Ten (or Eleven) Best Nonfiction Books I Read in 2022

Jan4

The Rise and Fall of Adolf Hitler by William L. Shirer and The Mysterious Voyages of Captain Kidd by A.B.C. Whipple. These two Landmark books, written for children, tied for tenth place in my “best of nonfiction” list. Both were well-written, contained many interesting facts and stories that I didn’t know about before I read the books, and generated much conversation among the “Library Ladies” of whom I am privileged to be a part.

Mere Motherhood: Morning Times, Nursery Rhymes, and My Journey Towards Sanctification by Cindy Rollins (re-read) What I wrote a few years ago when I read this book for the first time still applies: “I laughed. I cried. I identified. Cindy Rollins, mother of nine homeschooled children, mostly boys, has written an honest, but also encouraging book about what it was really like to homeschool a large family in the 1980’s and 1990’s homeschooling culture. Cindy is honest about the things she’s learned along the way, but never jaded or dismissive of her younger self or of homeschooling families who work every day, although imperfectly, to get it right and teach their children to know the Lord.”

Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work or Watch or Weep by Tish Harrison Warren. Compline prayer from Prayer in the Night: “Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ, give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous, and all for your love’s sake. Amen.”

The God of the Garden: Thoughts on Creation, Culture, and the Kingdom by Andrew Peterson. “Solitude is a choice. . . Isolation is finding yourself alone when you don’t want to be.”

The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis. (Re-read)

Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China by Jung Chang.

Life and Death in Shanghai by Nien Cheng. Another memoir of the Cultural Revolution and the reign of terror under Mao in China. Both this book and Wild Swans were difficult to read, difficult to believe that man could be so inhumane, so cruel, and that a society could devolve into such chaos and horror.

Rembrandt Is in the Wind: Learning to Love Art Through the Eyes of Faith by Russ Ramsey.

The Truth and Beauty: How the Lives and Works of England’s Greatest Poets Point the Way to a Deeper Understanding of the Words of Jesus by Andrew Klavan.

Where the Light Fell by Philip Yancey. These last three books on the list are the best books I read in 2022. I will be thinking about and returning to all three many times, I am sure. Yancey’s spiritual autobiography is heart-rending at times, but ultimately hopeful.

The Mysterious Voyage of Captain Kidd by A.B.C. Whipple

Jan4

Who was Captain Kidd? Most people would answer simply, “A pirate!” or maybe, “A pirate who buried a great treasure!” But was he a pirate? Or was he a falsely accused and misjudged victim? Was he a legal privateer acting under the King’s orders? Did he even have a treasure? And if so, what happened to it?

Mr. A.B.C. Whipple’s book doesn’t answer all of those questions. (HINT: The treasure is still either nonexistent or up for grabs.) But it does present a compelling case for the honor and victimization of one William Kidd, New York merchant turned—either pirate or privateer. Take your pick.

This Landmark history, one of the books in the famous Landmark series, is anything but a dry recitation of facts and figures. Of course, the subject is piracy and one of the most famous of all the pirates, Captain Kidd. But Kidd’s story is full of detail about the life and times of the pirates and about the late seventeenth century and its business practices and British politics; yet, nevertheless, the story is told in such a way as to draw in the reader and make him care about the East India Company and the coast of Madagascar and the intricacies of trade between New York and the West Indies—and much more. I love how these living Landmark books educate without pontificating, simply by telling a story.

The story begins with the British judge sentencing William Kidd to death by hanging, so there are no surprises about how Kidd’s story ends. But the author then goes back into to tell readers how in only six short years Kidd went from being a prosperous New York merchant to a criminal convicted of piracy and murder. It’s a sad, cautionary tale. Although I’m not sure what Captain Kidd could have done differently to avoid his fate, I certainly think some lessons can be drawn from his story. Maybe, stay away from ventures with politics and secret investors involved. Or, never trust a politician. Kids who read the book can draw their own lessons and conclusions.

As for the buried treasure, maybe it’s somewhere, buried still. I’d like to think so. In an author note at the end of my copy of the book, Mr. Whipple writes:

“Robert Louis Stevenson, the author of Treasure Island, once heard that another author, Henry James, had never gone looking for buried treasure. ‘If he has never been on a quest for buried treasure,’ said Stevenson, ‘it can be demonstrated that he has never been a child.'”

