On Vineland by Thomas Pynchon, One Battle After Another, and Pseudo-Profundity

Posted on May 2, 2026 by John Walters

What prompted this rereading of Vineland was director/screenwriter Paul Thomas Anderson’s assertion that the Oscar-winning film One Battle After Another was based on Thomas Pynchon’s novel. I had read Vineland several years ago, and I couldn’t see the similarity. For one thing, in the book the character that Leonardo DiCaprio plays is very minor; he shows up for the first fifty or so pages (of an almost four hundred page book) and then is scarcely mentioned again until the end. He never embarks on a quest to find his daughter; that’s a Hollywood add-on. I’m not going to go into a point by point comparison of the book and the film; the differences are too vast and too numerous. Suffice it to say that Anderson took some of the hip, bizarre, flamboyant, outlandish, zany, and anachronistic elements from Pynchon’s novel and used these ingredients to create something with a more traditional, streamlined plot line. The names of people, locations, and groups are all different, and though Pynchon’s story alternates between the sixties and the eighties, the time period of Anderson’s tale is not as evident. In fact it is best, for me at least, to see the novel and the film as two separate entities that have a few things in common but ultimately are only vaguely related.

One Battle After Another has a clear, strong story line, while Pynchon’s appeal is not so much the story as all the intricate gags and wordplay he throws out along the way. And these are the bits that are ultimately not filmable. In my previous review of Vineland, I compared the novel to an extended Cheech and Chong skit, a Quentin Tarantino screenplay, a series of sketches from Monty Python’s Flying Circus or Saturday Night Live, and Doc Brown in Back to the Future throwing anything at all into his time machine, even garbage, to make it go. Pynchon’s style is all of that and more. And, as I wrote in my previous review: “In a way, the style of writing also reminds me of the works of Henry Miller. Especially in Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, Miller takes a description or a topic and makes an art form of adding details, one after the other, phrase after phrase, on and on, long after other writers would have given up and gone to the next plot point. That’s what Pynchon often does in Vineland: he’ll tell you what’s happening, and then add a detail, and then another, and that thought gives way to another, all in a very stream-of-consciousness sort of way. He does this with individual sentences, in paragraphs leading one into another, and sometimes with entire passages. A description of one character leads to their entire life story, and then the life story of another casually mentioned side character, and on and on it goes.”

This time around, even though I’d read the book before, I still sometimes got lost trying to keep track of Pynchon’s wildly eccentric characters. (It was obviously a good film decision to drastically trim these digressions.) I kept going in fascination, spellbound by Pynchon’s dazzling prose expertise, even though a lot of it didn’t seem to make sense. In some parts I can’t even say that it was a pleasure to read; it was more like being on an acid trip, enduring the exaggerated sights and sounds, helpless to break away until I came down.

The phrase pseudo-profundity came to me a few days ago while I was listening to a hit song from the seventies that seemed to have very deep and intricate lyrics. I eventually realized that the lyrics were bullshit; they didn’t make any sense at all. But they had verisimilitude; in other words, they gave the impression of depth and significance without imparting any kind of real worthwhile message. And then I realized that Vineland had a similar sort of pseudo-profundity. Much of it is a kind of literary slapstick, like early Charlie Chaplin before he burst out with masterpieces such as Modern Times.

Would I recommend Vineland? That depends. If you are into gags and wordplay and an idiosyncratic look at the sixties and eighties, maybe. Personally, I found some parts obscure and some parts easier to follow, and I have to confess that I enjoyed the most coherent parts best. I also have to say, though, that in my opinion, there are enough literary gems to make the mining of them worthwhile.

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Book Review:  The End of Night: Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial Light by Paul Bogard

Posted on April 25, 2026 by John Walters

This is a fascinating and deeply absorbing travel book, but one with a most unusual theme. The author roams the world searching for pockets of natural darkness. Along the way, he makes a compelling argument for the inestimable value of the night. As he points out: “In ways we have long understood, in others we are just beginning to understand, night’s natural darkness has always been invaluable for our health and the health of the natural world, and every living creature suffers from its loss.” An overabundance of artificial lighting is driving away the beautiful mystery of night, and as it does, it also eliminates the overwhelming sense of wonder we derive from viewing uncountable stars in the firmament above us – because light pollution is blinding us to them.

