For book and bookstore fans: "Bloomsbury Girls" probes the inner workings of a 1950 London bookshop

I can see why a few members of the Historical Fiction Book Lovers Facebook group wrote “DNF” when discussion rolled around to “Bloomsbury Girls” by Natalie Jenner. It’s about books and bookstores. The time is 1950, a very boring year which launched a million Boomers me included. In London and all over the world, the war is over. Women are finding jobs but it’s a hard slog through male-dominated society. A few years earlier, these women were building ships and planes and tanks. Those warmaking items are no longer in demand so neither are working women. Bookshops in London’s better neighborhoods attract workers who love books and may even be writing one of their own, as happens in “Bloomsbury Girls.” Patrons come from all economic levels but tend to be well-educated with money to spend on books during a post-war period when necessities such as fuel and foodstuffs are still being rationed.

The book’s conflicts do not come from warfare and skullduggery and shady politics. Women try to claim their places in the working life and men stand in their way. It’s another form of warfare that the female characters in the book have to negotiate with skills equal to army strategists.

As the story progresses, Jenner features cameos of female literary figures of the era. Daphne Du Maurier, Ellen Doubleday, Sonia Blair (widow of George Orwell) and Peggy Guggenheim, one-time lover of Samuel Beckett who also shows up at the bookshop just as he finished writing his new play, “Waiting for Godot.”

There is a bit of a Wyoming connection. Ellen Doubleday was mother to the late Neltje Blanchan Doubleday whom we in Wyoming know as Neltje of Banner, Wyo., artist and arts patron. Neltje founded the Jentel Artist Residency Program along Lower Piney Creek and adjacent to her homestead and studio. She endowed writing fellowships in the names of her grandparents. She willed millions to the University of Wyoming for its arts and culture programs.

I have undergraduate and graduate degrees in English and read lots of books. I am a writer. I once worked in a chain bookstore in a dying mall. Barbara Cartland sold better than James Michener and Irwin Shaw. We sold more romances than any other category. Classic literature gathered dust on the shelves, although an occasional high school kid might wander in looking for “Catcher in the Rye.” I loved it when patrons bought books I loved so we could conduct a book discussion right there at the cash register.

I have fond memories of those days. But the daily workings of the Paperback Booksmith were not high drama. Somehow, Natalie Jenner turns the proceedings of a London book shop into a series of interpersonal dramas. In good hands, any situation can be exciting.

Jenner also is the author of “The Jane Austen Book Club.” Book clubs? Kill me now! It’s not always a soul-stirring topic although World War II dramas have hung on the concept. I’m thinking about you, “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.”

I have been reading a lot of books on my Kindle. Not this one. I found it in my local Albertson’s Grocery Store while waiting for prescriptions. A small book bin is located nearby. Bins for discontinued items are located through the store. This one features lots of children’s books. I recently picked up “Pop, Flip, Cook!” for $5, a nifty interactive tutorial on cooking including a cardboard slice of toast and knife to spread jam with. It’s almost like if you have a book, you don’t even need a computer.

I found “Bloomsbury Girls” in the same bin for $3.99. The enticing cover features three young women – the book’s main characters – strolling down a street in what must be London, bookshop in the background. Big problem: the characters are decapitated. I have begun to notice cover art with headless characters. Sometimes, they are shown from the rear so faces are hidden. Members of the Historical Fiction group say the publishers do this so as not to spoil the characters’ image we have in our imaginations. I get it. Publishers must have no faith in readers’ imaginations. Stop this trend immediately. It reminds me of the ridiculous trend on house-flipping TV shows to show bookshelves with pages showing but spine hidden. I am told that this is an attempt by realtors to not prejudice a sale when you see when you see a row of books about Trump. What kind of idiot lives here? They must be hiding something. Check the basement for bodies!

One thing about bargain bin books. Authors make nothing from the sale. At one point, the books were sold new and the writer ended up with a few pennies. The book supply chain is a long and weird one. Get your bargains when you can so you can go to Cheyenne’s new bookstore, Bonsai Books, and buy a new book at full price and begin reading it while sipping a latte in an easy chair. Bonsai Books debuts the same week as the new Barnes & Noble opens in the space that once housed Natural Grocers which now is in the original Barnes & Noble building on Dell Range.  

Nukes in the news -- again

Not enough people have seen "Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb."

It's satire, sure, with a concept that a loony nuke base commander could trigger a nuclear war. General Jack D. Ripper is obsessed with Commies poisoning "our precious bodily fluids." His executive officer, a British captain, comes close to derailing the general's plans but, as we all know, close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and mega-kiloton atomic warheads.

"We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again some sunny day."

Dr. Strangelove's closing lines, sung by Vera Lynn as the Russians' Doomsday Machine causes bombs to go off all over the world.