I certainly remember searching for buried treasure once upon a time. Maybe this book will inspire treasure hunters, children or adults, to try once more to find the buried treasure of Captain Kidd. And maybe someone, somewhere, will find it!

This Landmark book, once a rare find, out of print, and very expensive to purchase, has been reprinted by Purple House Press, and it’s now available at a very reasonable price with updated maps and other information. If you or your child (or both of you) are interested in pirates, and who isn’t, it’s worth purchasing or borrowing from my library (Meriadoc Homeschool Library) or from your local public library, if they have a copy. If not, you should request that they buy one immediately. Maybe it has clues to the whereabouts of the treasure, or maybe the story itself is the treasure.

More about this Landmark book, The Mysterious Voyage of Captain Kidd by A.B.C. Whipple (don’t you just love that author’s name!) on the Plumfield Moms podcast, where they are featuring one of the Landmark books each month on the first Friday of the month.

O. Henry by Jeanette Covert Nolan

Mar18

O. Henry: The Story of William Sydney Porter by Jeanette Covert Nolan.

O. Henry, aka William Sydney Porter, led a colorful life, but he was a retiring and secretive man. As his biographer says, “his autobiography, if set down, would probably have been scorned as a travesty on truth by the instructors of proper college writing classes.” Born and raised in North Carolina, he moved to Texas as a young man, married an Austin girl from a wealthy family, fathered a daughter, became a journalist, owned a newspaper for a short while, worked in a bank, was accused of embezzlement, fled the country, returned to be with his dying wife, and was convicted of a felony and imprisoned in Ohio. All this happened while he was still a young man, in his thirties, and before he began to make his reputation as a writer of exquisitely crafted short stories that became both popular with common readers and respected in literary circles.

Ms. Nolan’s biography of O. Henry/Porter, written for young adults, is obviously sympathetic to Porter, portraying him as wrongly convicted of embezzlement and mostly confused and mistaken in his decision to flee justice, deserting his wife and child for a brief time. His wife, Athol, seems unnaturally supportive, saying in her letters only that she believed in his innocence but that they would have to remain apart as long as he was a fugitive since she was too ill to join him in Honduras where he fled. And Nolan glosses over Porter’s alcoholism–he died of cirrhosis of the liver and other ailments—and says only that he drank heavily but was always a perfect gentleman. Porter comes across as a lonely and tragic figure, shrouded in mystery, but likable, jovial, and humorous with all who knew him in his after-prison days.

This approach to telling the story of Porter’s life makes the biography a gentle story, somewhat melancholy, but ultimately hopeful. Nolan describes Porter as a “rather stout and mild-mannered man, timidly smiling, respectably dressed–dark suit, blue tie, yellow gloves in his right hand, and maybe a malacca cane, too; and the buttonhole of his coat the little Cecil Brunner rosebud which he had bought that very morning at the flower-stand one the corner of Madison Square.” The entire book inclines one to think of Porter fondly, much as his short stories portray most of their characters, mistaken at times but “more sinned against.”

However, Ms. Nolan makes a strategic error when she includes in her story references to the Ku Klux Klan, apparently active in Porter’s boyhood hometown of Greensboro, North Carolina. I’m not sure why Ms. Nolan even felt it necessary to mention the Klan, but she does. And when she does, while she has Porter’s father argue that the “Klan is as hateful in theory as in practice,” she also has him say that “the average Negro is still an inarticulate creature, not far removed from the primitive; he doesn’t know what he’s doing or why.” In these first few chapters of the book about William Porter’s boyhood there’s a whole thread of apology for the Klan and for the hatred of Southerners for Reconstruction and the Northern interlopers it bought to the South. And the fear, pity, and contempt of Southerners for their formerly enslaved Black neighbors is quite evident and articulated plainly. It made me wonder: if Nolan could sympathize with the underlying fears and prejudices that gave rise to the Klan, what other dark episodes and secrets would she spin in a positive way? (And Nolan was Indiana born and bred, so it’s not as if she was a Southerner herself.)

At any rate, I still enjoyed reading this biography of William Sydney Porter, and it made me want to pull out some of his short stories and re-read them. Book does lead on to book in a never-ending chain.

Interesting side-note: William Porter made friends in New York City during the latter half of his life, mostly in the publishing world. One of those friends was Gelett Burgess, author of Goops and How To Be Them and its sequels, and also the famous ditty, “I Never Saw a Purple Cow.”

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one.