It is only recently, with the advent of electricity, that over-lighting has become a threat. In the past, for most of human history, people witnessed the true dark. Vincent van Gogh’s classic painting The Starry Night epitomizes the wonder of the darkness with its extravagant pinwheels of light in the night sky. Bogard writes that “this is a painting of our world from before night had been pushed back to the forest and the seas, from back when sleepy towns slept without streetlights.” He does not claim that a modicum of lighting doesn’t deter crime, but he does present a compelling argument that the crass over-lighting that many modern populations centers indulge in not only has the opposite effect, but also costs us much beauty in the process.

At fault, of course, is our often irrational fear of darkness. I personally am not immune to this fear; I have always slept with a nightlight on after waking up in a pitch-dark room in India and sensing a ghost-like presence. But Bogard rightly asks: “What do we lose – men and women alike – when we are so afraid of darkness that we never experience its beauty or understand its value for our world, while allowing our lights to grow ever brighter?”

To understand what’s at stake, he journeys to locations such as Paris, the so-called City of Lights, to London, to Toronto, to the Canary Islands, to Walden Pond, to various remote astronomical observatories and U.S. national parks, and to many other locations. In the course of his interviews and research on these sites, he uncovers many fascinating facts. For instance, night shift workers such as doctors and nurses in emergency rooms are never able to fully adjust to their abnormal schedules. Even if they have been working these shifts for decades, the unusual hours continue to take their toll physically and psychologically. And over-lighting is detrimental to local ecologies as well, because the natural rhythm of animal behavior is closely linked to the patterns of light and darkness. As an example he looks at misunderstood and maligned bats, which are misrepresented as evil but in fact play vital roles in their ecosystems. He also emphasizes that cultural differences account for various attitudes toward night. Western cultures fear the darkness, while various indigenous cultures recognize the night as a completion of the day, as a chance for the earth to rest, as a time of wandering spirits, as well as an opportunity for our own spirits to grow by entering dream worlds.

Bogard writes: “I have often wondered how hard anyone should have to work to simply see a truly starry sky, to simply know a truly dark night.” He laments that “what was once a most common human experience has become so rare.” As he interviews active members of various dark sky societies, the common refrain is that what they are attempting to accomplish may be too little and too late. He is concerned that habitations of the future may be so saturated with bright lights that children to come may never even be aware of the wondrous beauty of the night sky. This book is a wake-up call. Take heed. We spend much of our lives attempting to fend off the darkness of night. Instead, why not embrace it as it is: the quiet, lovely, bejeweled alter-ego of the day?

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Happy Earth Day!

Posted on April 22, 2026 by John Walters

There’s no better time than today to pick up a copy of the thrilling fantasy novella “An Earth Day Eulogy” by Nestor Walters. Here’s a quick teaser:

Jacob Wilder has nothing against Earth Day — he just has ‘real responsibilities’ and can’t be bothered by it. But on Earth Day Eve, the ghost of Wilder’s old platoon buddy, Eddie, announces that three spirits will visit — those of Earth’s past, present, and future — and he warns that one of two things will have to die: Earth, or our old way of life.

Find out how to order a print or digital copy on the website: https://ede-book.org/

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Book Review:  In Praise of Paths: Walking Through Time and Nature by Torbjorn Ekelund

Posted on April 18, 2026 by John Walters

This pleasant, well-written book begins with the author’s admission that after he was diagnosed with epilepsy he was no longer allowed to drive. This caused him to rely on walking to take him from place to place. As a result, he became fascinated with paths and trails not only in his local area but around the world. Mixed with the depictions of the author’s own wanderings are descriptions of literary accounts of paths and walking as well as accounts of renowned walkers traversing some of the world’s longest hiking trails. He writes that “all of them say the same thing about it: you enter into an inner state that you have never been in before and from which, after awhile, you never wish to emerge.”

As he delves into the history of human migration, Ekelund shares that “emigration and immigration are not unnatural; rather, staying in one place is. And yet our culture can hardly tolerate the nomadic way of life.” Ekelund is Norwegian, and I’m reading an English translation, but by “our culture” he is referring to western culture in general. Somehow the wanderlust has been denigrated, but many of us feel that intense longing to roam freely.

