Dog Days

August has always been a month of doldrums for me. Even as a youngster, way up north in Michigan, it was often just too hot. I was prone to sulking about it. I still am. My usual coping mechanism, escaping into a book, just doesn't work as well with heat and humidity as it does with snow and raging winter winds.

Nevertheless, reading is something that can be pursued in front of a fan with a cold drink, so it certainly qualifies as an appropriate August pastime. And if you sit really still, a story may just take you away ... maybe all the way to Mongolia.



Galsan Tschinag's "The Blue Sky" is an autobiographical novel telling the story of a young Tuvan shepherd boy coming of age in the 1950s in the Altai Mountains of northern Mongolia.

Mongolia, though an independent country, was heavily influenced by the Soviet Union at this time. Though the nomadic traditions of the Tuvans continued largely unchanged, the modern world was beginning to encroach. In particular, parents were under pressure to send their children to state boarding schools. Dshurukuwaa's older brother and sister go, leaving him alone with his parents, his grandmother and a remarkable dog named Arsylang.

The steppes of Mongolia are a harsh environment, especially in winter, and the life of a nomadic herder is one of relentless and often grueling labor. But the land is beautiful as well, and family life in the yurt is comforting and warm.

Engaging and at times deeply moving, this is a slow and quiet book. It is above all transporting – an enchanting trip .. far away This is book No. 1 of a trilogy. The translation of book 2, The Gray Earth, is due out in early 2011.

Jeanine Cummins' "The Outside Boy" is another transporting tale of a vanishing culture, this one set in the temperate climes of Ireland. In 1959, Christopher Hurley is 11 years old, a Pavee, born into the traveling life of the Irish tinkers. Within his short life, Christy has seen a decline in opportunities for travelers; the advent of cars, tractors and telephone has meant less work and, more importantly, a tinker wagon is no longer the "welcomed sight" in rural communities that it once was.

Christy carries his own burdens as well. His mother died while giving birth to him, and this "murder" haunts him. His father doesn't blame him but steadfastly refuses to talk about her, as do others in the family. This burden grows heavier after Christy stumbles upon evidence that there may be secrets and lies lurking behind that silence.

In earlier times, the travelers were the culture bearers of Ireland, carrying song and story from one parish to the next. Cummins hopes to return the favor as she spins this tale in the best Irish story-telling tradition. Today, there are approximately 22,000 "counted" travelers living in Ireland; an unknown additional number live in Great Britain and the United States.

In Jane Mendelsohn's "American Music," stories spring to life under the fingers of a physical therapist. Honor is assigned to work with Milo, an Iraqi war veteran with a spinal cord injury. As she touches him, vivid images appear to them both. Different parts of Milo's body have different tales to tell.

You might find that premise hard to believe (though massage therapists will tell you differently), but it won't matter – you'll be swept away by the stories, as are Milo and Honor. Oddly, they seem to have little to do with either of them, but certain motifs appear and reappear: green eyes, cymbals, jazz, love and Count Basie.

Gradually, the stories converge and as Milo begins to heal, their relevance is made manifest. Count Basie sums it up: "Losing control and keeping it, the essential mystery of swing" – of swing, of story, of life and maybe even of August.

Photo by Kate Ter Haar (from Creative Commons)