Admiral Byrd of Antarctica by Michael Gladych

May23

Another Messner biography, published in 1960, Admiral Byrd of Antarctica is a solid, decent read, but not as enthralling or inspiring as other Messner biographies I’ve read. Gladych characterizes Byrd, who explored both the Arctic and the Antarctic, as resourceful, persistent, brave and somewhat driven by a desire to do something important and noteworthy.

The most celebrated event of Byrd’s life came in 1934 on his second Antarctic expedition when he spent five months alone gathering meteorological data in a base station during the antarctic winter. He almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning from a poorly ventilated stove. He later wrote an account of his experiences when isolated and on his own in his book, Alone. Gladych quotes Byrd saying about his motivation for manning the station by himself:

“There comes a time in every man’s life when he should take stock of himself—sort of check on his navigation, so to speak. . . . You see, it has taken me a long time to get where I am today. And we are all like aircraft on nonstop flights, with time like precious fuel which we cannot replenish. God alone knows how much time-fuel I have left, and I’d like to check my course—make sure that where I am headed is where I should be going. I can do it best alone—out there.”
p.156

I don’t know if that’s an actual quote from Admiral Byrd, or a paraphrase of something he said, or entirely made up by author Gladych. However, while the idea of checking your course by way of an extended retreat is a good one, I think it could have been accomplished with less drama and danger, to Byrd and to his compatriots who eventually had to come to his rescue. But, then, what do I know about polar exploration or the compulsion to adventure and challenge the unknown?

Admiral Byrd was one of the most highly decorated Navy officers in U.S. military history. He also got all kinds of awards and commendations from various non-governmental organizations. But the fact that his wife, Marie, stayed married to him and raised their four children by herself for a good bit of their marriage seems like the best commendation of all. She must have seen something in him. He did name a region in Antartica after his long-suffering wife, Marie Byrd Land.

Some other books about Admiral Byrd and his adventures:

Black Whiteness: Admiral Byrd Alone in the Antarctic by Robert Burleigh. Picture book about Byrd’s famous near-death experiment in solitude.
Something to Tell the Grandcows by Ellen Spinelli. Picture book. Hoping to have an adventure to impress her grandcows, Emmadine Cow joins Admiral Richard E. Byrd on his 1933 expedition to the South Pole. I have this book in my library.
Alone: The Classic Polar Adventure by Richard Evelyn Byrd.
Explorer: The Life of Richard E. Byrd by Lisle E. Rose. An adult biography of the explorer published in 2008.
Richard E. Byrd: Adventurer to the Poles by Adele de Leeuw. A children’s biography from the series by Garrard Publishers, Discovery biographies.
Byrd & Igloo: A Polar Adventure by Samantha Seiple. A narrative account for children of the daring adventures of the legendary polar explorer and aviator and his loveable dog companion draws on letters, diaries, interviews, newspaper clippings, and expedition records.
Admiral Richard Byrd: Alone in the Antarctic by Paul Rink. Original title: Conquering Antartica: Admiral Richard E. Byrd.
We Were There With Byrd at the South Pole by Charles S. Strong. Juvenile fiction set during Byrd’s first Antarctic expedition.

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Mar27

Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books by Azar Nafisi

This book is one that I might have enjoyed more had I discovered it on my own rather than hearing about it for ages before I finally tried it out for myself. Published in 2003, Reading Lolita has gotten rave reviews, has been recommended widely and repeatedly, and was a best selling memoir. Maybe it was just too inflated for me to appreciate the book for what it was.

Reading Lolita starts out well. In the fall of 1995, the author is meeting with a group of students, all female, in her apartment after she resigned from the university where she was a professor of English-speaking literature. One of her former students reminds her: “She reminded me of a warning I was fond of repeating: do not, under any circumstances, belittle a work of fiction by trying to turn it into a carbon copy of real life; what we search for in fiction is not so much reality but the epiphany of truth.” This rather pithy statement seems like a good truth to keep in mind, but in this book there is a fine line between reality, epiphany, and truth. And the line, to extend the metaphor, gets really blurred by the end of the story.

Next, the author introduces her girls, the group who have come to discuss literature in a place where they can do so openly and honestly and without veils and chadors that hide not only their bodies but also their ideas and dignity as persons. Eight women including the author herself. Ms. Nafisi describes them vividly: Manna the poet, Mahshid the sensitive lady, Yassi the comedian, Azin the fashionable divorcee, Mitra the artist, Sanaz the conformist, and Nassrin, the one that the author calls a Cheshire cat.