Since his conversion from motor vehicles to walking, Ekelund figures he walks around fifteen hundred to two thousand miles a year. That’s roughly four to five and a half miles a day. Not all of these miles are merely to and from work, though; Ekelund offers fascinating accounts of extended hikes through the beautiful Norwegian countryside. These hikes are aided by the “freedom to roam,” which he describes as “a state-mandated right in Norway in which all citizens can travel freely through the wilderness regardless of property lines.” To make it even easier for walkers to enjoy the country’s abundant natural beauty, communities of volunteers work hard to clear the hiking trails and keep them open.

“The path is the perfect metaphor,” says Ekelund. “It can contain all of the emotions and longings in the world.” And: “The metaphorical implications of the path are obvious and easy to understand because, in a way, life is all about choosing the right way.”

It is refreshing to read about these things from a European perspective – to vicariously explore another part of the world – to realize that people everywhere are very similar. Whether you wander a city, countryside, or wilderness, walking frees you and allows your mind to break out from the strictures within which society and culture sometimes traps it. As Ekelund takes his walks, he allows his thoughts to meander to books he has read, memories, and so on, all of which add depth to his narrative. “Thoughts arise when you walk.” He emphasizes that whenever thoughts occur to him, he stops and writes them down because “if you don’t immediately take note of such thoughts, they will slip away into the great void and be gone forever.” I have found this to be true on my own walks. I always carry a small notebook and pen with me. You might argue that I could use my phone; however, getting the most out of a walk involves minimizing technology and maximizing awareness. I have seen some people walking from one place to another in my neighborhood and elsewhere who the entire time have their noses buried in their phones; they are completely oblivious to what is going on around them. I’ll take the occasional photo while on a walk, but most of the time my phone is safely ensconced in my pocket. Ekelund recounts one walk he took into a trackless forest with a friend; at the beginning they agreed to bury their phones and GPS devices in the bottom of their packs and not get them out for two days. They got lost, all right, but they also learned a lot about elementary orienteering. Sometimes you have to get back to the basics to really do it right.

I recommend In Praise of Paths to anyone who enjoys walking, or anyone who is contemplating becoming more ambulatory but perhaps needs a little extra nudge to make it out the door. Once you take those first steps, you’ll never look back.

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When You Need Time to Think

Posted on April 11, 2026 by John Walters

We are all intent upon the pursuit of our goals, whether we are raising a family, advancing in a career, conducting research, pursuing a degree, or physically traveling from one place to another. However, sometimes so many details can crowd our minds that it becomes nearly impossible to see the path before us. In those situations, instead of forging blindly ahead, doing the best we can and hoping that somehow things work themselves out, it may be best to pause, assess what is happening, and take the time to sort out the factors causing the confusion and definitively determine what we need to do next.

I have come to such a crossroads, and as a result I have decided to take a day off for fasting and contemplation. I might have said fasting and prayer, but I am concerned that using the word “prayer” would exclude the more secular-minded. Whether you prefer to refer to it as fasting and prayer or fasting and contemplation, the point is that you cease forward motion. You come to a full stop. You allow the fog to lift and the dust to settle before you continue onward.

I do not do this lightheartedly or frivolously, but at certain times in the past I have felt an overwhelming need to pause. For instance, after my first trip to Europe and India, I returned to the United States uneasy and dissatisfied. I decided to go back to India, specifically to a commune I’d encountered in Goa, to find some answers. I set off hitchhiking across the United States, from west coast to east, in the middle of winter. After landing in Europe, I continued hitchhiking across the bitterly cold continent, and then through Turkey, Iran, and Pakistan. The journey took two months and along the way I faced numerous life-threatening dangers. I had just crossed into the state of Goa, India, riding in the open back of a truck, when I realized that I had to stop and calm down before I reached my destination. My thoughts were in survival mode, in a frantic state of continuing forward motion regardless of the obstacles. However, I was about to commence a significant chapter of my life and I did not want to rush into it. So instead of going all the way to Calangute Beach, which was my ultimate goal, I alighted from the truck near a small village at Anjuna Beach. Before hiking down to the shoreline, I stopped at a hut near the road, introduced myself to the friendly inhabitants, and left there all my possessions, including my duffle bag and even my shoes, continuing along the path to the beach with only the clothes I was wearing. It was off-season. I found an abandoned straw shack right on the beach and stayed there for three days and three nights, sleeping on the sandy floor of the shack and spending my days walking back and forth along the shore contemplating my life. I would have fasted, but on the first day I met the owner of a seasonally closed beachside restaurant who offered to feed me once a day for free. At the end of those three days of rest and meditation, refreshed and clear-headed, I retrieved my belongings and traveled onward to my destiny.