That's all, folks!

The movie's over. We laugh. Shake our heads. Punch the remote to "Bridgerton."

The premise seemed ridiculous to moviegoers in 1964. It seems ridiculous again. But not quite so. There is an unhinged megalomaniac in Russia threatening to use nukes if the West doesn't stop arming Ukraine. 

"Dr. Strangelove" got its start with a novel, "Red Alert," by Peter George. It's a thriller. I read it as a teen, that and "Fail-Safe," co-written by Eugene Burdick and Harvey Wheeler. Also, Nevil Shute's "On the Beach." I read about nuclear Armageddon. It seemed so far-fetched. At the same time, I was reading the Hardy Boys and Tom Swift series. They sparked my imagination, turning me into a lifelong fan of fiction. Tom Swift's dirigible/biplane hybrid ("Tom Swift and His Airship, or, The Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud") seemed as real to me as nuke bombers and missiles that could incinerate the planet. I was lost in a fantastic world that I never really grew out of.

At the same time, my father worked on installing Atlas missiles in hardened silos from Washington state to Kansas (Wyoming too). He was a contract specialist, an accountant with Martin Co. (Martin-Marietta). He was charged with making sure that the missiles and their underground homes were built correctly and within budget. We moved around with Dad and his work. I never really thought about how his job might lead to a cataclysm. But he did. He recommended that I watch Strangelove and read World War III novels. He didn't talk much about his work but I know he wanted me to be a reader and an informed citizen. 

Our family got a lot out of the Cold War. It never was a hot war, as some predicted, but it shaped me. 

So now, when Putin mouths off about nukes, I hear General Jack D. Ripper. I should take the guy more seriously as I live in the crosshairs of Nuclear Alley here in southeast Wyoming. If MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction) arrives, I will have precious little time to worry about it. I never really stopped worrying nor did I learn to love the bomb. 

I revel in its absurdity.

"We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again some sunny day."

Vera Lynn's singing takes us back to World War II. When Vera sang, British soldiers listened. They were in the fight of their lives around the globe. At home too, as Hitler waged a saturation bombing of a civilian population. Putin now saturates Ukraine with rockets and terror tactics. 

My father, a World War II G.I., liked Vera Lynn. Later, when I had a chance to think about it, I wondered if he minded that Vera Lynn's song had been used for a fiery conflagration that ended the world. He was especially fond of "The White Cliffs of Dover" which he must have heard many times in England as he trained for the Normandy invasion.

This:

There'll be bluebirds over/the White Cliffs of Dover/tomorrow,/just you wait and see

And this:

There'll be love and laughter/and peace there after,/tomorrow,/when the world is free

There may be a song like this for Ukraine. There should be.  

When your hope shrinks, do a small thing to let the sunshine in

I tried to write a piece about the massacre of 10 innocents at the King Soopers in Boulder. Few subjects make me speechless but mass shootings are one of them. Archivists in 2121 may come across articles about massacres of civilians in the U.S. and thank their lucky stars that sensible gun laws finally were enacted in 20__ and that we would never see headlines like this again. That's as hopeful as I can be, that someday the U.S. will lose its cruel streak and the NRA will be bankrupt and all of our gun nuts will die from natural causes. There's hope in that. I liked these lines from a Naomi Shihab Nye poem I came across on the Poetry Foundation web site: 

When your hope shrinks 

you might feel the hope of 

someone far away lifting you up.

I'll write about the hope of small things. 

I bought a small grow-kit from Amazon. Nothing fancy. Just a metal tray, soil, and three seed packets. The chives and Florence fennel sprouted and are on their way to summer salads and desserts. I stuck some basil seeds in with my pot of Thai basil and still waiting for those. I planted chive seeds from hometownseeds.com but got nothing. I’m going to plant again today in a new pot and see if they do better. I like chives and you can put it in all sorts of dishes. But I can’t get it to grow. Best thing to do is buy some chives that already are far along and try not to kill them.

My herbs have taken over the end of the dining room table up against a south-facing kitchen window. The table is Formica laminate and is a remnant of 1950s kitchens. It’s in the mid-century modern (Mid-Mod) school of furniture. We had tables just like it when I was growing up. A perfect match for mac and cheese and meatloaf. I look at the table and see my mother and all of the many Susie Homemaker mothers of the era. My mom also was Anna the Nurse and knew when and when not to patch up our many wounds. When I was 7, our exchanges went something like this:

Me: Mom, I’m hurt! 

Mom: Are you bleeding?

Me: No but… 

Mom (kisses my head): Go outside and play – you’ll be all right.