But after the introductory chapters, maybe even within the first few chapters, the book becomes scattered and sometimes incoherent. The narrative moves from the Thursday morning literary society to insights on Nabakov and The Great Gatsby to the history of Ms. Nafisi’s feud with the Islamic purity police to someone that the author calls her “magician.” The Magician is a sort of literary hermit who’s decided to withdraw from society as long as the Islamic Republic of Iran continues to shame and persecute intellectuals, but who also wields great influence as entertains carefully selected guests in his apartment and gives them advice and counsel? He’s a shadowy figure, and I never was sure whether he was an imagined character (for some literary purpose?) or whether he was real.

The timeline of Nafisi’s narrative jumps around like a cat (yes, on a hot tin roof), and the book is structured around the books and authors that the women read and discuss together: Lolita by Nabakov, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Daisy Miller by Henry James, and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Although Nafisi mentions and sometimes discusses other books and other authors these four define the four sections of the book. I’m not sure why these four, but I suppose it’s because these are the books that resonated with Ms. Nafisi’s students. Of the four I’ve read Austen and Fitzgerald, and dabbled in Henry James (but not Daisy Miller). Of course, I found the allusions to and commentary on the books I have read more illuminating than those I haven’t. (Nabakov just sounds tawdry and distasteful.)

I had trouble keeping the women and their individual stories straight in my mind. I had a hard time figuring out the chronology of Ms. Nafisi’s life and story. I sort of understand why the women identified so strongly with Lolita; like women in the Islamic Republic, Lolita is a victim of misogyny and abuse and entrapment. But why Daisy in Great Gatsby or Daisy Miller? Both of these ladies are rather careless exploiters of others, rather than being helpless victims or overcoming societal expectations.

Maybe I read too fast. Maybe I wasn’t patient enough to tie the narrative together and mine the diamonds out of it. Nevertheless, it just won’t go on my personal list of all-time great memoirs.

Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl

Mar25

Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise by Ruth Reichl.

Ruth Reichl was a food and restaurant critic for the New York Times in the 1990’s. Apparently, as I learned from reading this book, this position is more powerful than one might imagine. Restaurant reviews and the number of “stars” awarded to a restaurant in NYC can make or break a restaurant. Who knew?

So, since she became a powerful force with her job at the New York Times, Ruth Reichl also became an immediate celebrity in the restaurant world. Her picture was posted in all the restaurant kitchens, and all of the waiters and managers and other workers were warned, even given a bounty, to spot her coming. Which makes it difficult to get at the truth about a restaurant and its food and its service to regular, non-food critic customers.

That’s when Reichl began to don elaborate disguises in order to visit the restaurants on her list, incognito. Not only did she disguise herself, she imagined, with the help of an ex-drama coach and old friend of her mother’s, an entire persona for herself as she visited restaurants as Molly the retired high school teacher, or Betty Jones the poor spinster, or Brenda the redheaded extrovert, or even her own mother (deceased). The disguises enabled Reichl to do her job, which was to write an unbiased and honest review of a given high dollar restaurant, but they also gave her insight into herself, the kind of person she was able to become, the kind of person she wanted to be, and the core of her own identity.

I thought Ms. Reichl’s food memoir was interesting and insightful, especially in the chapter where Reichl becomes Emily Stone, a “dried-up prune” of a woman with an entitled attitude and a chip on her shoulder. When her dinner companion tells her, “These disguises have gone too far. I hate the person you’ve become,” Reichl realizes that “if Brenda was my best self, Emily was my worst.” All of the people she pretends to be are really at least partly herself. It made me wonder again about actors and actresses and the stress of pretending to be people who may be drawn from the worst aspects of one’s own secret self.

I did enjoy reading about Ms. Reichl’s adventures in New York City restaurants that are all so expensive and exotic that I will certainly never visit them myself. Eventually I’d like to read some of her other books, Tender at the Bone, Comfort Me with Apples, or Save Me the Plums. This book, Garlic and Sapphires, does include recipes (which I will probably never try since I’ve grown a deep aversion to cooking in my old age) and a few of the articles that Ms. Reichl wrote for the Times when she was their food critic. Ruth Reichl went on to become editor in chief of Gourmet magazine.

Prairie Fires by Caroline Fraser

Feb27

I just finished reading Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser, and although I think the biographer has some underlying assumptions and biases about politics and history that I would not agree with, I still recommend the book. I thought it quite insightful, and it provided background and details that I did not know before about Ms. Wilder’s life.