Another significant pause occurred during my first trip to India. I had almost run out of money; I had just enough left to make it on public transportation back across the Middle East to Europe and my flight home. However, I had not yet seen Nepal, so instead of taking the safe route, I headed north to the Himalayas. I spent some time in Kathmandu and then took a bus to Pokhara. I spent the first night there in my sleeping bag beside a lake near the town. The next morning I saw the splendid Himalayan peaks in the distance and decided to take a trek. I found an unmarked trail to the west of town and began to climb the foothills higher and higher, reveling in the landscape’s beauty and the clear clean air. After spending the night at a hostel in a tiny village, I continued onward and upward. Soon I would reach the snow line. And I thought: What am I doing? Where am I going? Those were the all-consuming questions. To attempt to come up with some sort of answer, I turned aside from the trail and climbed a grass-covered hillock from which I could see the gorgeous snowy peaks. I sat there for a long, long time contemplating my life’s journey until that point. I realized that in a sense, on my travels so far, I was fleeing from the confusion and uncertainty inherent in humankind. But to continue on into the mountains would only result in my death. Instead, I had to go back down, learn to live with inherently imperfect others, and find my destiny amidst it all.

These are rather flamboyant examples of contemplative interludes. I have occasionally paused my life for fasting and contemplation through the years since then – not often, but whenever I felt the need. Fasting food is not obligatory, but it helps you to remain single-minded, and you save time you would otherwise spend preparing food, eating, and cleaning up. The most important thing is the mental focus. You step back and look at your life, untangle the difficulties if you can, and find clear paths going forward.

On this particular occasion I am fasting food, the daily remote work I do only for money, and screen time (which includes TV, films, and social media feeds, although I am open to calls on phone or Messenger from loved ones). I’ve taken a long walk, which has allowed me to consider issues I am concerned with. I have been writing this essay, which is part of the contemplative experience. And I have initiated a document on which I record my thoughts on the pressing issues that prompted this pause from the usual habits and patterns of life. Already I have felt positive benefits. Already I have gained insight on how to approach certain perplexing problems. Already I see ways forward. Sometimes it’s tempting to feel that you can’t stop what you are doing or everything will fall apart. However, sometimes pausing is exactly what you need to do. The universe will go on, never fear, and you may find some crucial answers and directions.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

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Book Review:  A Walk in the Park: The True Story of a Spectacular Misadventure in the Grand Canyon by Kevin Fedarko

Posted on April 4, 2026 by John Walters

This book reminded me of Bill Bryson’s classic A Walk in the Woods in more ways than one. There is the title, of course, which is meant to be ironic, as Bryson’s was. The expression “a walk in the park” signifies something that is easy to accomplish, and that’s what Fedarko’s friend Pete McBride, who initially proposed this expedition, suggested that a hike through the entire length of the Grand Canyon would be. In truth, though, only a handful of people have ever managed this arduous trek, and Fedarko and McBride came near to expiring in the wilderness on the first leg of their journey.

For the first hundred pages or so I had a bit of trouble becoming absorbed in the story because I didn’t realize that Fedarko was deliberately adopting a tone of exaggeration for comedic effect – similar to what Bryson does in A Walk in the Woods. Fedarko even admits in a footnote: “I just like the story better when it’s told this way.” But in both narratives, what the teams of hikers attempt is no laughing matter. Bryson and his buddy set out to walk the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, while Fedarko and friend aim to hike from Lee’s Ferry, at the eastern end of Grand Canyon National Park, and finish at the Grand Wash Cliffs, at the far western end. This is a trek of over seven hundred fifty miles through all but impenetrable wilderness; it took over a year for Fedarko and McBride to accomplish it, not in one continuous push but in several disjointed sections.

Bryson and his companion skip over large parts of the Appalachian Trail, but Fedarko and McBride, in contrast, eventually manage the entire journey, with the exception of Fedarko deliberately skipping a few hundred yards. He did this, he says, as “a gesture of respect,” akin to a deliberate flaw, a loose thread known as a spirit line, that Navahos weave into their rugs. He writes that “the gap reaffirms my belief that there can be coherence and even beauty in stories, like this one, whose endings fail to tie off perfectly.” He also says that it would be “a kind of delusion” to have his name on the official list of through-hikers, considering what a mess he and McBride made of the hike for much of its distance. On the first leg they almost died. A group of more experienced canyon hikers mentored them and accompanied them for the next leg. Once on their own again, they came close to perishing a second time, and they eventually needed an experienced guide to reach the end. Their adventures make for absorbing reading, and along the way, Fedarko also tells of the history of the canyon, the boatmen on the Colorado River, the early pioneering hikers, and the Native Americans who dwelled in the canyon long before it was “discovered” by Europeans.