Sometimes I was bleeding. She applied Mercurochrome to the wound and sent me outside to play. Writing about “Mercurochrome Memories” in ScienceBlogs, dblum writes that the bright-red antiseptic is a mercury derivative of a red dye discovered in 1889. The antiseptic version was developed 20 years later by researchers at Johns Hopkins, source of many of our magic potions and miracle meds. The FDA declared mercury a neurotoxin and it’s no longer made in the U.S. But never fear:

Science tells us that if once you were painted with Mercurochrome, your body has probably stored at least a trace for you. Nothing apparently too dangerous, just a reminder of your chemical past.

My chemical past. As a Downwinder from Colorado and Washington state, I already have some bomb-blast radiation in my body. And traces of lead paint – can’t forget that. I also have mercury in my dental fillings. And then there’s DDT. Damn, if I had known all this, I wouldn’t have lived to be 70 and (I hope) much longer.

I gave up ground gardening a few years ago when a spinal injury prevented bending and stooping. I grow my veggies in containers now. I’ve been successful although gardening at 6,200 feet in a semi-arid region continues to be a work in progress. My seedlings don’t go outside until mid-May. Most insects aren’t a problem but hail and wind and drought are. I keep growing things because it brings joy and I like the challenge of the cherry tomato harvest in August. You can get good ones at the store or farmer’s market. But I like to pick and eat them when they are still warm from the sun. It’s like eating sunshine. We all could use more of the simple act of nurturing a small thing to "let the sunshine in..."

1950s filled with creeds, oaths and pledges for us Boomers

Remember Hopalong Cassidy on 1950s black-and-white TV?

Remember Hopalong Cassidy's Creed?

Hopalong was in the news this week, A press release from the University of Wyoming noted that the archives at the American Heritage Center contain hundreds of items from the mythic cowboy's career in TV, radio and movies: LP records, photos, scripts, personal memorabilia, copies of the creed and all of the rest.


Wholesomeness was crucial. Hopalong was the “epitome of gallantry and fair play” and his creed reflected that. Honesty, cleanliness, respect for parents, love of country, etc. All great things. We recited the creed along with our TV cowboy hero -- and meant it. If you've lost your copy of the creed, get a copy at Hoppy's web site.

The 1950s were filled with creeds, oaths and pledges for us Boomer kids.

I was a Catholic, too. That meant memorizing the Ten Commandments and various prayers, including the Hail Mary, the Prayer to Saint Francis and the Apostles' Creed. The liturgy still was in Latin, but the nuns and priests and parents had mercy on us and let us memorize prayers in the vernacular. The Apostles' Creed:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord: Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost....

We always said "Holy Ghost" back then instead of "Holy Spirit." I still like saying it. Holy Ghost!

I was a Cub Scout, too. At meetings held at our den mother's house, we recited the oath before launching into various crappy crafts activities. We always wanted to go outside, play tag, shoot BB guns at squirrels, throw snowballs at cars and engage in other healthy outdoor activities. We did like the snacks. They were all-American 1950s snacks. Hostess Twinkees, Snoballs, homemade chocolate chip cookies, Kool-Aid, fat-rich milk, and all the rest. No carrot sticks,  apple slices or chia-infused organic juices for us. This was the beginning of the plaque build-up in my coronary arteries. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Lemon. 

At school, we recited The Pledge of Allegiance every morning, hand over our hearts.

We were good kids. We meant what we said.

To borrow a few lines from Catch-22 (remember Major Major?): When adults told us to look before we leapt, we looked and then leapt. When they said don't take candy from strangers, we didn't take any candy from strangers -- unless it was chocolate. When they said don't take any wooden nickels, I didn't take any wooden nickels.

It was only later, in the 1960s, when we learned that those creeds and oaths and pledges could not protect us from some things. Heartache, for one. No known creed protects against a broken heart. There may be a "I Will Never Love Anyone" creed but I never heard it. I've heard plenty of friends say they were never going to fall in love again. I've said it. Next thing you know, that friend is up to his eyeballs in love and there's not a thing to be done for it. Love stinks, hell yeah, but it's also a drug. Go figure.

We pledged out troth to institutions: The Church, Boy Scouts, U.S.A. They all betrayed us. The worst betrayal came at the hands of our government. It tried to send all of us to Southeast Asia to get killed for a lie. We know that now, and most of us suspected it then. Problem is, it seemed as if we would betray all of our institutions if we didn't do our duty and go to war. All those creeds and oaths and pledges! I didn't go, but that was only through the luck of the draw and strange circumstances. Some of my peers felt it was their duty to fight communism in Vietnam, to help stop the dominoes from falling. They had pledged loyalty to their government and now their government told them it was time to fulfill that pledge. We all took another oath, even us ROTC types, that said we would defend the constitution of the United States, so help us God.

God help us.