The book spends as much time on the biography of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s only surviving child, Rose Lane Wilder, as it does on Laura’s life. Perhaps because their lives were so intertwined, the daughter and the mother come across as enmeshed in a somewhat dysfunctional relationship that nevertheless produced several wonderful and classic books. In spite of Rose’s mostly negative influence, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s philosophy of life shines through the books. Garth Williams, the second and most famous illustrator of the Little House books, wrote this about Ms. Wilder after meeting her on her farm in Missouri:

She understood the meaning of hardship and struggle, of joy and work, of shyness and bravery. She was never overcome by drabness or squalor. She never glamorized anything; yet she saw the loveliness in everything.
Prairie Fires, p. 263-264

The same could not be said for her daughter.

In fact, even though I read A Wilder Rose: Rose Wilder Lane, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and their Little Houses by Susan Wittig Albert, a fictionalized account of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her daughter Rose and their somewhat stormy collaboration in writing the Little House books, and I knew that Rose was a difficult person, I didn’t really realize how very unstable she was. Fraser blames Rose’s outbursts and tantrums and trail of broken relationships on childhood trauma and possible mental illness. However, the childhood trauma rationale seems like an excuse rather than a reason. Laura Ingalls Wilder, the mother, endured much more and much worse than Rose ever did, and Laura, while not a perfect person, was certainly more mentally stable and plain likable than Rose ever was.

So, partly because of what I read in this biography, I am considering removing the two books (of three that he wrote) that I have in my library by Roger Lea MacBride, fictionalized sequels to the Little House books about Rose Wilder Lane’s childhood in Missouri. MacBride was Rose Wilder Lane’s protege and heir, and he seems to have been something of a sycophant and a leech. I don’t know that there’s anything wrong with his books, but I also don’t know that they are worth keeping. Perhaps I should pass them on to someone else. I haven’t read the books by MacBride, and since people occasionally ask for them and I got them donated, I added them to the library. But now, I’m wondering. Has anyone here read the MacBride books? Are they well written? Worth keeping?

Nonfiction November: Week #1

Oct28

I’ve wanted to participate more fully in Nonfiction November in the blogging world for long time, but I’ve always been involved in reading furiously for Cybils in November in past years. This year, sadly, I’m taking a break from Cybils, although I’m still reading a lot of 2019 middle grade fiction for some other projects that are ongoing. So, I do have a little reading space for Nonfiction November, and I’m happy to be participating this year. The prompt for this week of nonfiction focus is:

Week 1: (Oct. 28 to Nov. 1) – Your Year in Nonfiction (Julie @ Julz Reads): Take a look back at your year of nonfiction and reflect on the following questions – What was your favorite nonfiction read of the year? Do you have a particular topic you’ve been attracted to more this year? What nonfiction book have you recommended the most? What are you hoping to get out of participating in Nonfiction November?

I’ve read quite a bit of nonfiction this year, more than usual. I’ve particularly been attracted to the series of biographies published by Julian Messner in the fifties and sixties. These biographies, written for middle school and high school students, have just the right level of detail and story while leaving out the salacious gossip and speculation that might be inserted into any biography written nowadays for adults. If I really want to read more, I can try to find a more comprehensive biography, but these Messner biographies contain about the right amount of information for me. And they are quite well written, interesting and absorbing.

Although I really enjoyed reading about Ignaz Semmelweis and about Cyrus W. Field and about Dr. Frederick Banting, my favorite of these biographies was not a Messner title and not a juvenile or young adult biography. I really liked Leonard Marcus’s biography of Margaret Wise Brown, the picture book author who was so prolific and so talented that she changed the art of the picture book forever. Margaret Wise Brown: Awakened by the Moon is a must-read for those who are interested in the history of children’s literature or in the writing and publishing scene in New York in the first half of the twentieth century. This biography was my favorite of the year so far, but I would point out that the year is not over yet.

Twentieth Century Caesar: Benito Mussolini by Jules Archer

Oct22

Jules Archer wrote several of the biographies in the Messner Shelf of Biographies series, including this one about the infamous dictator who led Italy into the second World War and dragged the Italian people into his own personal downfall as he became Hitler’s puppet.

“Benito Mussolini was a man of many contradictions but with one driving ambition—to rule Italy and restore it to the power and splendor of the ancient Roman Empire, with himself as the new Caesar. In time he became the founder of the Fascist movement and dictator of all of Italy—but at what a price!”