All in all, it’s a grand, well-told adventure that gets more and more absorbing as it goes along. Reading about Fedarko and McBride’s misadventures also caused me to recall times on my road journeys that I contemplated embarking on wild adventures from which common sense mercifully spared me. When I was crossing the Middle East on the Hippie Trail for the first time, for instance, in the mid-1970s, I heard that there was a path that went all the way through the remote Hindu Kush Mountains in Afghanistan, and I contemplated walking that trail; considering the prevalent attitude towards foreigners in the area, it would have been sure suicide. On that same trip, another traveler and I decided to find a boat in Multan, Pakistan, and float down the Indus River to Karachi – another sure recipe for disaster that never came to fruition. In Nepal I did eventually walk into the Himalayan Mountains without map or guide – but only for a few days. Still, adventure is adventure. Life is too short for all of us to go everywhere, and that’s why books like this are so valuable. We can vicariously travel through any landscape on the globe through the accounts of authors who have made the journeys before us. A Walk in the Park gives us this thrill. Recommended.

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Book Review:  A World Appears: A Journey into Consciousness by Michael Pollan

Posted on March 28, 2026 by John Walters

The title of this book is from a quote from Being You by Anil Seth: “I open my eyes and a world appears.” It is an inquiry into what human consciousness really is. Pollan starts from a perspective of ignorance and interviews expert after expert, each with their own perspective on the subject. It is not as easy reading, for me at least, as other Pollan books I have eagerly devoured, such as How to Change Your Mind, in which Pollan delves deeply into psychedelic experiences; This Is Your Mind on Plants, which in a way is a continuance of How to Change Your Mind; and A Place of My Own, which is a memoir about how Pollan built himself a writer’s retreat in his backyard. Part of the difficulty I had with A World Appears is that it deals with abstractions; there are no easy answers, and Pollan is trying to figure things out as he goes along. He explains that “there is no godlike vantage from which we can objectively regard consciousness, because all views, including neuroscience’s and philosophy’s, are themselves the products of consciousness.”

The book is broken up into various sections with chapter titles such as “Sentience,” “Feeling,” “Thought,” and “Self.” In each of these, Pollan explores ideas based on recent studies. In the chapter on sentience, he investigates the possibility of sentient plants. One problem about exploring topics such as this is that “scientists bring their particular human-scale perspective to other life-forms and, as a result, miss all sorts of other kinds of intelligence.” A philosopher named Evan Thompson explains that “we have lost our empathetic resonance with the larger universe.” He believes that indigenous cultures, with their more participatory approach, may hold the key. And Pollan emphasizes that “a new science of consciousness will likely be a hybrid enterprise,” which will include not only empiricism and experimentation, but also philosophy, imagination, the arts, spiritual traditions, personal experience, and altered states of consciousness such as those derived from psychedelics.

In the section on feelings, Pollan explores the issue of artificial intelligence and whether AI can truly be conscious (Pollan tends to think maybe not). He investigates the research of a team of scientists trying to construct a robot with feelings, but also delves into the ethical considerations of such an enterprise. He says: “We can only hope that the profit motive doesn’t outrun the public good, but if our experience with the last big digital innovation – social networks – is any guide, it probably will.” He points out the differences between brains and computers – which are vast – and that animal life forms such as humans (as opposed to AI) have the advantages of their bodies, which contribute greatly to feeling and consciousness. “The vulnerabilities of our mortal flesh” actually give us great advantages over “the consciousness they’re hoping to install in computers.”

The section on thought includes analyses of stream-of-consciousness attempts by famous novelists and also of the value of spontaneous thought, which leads to inspiration. In the section on self he emphasizes the importance of memory.

Pollan comes to no definitive conclusions. He writes: “Nearing the end of this journey, I find myself not at all sure what to believe, if anything.” In fact, in the last chapter he travels to a Buddhist retreat in the mountains near Santa Fe. The goal? The obliteration of self. It is a temporary fix, of course, because once he leaves the retreat, he is again confronted by the world he left behind.

