And oftentimes as a result of oppression in the name of this religion, ego and suppressed rage took over in an almost sub-human form. Given that, it's hard to come away from the book viewing these whalers as anything resembling heroes, especially as Philbrick dissected the always-taboo subject of cannibalism.

Although not the first documented case of the practice, and certainly not the last, Philbrick carefully, if not a tad gruesomely, attacks the issue of cannibalism by highlighting that eating one's fellow human does little to alleviate death or even hunger, especially in terms of the mind. Philbrick points out that fear of cannibals is what kept the survivors from uncharted islands, contributing to their almost pointless and futile drift around the Pacific Ocean, but doesn't go so far as to point out the hypocrisy of their decision to eat human flesh, skirting the issue by focusing instead on their struggle with the mere idea then ultimate execution.

But all of that aside, In the Heart of the Sea serves little as a warning and more just adds to the depths of whaling lore. Known as the "Titanic of it's day," the very idea that a Titanic II is well under way proves we have learned nothing. Philbrick's story of a time centuries before - and Patterson's tale of a time centuries later - proves we never will.

Turn Right at Machu Picchu by Mark Adams

Some are intent on traveling the world. And some are not.

But thanks goes to those who are, for they pave a path of enlightenment, education, spirituality, and desire for the rest of us to gaze at, admire, and add to our Bucket List. While exploration is not a new phenomenon - the greatest discoveries have been made simply from the desire to see what lies beyond the horizon - the means and ways of world travel has dramatically evolved. These days, even the most remote forests, desolate mountain ranges, and raging rivers will find what Mark Adams' travel companion in Turn Right at Machu Picchu referred to as "Martini Explorers" - those looking to see the world but still have a warm bed and even warmer meal to return to. In Machu Picchu, Adams falls somewhere in between - lacking the intensity and adventure (and stupidity) of Theodore Roosevelt and his River of Doubt while still suffering the worn shoes, blisters, interesting cuisine, camping, and life-or-death uncertainty of any serious trip into the wilderness. And while the world would have me believe that I'm wasting my life by not scrambling to see all of the Seven Wonders of the World, I'm perfectly happy to let people like Adams, Roosevelt, and Strayed (Wild) do the humping and provide me with exquisite imagery and history, both of which Adams did not skimp on.

With discovery comes more questions, a problem that seemed to be the central theme of Turn Right at Machu Picchu. Adams' original intent was to retrace the steps of 1911's Hiram Bingham, III, suddenly widely discredited for discovering the ancient ruins, then accused of grave-robbing them as well as the area's surrounding ruins. While attempting to clear up Bingham's story, Adams instead encountered an atmosphere much like if he were to ask an American about the upcoming election - everyone has an opinion and their own theory. Adams peppers Peruvian history appropriately throughout his story, though it can get bit meaty and tough for the reader to digest.

Written like one of the more sophisticated blogs of present-day, with several laugh-out-loud moments, Turn Right at Machu Picchu is more an account of Adams taking a history lesson than a raucous journey of exploration, routinely skipping over large chunks of time presumably because nothing particularly noteworthy happened. Only him and his Editor will ever know... And while Adams does an admirable job of detailing his surroundings at any given moment, he struggles to articulate the vast beauty and enormity of his experience, which the reader can either find frustrating or titillating. And although nothing about this book is edge-of-your-seat excitement like that of Frozen In Time or Lost in Shangri-La, the cultural and historical significance of this part of the world is not lost, but rather put on display, as Adams made the Inca Trail sound like the line for Disneyland's Splash Mountain.

This book's main takeaway is the awe-inspiring history of the Incas and how they unknowingly ended up impacting the rest of the world with unrelenting beauty, seemingly ingenious engineering, and the marriage of the two, something Adams described impeccably and seemed to put the most focus on. If nothing else, he definitely lights the fire under the ass of even the most reticent modern-day explorer.

Turn Right at Machu Picchu satisfied a square on my all-important Reading Bingo chart, thus solidifying my Couch Explorer status. But if they ever do bring martinis on explorations and possible discoveries, my travel-ass might just end up being lit. Until then, happy hiking! I can't wait to read about it when you're done...

Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin

Your first thought upon cracking open this biographical work is, "Wow, I can't believe this was written in 1959! This could be about [insert current year here]!" I mean, after your actual initial thought of, "I'm reading a piece of culturally significant material that enlightens me to the world beyond my own backyard, go me!"

But as the story develops, cultural implications give way to a bland overview of 1960's Deep South racism, spectral division, and a sense of hatred that would be powerful and life-altering had the story execution been even remotely interesting.

What would have ordinarily been a rather quick read ended up dragging on slower than the buses that begrudgingly carted Mr. Griffin around Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, and the like. Distantly telling of the obstacles he encountered after altering his white skin to become black - colored bathrooms miles away from convenient, denied cups of coffee or glasses of water, looks of disgust from obvious strangers - Mr. Griffin spoke more of the general segregation and corresponding consequences of blacks - oftentimes horrific - than of his own, often horrific, experiences. And although they were shocking in nature, Griffins' portrayal of them was distant, vague, and lacked the sort of intensity one would expect from a white man going from his seemingly privileged existence to the suppressed, harsh life of a 1960's Negro man; especially coming from his own personal journal.

Afforded the luxury of being able to switch from black to white skin, Griffin instead wasted it by describing his experiences is generic prose, as if he were standing outside a window looking in. Constructed as his personal journal throughout his seven-week experiment, his freedom to paint a more specific picture of 1960's racial injustice was supremely wasted, though he was still subjected to his own brand of racism once the experiment was made public. Not until the epilogue, which I almost didn't read, did Mr. Griffin delve deep into what his experiment revealed, why, and any possible moves toward national harmony, though he stopped short of making any actual suggestions.

Obviously this work was culturally significant in it's 1960's publication, and is still relevant today, which is both sad and promising. Sad because we're dealing with the same issues as a nation over 50-year later, and promising because although racial harmony alludes us, and springs up in new, ugly ways, our ability to recognize the problem of judging someone based on skin color alone is what separates us from the animals. But, if we're being honest, animals have us beat in this area; I've never seen a dog attack another dog simply for being black.