So, it was Mussolini’s dream to Make Italy Great Again, but MIGA doesn’t sound quite as strong as MAGA. And Benito Mussolini was no Julius Caesar. He was instead the son of a poor blacksmith who abused his children both physically and verbally. Mussolini’s father taught him to be a socialist and a populist. He became a journalist who advocated violence and who led the Italians into World War I on the Allied side as a result of a bribe from the French. While he was exiled to Switzerland, Mussolini fell under the influence of Communist Angelika Balabanoff, a comrade of Lenin and of Trotsky. She taught him to bathe and to study languages and communism.

I really wanted to understand WHY the Italians followed Il Duce, the name Mussolini took for himself after his rise to power. How did an entire nation of people become enamored of a boor who blustered and incited, even commanded, violence from his own army of Blackshirts and who went from being a power broker before World War 2 to a powerless sycophant who dependent on the sometimes good will of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi war machine?

I hope that the difference between early twentieth century Italy and present day United States is that America has a proud heritage of resistance to dictatorship and government overreach. Italy looked back to the glory days of the Caesars and longed for someone to come and put things right, even at the cost of individual liberty. I pray that we Americans as a people continue to want government to leave us alone and let us make our own lives right, with government providing only a safe and stable environment for us to do so. As I hear more and more about socialist envy and making America great, I wonder if we could be doomed to repeat, in a uniquely American way, the fantastic blunders of fascist Italy. I certainly pray not.

Archer’s other Messner biographies:

African Firebrand: Kenyatta of Kenya
Angry Abolitionist: William Lloyd Garrison
Battlefield President: Dwight D. Eisenhower
Famous Young Rebels
Colossus of Europe: Metternich
Fighting Journalist: Horace Greeley
Front-Line General: Douglas MacArthur
Man of Steel: Joseph Stalin
Red Rebel: Tito of Yugoslavia
Science Explorer: Roy Chapman Andrews
Strikes, Bombs & Bullets: Big Bill Haywood and the IWW
Trotsky: World Revolutionary
World Citizen: Woodrow Wilson

Archer seems to have been particularly interested in rebels, revolutionaries, strongmen and dictators. I wonder whom he might write about if he were still writing?

The Discoverer of Insulin: Dr. Frederick G. Banting by I.E. Levine

Oct2

I read this Messner published biography back in the summer, but I’m just now getting around to reviewing it. The dust jacket blurb says in a nutshell somethings of what I learned from the book:

“When Frederick Banting discovered insulin, he gave millions of doomed diabetics the gift of life. . . . Banting grew up on a farm in Canada. When his tomboy playmate Jane died at fourteen of diabetes, he was determined to one day find the cause of this mysterious disease. . . . Banting became a university instructor and researcher. He was still puzzled by the mysterious disease of diabetes. . . With Charles Best, his assistant, Banting sweated in a grimy attic laboratory, racing the time allotted him by Toronto University. Alternately sure of success and plunged into despair, they hung on grimly through a series of experiments. They succeeded in discovering Hormone X, but it took many, many months before they perfected the wonder drug—insulin.”

That’s the short version of the story. But I learned so much more about medical research and diabetes and early twentieth century medicine. Did you know:

* Until insulin, six out of every ten diabetics died of coma. And almost every juvenile diabetes sufferer died within a few years of diagnosis. Diabetes was a death sentence.

* Banting started out as an orthopedic surgeon, not an internal medicine doctor.

* Banting and Best killed a number of dogs in their experiments to isolate and produce what they called “isletin” (insulin), but they considered the dogs as “soldiers in the war against disease” and treated them as humanely as possible.

* Much of the research time they spent was unpaid. Banting and Best lived in poverty while they conducted their experiments to find the hormone that would control diabetes in those who were diagnosed with the “sugar sickness.”

* Banting received the Nobel Prize for his work on insulin, but instead of recognizing Charles Best as co-discoverer, the Nobel Prize committee named Dr. Macleod, the head researcher at Toronto University, who had been less than encouraging in the research of Banting and Best and not present for most of it.

As I have often said, I am interested in many things. This biography of a revolutionary doctor and medical researcher was an inspiration to persevere in the calling that I have been given, no matter how small. I’m not going to change the lives of millions of people with an incurable disease, but I am called to be faithful just as Banting was.

Semicolon

Books we must have though we lack bread.

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