As I mentioned earlier, parts of this book I found to be tough going. Navigating the many theories and possibilities that are presented can be confusing. One anchor to it all is Pollan’s skepticism. He doesn’t pretend to have the answers; he is content to take us on a journey to explore the possibilities. He functions as a tour guide, leading us from one researcher to the next, asking questions and presenting a range of speculations, inferences, and presumptions. I don’t know if I would recommend this book to everyone, but if you are interested in such heady topics, Pollan takes you on a pilgrimage of the mind that you won’t soon forget.

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Book Review:  Writing Creativity and Soul by Sue Monk Kidd

Posted on March 21, 2026 by John Walters

I’ve never read any of Sue Monk Kidd’s books before this one, but then again, she probably hasn’t read any of mine either. Be that as it may, I was drawn to Writing Creativity and Soul because I hoped that it would be more of a memoir than a self-help book for beginning writers.

And I was right – sort of. It’s true that to get to the parts that appealed to me I had to wade through some elementary dissertations on plot, characterization, and other basics that I studied decades ago, back in the seventies when I was a novice writer. However, there were enough deeper insights and observations to justify the treasure hunt. Kidd approaches her calling as a writer with sincerity and conviction – and always with a gentle, magnanimous touch. She writes of woman writers she admires such as Virginia Woolf and Eudora Welty and of the special courage that women in the past needed to overcome powerful misogynistic prejudices in the publishing world.

Regardless of one’s gender, though, Kidd points out that “every creative act is a revelation of the self, rendering us exposed, vulnerable, and unguarded.” If you want to write something worth reading, you have to strip away the pretences and cover-ups and internal subterfuges that we all set up to protect ourselves in an often hostile world. One method Kidd describes that accomplishes this is the experience of flow. She says: “I’m referring to the sense of personal fulfillment that comes from giving yourself over to something you feel you can belong to, setting a worthwhile and challenging goal, and then giving that goal your full attention, commitment, and energy.” This is something I have certainly found to be true in my long journey as a writer. Regardless of whether you ever attend any formal creative writing classes, you have to be all-in and hold back nothing.

Another concept Kidd discusses that touched me personally was the curative power of writing. She writes: “To interact with our sufferings and difficulties by translating them into language seems to offload some of the heaviness and lighten the mind, the spirit, even the body.” The chapter exploring this idea opens with her husband of forty-four years being diagnosed with cancer. She explains that writing about the cancer journey was cathartic for her and helped her to bear the otherwise overwhelming emotional burden. I can relate to this because I am in the midst of my own struggles with cancer, and it is indubitably true that writing about what I have been going through has assisted me in enduring the examinations, biopsies, surgery, radiation therapy, and uncertainties about the future.

Kidd states: “Writing has a private function that serves our personal wholeness and it has a public function that serves the wholeness of others.” You see? That’s what I’m talking about. It’s gems like this that make the reading of this book worthwhile. In the end, she speaks of “the common heart,” a concept developed by Ralph Waldo Emerson. This is “the place of our deep and shared belonging,” which writers and readers explore together through the language of story.

For the most part, Writing Creativity and Soul is a light read, but it nevertheless illuminates profound truths about the creative process.

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On Walking

Posted on March 14, 2026 by John Walters

During and immediately after my recent cancer surgery and radiation therapy, I had to put my normal exercise routine (dumbbell weights and power yoga) on hiatus. My oncologist and radiologist emphasized, however, that as much as possible I should continue with my long daily walks and that they would be key to my rapid recovery. I was only too happy to oblige. I love walking; I’ve been doing it my whole life. During my far-flung travels the walks would often be in exotic locations such as the Himalayan Mountains, Greek islands, and primeval forests around the world, and in historic cities such as Rome, Athens, Tehran, Kabul, Kathmandu, Kolkata, Mumbai, Bangkok, Singapore, Jakarta, and others. Here at home, I often wander the environs of my neighborhood, but sometimes I take a bus to another part of the city of Seattle and roam the downtown area, the waterfront, and various parks.

Walking not only provides physical benefits but also, if you do it with the right mindset, mental and spiritual recalibration. To walk is to relieve stress and nurture tranquility and calm. All the crud clogging your brain dissipates and your mind can freely roam far beyond its normal programmed day to day patterns.

