100 Books Like Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

I was on an extended trip to Eastern Europe, back when Eastern Europe was not such a dandy place to visit, and I found myself with nothing to read. In a used bookstore in Prague, I found a tattered paperback, translated into English, of this next pick. It was falling apart, the pages stained by coffee and God knows what else. I bought it anyway.

And over the next few weeks, I was, for the third time, blown away by words on a page, by an author’s imagination. It’s been said that Don Quixote, written around 1600, was the first novel ever written. It may also be the greatest novel ever written. Adventure. Humor. Pathos. Crazy amounts of imagination. The Whole Damn Human Condition.

Make sure to find a first-class translation!

I enjoy the dark humor in this one—savage and satirical, targeting pomposity. Voltaire uses a series of essays to show Candide going on travels and adventures, and meeting ignorance and bliss in turn. At the end, Candide reaches the conclusion that he should just “tend his own garden.”

It’s an ironic anti-clerical work that strips bare the follies and foibles of mankind. I appreciate how he didn’t hesitate to deconstruct the religious conditioning of the time.

I first read this book exactly 50 years ago, back in 1974, when I was 26. Ever since then, I have reread Jaroslav Hašek's masterpiece every single year, always in February. It is the gloomiest month of the year in Europe when our tonus is at its lowest, and we desperately need something to cheer us up.

The hilarious story of the good soldier is precisely that “injection” of optimism, serenity, élan vital that helps me make it through the last winter months till the arrival of the Spring. Although I already know by heart many passages from Svejk, I still laugh aloud while reading them—reading about the instinctive wisdom of an ordinary, small Czech man trying to comically outsmart the demonic forces of History…

The author’s voice captured me.

Once again, I’d never read anything like it before. He was having a conversation with me. I was now a character in an Amsterdam bar with him, the war had just ended, we were smoking cigarettes and drinking gin.

He would respond to my silent questions, and wax and wane philosophically, metaphysically, morally, ethically, and occasionally comically. 

And the beauty was that it had happened so randomly—a roommate had thrown the book in the trash, declaring it to be “bullshit.” I knew the lad to be an imbecile (an acceptable term at the time), so I fished the book out of the trash, read the first sentence, and loved it.

It was the quantumly entangled counter particle to Candide: one particle from the age of reason, the other particle from the age of existentialism.

In 1990, Stan Rowe destroyed my narrow worldview. As a newspaper columnist in Saskatoon, on the Canadian prairie, I wrote about “the environment”. A cold, clinical term environment, wrote Rowe—a thing outside us, separate. Instead, call it what it is: our homeplace, embracing us, part of us.

Rowe’s love for the land transformed the prairie, typically thought to be dull, into the home I, too, loved. Every Winter day I had to walk the trembling aspen paths by the Saskatchewan River. In spring, I had to find that first shock of color, the purple prairie crocus. Now, in summer, I jumped in the cold river and went with the current. Now, in the fall, I searched out the elusive whooping crane. Stan woke me up, to my, to our homeplace.

Both Jennifer Ward and Diana Sudyka are two of my favorite kid lit creators, and this brilliant collaboration begs to be read aloud. Ward’s lyrical text sings as an introductory guide for the littlest bird watchers, showing them where to look for birds: up to see them fly and roost—but not just up—down on the ground where birds nest, straight ahead where they blend with bark, on and under the water. And if you put out a birdfeeder, all you need is a window-view. But what’s the best way to find a bird? To listen—birdsong is all around us! Sudyka’s gorgeously intricate art paints the avian details of all the found birds. Don’t miss the back matter for bird-watching tips.

While researching my most recent book I wanted to explore the various ways people have interacted with wildlife throughout history. Mooellam’s book proved exactly what I was looking for. Fun and readable, it was a pleasant counterbalance to some of the hefty tomes I consulted, and yet it left me with much to think about.

Michelle Nijhuis tells the history of conservation over the last three hundred years with compelling narrative and fascinating detail. She shines a new light on the context and stories of familiar as well as lesser-known, pioneering conservationists. I loved it and learnt so much.

Beloved Beasts explores different perspectives of an increasingly desperate human story. Cutting to the underlying narrative… "people are still killing too many animals and destroying too much habitat" Nijui urges that as our societies become ever more connected, perhaps there is hope that we humans can sort ourselves (and our planet…) out. Let’s hope so.

I had already been a lobbyist for a few years before I became aware of the satirical story about lobbying. And while the satire is entertainingly ridiculous, the individual components are not all that different from real life. Lobbyists are faced with moral dilemmas so often that the consequences often become unnoticeable.

The story is less about what is technically known as “lobbying” but, more broadly, a better term that has since become popular in the age of social media known as “influencing.” It raises the moral dilemma issues so well that I have taught the story in my advocacy classes at Indiana University. 

A novel about a young woman who worked on the atomic bomb and fell in love with one of the other scientists on the project who breaks her heart into a million pieces so she abandons her career and takes up as a shop-girl? Add in an FBI agent who is on the tail of the cad and wants her help in finding him? Count me in!

Fields is terrific at creating mood and the 1950s milieu. And the unexpected romance between Rosalind, the one-time scientist, and Charlie, the FBI agent, is both moving and immensely satisfying—these are two wounded souls who manage to find each other and by the end, you’re out of your chair and cheering.