It's a long time gone, as the song says. But some of us still remember what it was like to feel betrayed. It caused some of my pals to take a hard right and blame the gubment for all of their ills. I don't blame them, really. I'm a liberal, though, one of those people who tend to put their faith in institutions. But that faith comes with a skeptical eye. Being a Boomer during Vietnam should have left us all with a bit of skepticism. The war was a lie and the draft lottery was rigged. Our elders would tell us anything to sway us to their righteous cause. Can't really blame then, either, as they had made their own pledges,  fought in the war, and been rewarded with peace and prosperity. Why were their children such ingrates?

Generations bang up against each other, sometimes in violent ways. At this moment, we are undoubtedly betraying our children and grandchildren. Some conservatives still bemoan the loose morals of their Boomer peers, blaming all of our present ills on those darn sixties. We lefties tend to regret the scourges of pollution and global warming. Sorry, kids, but you'll be underwater by 2200, maybe sooner. Not in Wyoming, but here in Cheyenne we'll have all of those coastal immigrants to worry about. Wonder if we'll be putting up a fence to keep out fleeing Californians and Carolinians?

If only we could come up with a pledge to save us from ourselves.

The era of witch hunts, loyalty oaths and the "Lavender Scare" returns to Cheyenne today

Authors appreciate full-page newspaper coverage, especially if it appears on the day of a major book promo event.

Wyoming Tribune-Eagle Managing Editor Reed Eckhardt wrote an opinion piece this morning that explores Rodger McDaniel's book "Dying for Joe McCarthy's Sins: The Suicide of Wyoming Senator Lester Hunt." The book explores the dark days of the Red Scare in Washington, D.C., when many careers were ruined by Wisconsin Sen. Joe McCarthy. It was a time of loyalty oaths and blacklists and the anti-homosexual "Lavender Scare" and extreme partisan politics. Sen. Hunt was ensnared and ended up killing himself.

Read the book to discover the whole sordid story, and why it took 60 years to tell it. Better yet, come to today's mock trial of McCarthy and his two U.S. Senate Republican fellow travelers, Styles Bridges of New Hampshire and Herman Welker of Idaho. Presiding will be retired Wyoming Supreme Court Justice Michael Golden and former Gov. Dave Freudenthal will serve as prosecutor. Defense will be represented by Diane Lozano, director of the State Public Defender's Office. The trial gets underway at 1 p.m. today at St. Mark's Episcopal Church, 1908 Central Ave. Free and open to the public. Buy a copy of the book while you're at it.

I mentioned this before but I'm a witness at today's trial. I am playing the role of Roy L. Elson, administrative assistant to Sen. Carl Hayden and candidate for the U.S. Senate. I know some secrets....

Meanwhile, go read Eckhardt's column in the WTE. Like any good reviewer, he takes the author to task for perceived oversights. But it's a good overview of Rodger's book and the scary era that spawned it.

"I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth..."

Cheyenne writer Rodger McDaniel has opened a web site for his book “Dying for Joe McCarthy’s Sins: The Suicide of Wyoming Senator Lester Hunt.” Find out about the book at http://www.lesterhuntbiography.blogspot.com/. Rodger will launch the book with an April 2 signing at the Historic Governor’s Mansion followed by a mock trial on April 7 at St. Mark’s. In the guise of a farmer Senate staffer, I am a witness at the trial. “I promise to tell the truth, etc.” Here are launch events for the book: 

APRIL 2, 7 p.m., HISTORIC GOVERNORS' MANSION, CHEYENNE

Light refreshments provided. Copies of the book will be available for $20. Half of all book proceeds that evening will go to the Historic Governors' Mansion Foundation.

The Historic Governors’ Mansion is located at 300 E. 21st Street in Cheyenne. For more information about the Historic Governors’ Mansion programs and/or exhibitions, please call 307-777-7878.

APRIL 7, 1 p.m., ST. MARK'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH, CHEYENNE

"The Trial of Joe McCarthy" - As a part of the book’s release, three colleagues of Senator Hunt, Senators Joseph McCarthy, Styles Bridges and Herman Welker will “be put on trial,” accused of crimes leading to Hunt’s suicide on June 9, 1954. The “mock trial” will take place at 1 PM on April 7, 2013, in the Parish Hall at St. Mark’s. Retired Supreme Court justice Michael Golden is the trial judge. Former Wyoming Governor Dave Freudenthal is the prosecutor. State Public Defender Diane Lozano will be defense counsel. A jury of local citizens will render a verdict. The public is invited. Admission is free.

Rodger’s book will be available for purchase and proceeds will be divided with St. Mark’s outreach team.

APRIL 11, 11 a.m.-1 p.m., CITY NEWS, CHEYENNE

Book signing at City News at Carey Avenue and 18th Street in downtown Cheyenne.