Henry David Thoreau is best known for his masterpiece Walden and for his influential essay “Civil Disobedience,” but he also wrote a fascinating essay called “Walking.” In it, he sets the bar high for a successful walk: “We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the spirit of undying adventure, never to return…” He goes on to relate that “if you have paid your debts, and made your will, and settled your affairs, and are a free man, then you are ready for a walk.” Freedom, he insists, is the first requisite for walking. The hyperbole in his words is to emphasize the importance of a clean, clear mind during your perambulations. In fact, in this essay, as soon as Thoreau establishes the importance of freedom during the walking experience, he launches forth into digressions on other topics that have little to do with his immediate surroundings or the walking process itself. In short, every walk is a call to adventure. If you leave yourself open to it, every walk can change your life.

Thoreau asks: “What is it that makes it so hard sometimes to determine whither we will walk?” I have encountered this conundrum myself; to help me solve it I have obtained several books from the library on Seattle city walks. I am hoping that they will provide me with ideas for many walks to come. During the week, when I am busy with my remote work, the quiet neighborhood sidewalks and streets suffice, but when the weekend comes, I am ready for something more elaborate, exotic, picturesque, and stimulating. As T.S. Elliot expresses in his poem “Little Gidding,” the goal of our explorations is to “arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” That’s how I look at Seattle now. I was born and raised here, sure, but later I spent several decades abroad. The Seattle I used to know was a neglected backwater in a forgotten corner of the country; now it’s a thriving metropolis fueled by tech money. Still, there are wonderful bits of idiosyncratic history hiding in backstreets and alleyways beneath the flashy surface. It’s all out there waiting for me to discover it. And while I am discovering it, I can also allow my thoughts to grow and blossom and expand and roam whithersoever they will.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

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Book Review:  Gemini: Stepping Stone to the Moon, the Untold Story by Jeffrey Kluger

Posted on March 7, 2026 by John Walters

To me, this new book on the Gemini program is like a blast of nostalgia from the sixties. I was a child during the era of Project Mercury and Project Gemini and a teen when some of the crew of Apollo 11 set foot on the moon in 1969. When the astronauts partook of their science fiction-like space adventures, my family’s black and white TV would invariably be tuned in. The space race was a bright spot, a majestic evocation of a sense of wonder, in the otherwise gloomy, paranoia-ridden Cold War era.

Gemini focuses on the middle act of the trio of programs whose ultimate goal was John F. Kennedy’s challenge to land a man on the moon before the end of the decade of the sixties, although a third of the book, well over a hundred pages, is taken up with introductory material on the Mercury program. I’m not really sure why “the untold story” is a part of the subtitle, because the story is familiar to many through multiple books, films, and mini-series. Still, it serves as an effective reminder of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of nascent NASA and its push to get astronauts to the moon before the Soviets.

The Soviets scored early victories in sending out Sputnik 1, the first orbiting satellite; Yuri Gagarin, the first human to orbit the Earth; and Gherman Titov, the first person to spend over a day in space. Thereafter, the United States was forced to play catch-up. In the Mercury program, single astronauts went up in tiny, rudimentary spaceships; however, the Gemini spaceships were built to carry two. Their purpose was to practice maneuvering and docking procedures as a prelude to the moon-bound Apollo program. Of course, as in most complex undertakings, there were many snags, impediments, delays, dangers, and even a fair share of disasters. Still, with the backing of a U.S. government determined to outdo the Soviets, NASA forged ahead. In fact, if there had not been a Cold War, it’s possible that it would have taken decades longer to reach the moon. The propaganda value of getting there first provided the impetus for the effort.

This book serves mainly as a summary of the Mercury and Gemini programs rather than a comprehensive look at them. Any one of the Gemini missions, examined in depth, would provide material for a fascinating and exciting book-length story of its own. This is obviously not Kluger’s intention, though; instead, he gives us an overview of NASA’s early years, culminating, in the epilogue, with the Apollo 11 moon landing and the remaining Apollo moon flights that followed.

As I write this, the members of the crew of the Artemis II spacecraft are preparing for the first lunar flyby since 1972. If all goes well, this will be accomplished soon, in March of 2026. Space travel has long captivated the imaginations of us Earth-dwellers. Gemini serves as a reminder that the exploration of space is not a new idea, but rather one with a history of valiant efforts, of setbacks, defeats, and victories. Sometimes it’s invigorating to get our minds off the current tangled sociological and political mess, gaze up at the stars, and dream of worlds yet to be explored.

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