Book Talk

Just as hot cocoa doesn’t sound as appealing as a cool iced tea on a warm June afternoon , books for summertime satisfy a distinct craving. Stretch out your hammock and take a load off. The Epic: “Lonesome Dove” — Larry McMurtry (1985) Capt. Gus McCrae—a charismatic, clever, womanizing Texas Ranger-turned-cowpoke—is perhaps the most likeable […]

Attention, book lovers! Support local literary culture by attending workshops, author presentations and classes offered this week (and every week) at various shops and libraries in Central Oregon. thursday 16 Bob Welch—author presentation Cascade Summer: My Adventure on Oregon's Pacific Crest Trail. A second reading will be held at Paulina Springs in Sisters, 252 W. […]

Jennifer Egan is super famous and you should go see her talk. She won a Pulitzer Prize for her 2011 work of fiction, A Visit from the Goon Squad, has been published in Harpers, The New Yorker and New York Times Magazine. Oh, and she also dated Steve Jobs. The Brooklyn novelist has also authored […]

If your summer reading list is shaping up around big blockbusters cranked out by giant publishing firms, you're missing out. Central Oregon authors are doing a great deal of quality writing themselves. Here's our guide to the latest books published by writers from our own neck of the woods. Be sure to check out the events many of them will be hosting in the coming months.
Ed Kennedy's War: V-E Day, Censorship and the Associated Press
By Ed Kennedy, Edited by Julia Kennedy Cochran
LSU Press, Baton Rouge, 2012
Julia Kennedy Cochran's father died when she was just 16. For the next forty years, this Bend resident moved Ed Kennedy's memoirs of becoming the most infamous newsman of WWII from closet to closet until she was ready to immerse herself in his story of defying a news embargo about the surrender of the Germans. His decision got him fired from the Associated Press, but cemented his spot in history as a defender of free speech. With a powerful introduction from the President and CEO of the Associated Press, Ed Kennedy's name is cleared through his daughter's new book. Kennedy Cochran, a former AP newswriter herself, heads to the East coast in just a few weeks to present the book to gatherings in Washington D.C. and New York. Check her out in Bend at a May 24 reading at The Nature of Words.

It was three years, three damn good years, and I don't think it's the sandpapering nature of memory saying that. I remember arriving in Bend, pulling up alongside all this good weather and better beer, passing Badlands and bad golf swings on my way to making great new friends – thank you great new friends. It wasn't love at first sight, but this place sure is a head turner – thank you Cascade Range, Deschutes River, High Desert of Oregon – ultimately I fell in love with you. Granted, it took time, a few years to feel like I belonged, but it happened – thank you Dudley's, High Desert Journal, the Source, The Nature of Words, KPOV, you precious ones at OSU; quality is the word that describes you. How ironic, then, that just as I feel I've arrived, I look up to see you in my rearview mirror. Dammit. Dammit all to hell.
What happened? I still don't know. Except it's a leaving that needn't, shouldn't be, and yet calm-voiced Prudence prevails, counsels me, and I listen – thank you Prudence, and damn you. On top of everything I discovered shame, because never in my life have I felt more ill-will toward a person. Let me repeat: I am ashamed. I'm ashamed I feel this way, act this way, show myself to be the small person I am. Where is my forgiveness? A long time ago I learned the story of a woman who'd been infected with HIV. Her husband had hidden from her the fact that he was gay and eventually he'd passed the disease onto her. The woman was able to forgive him. In South Africa, when Nelson Mandela was freed, he instigated a program of reconciliation where murderers and rapists came before their victims and victims' families and confessed their crimes – and they were forgiven. So why can't I?

It is 7:30 p.m. and my wife comes into the bedroom, crosses to the closet and pulls open the two bi-folding doors. Although I can’t see her face, I know she’s pleased. I built this closet for her. Her wardrobe hangs in front of her, each dress sorted according to style, color and season. The same goes for the pants and the sweaters and the shoes – the multitude of shoes – each pair tucked into its private cubbyhole like a pigeon at roost. My wife has yet to enter and instead stands there like a general surveying her troops. I close my book and put on a pair of light shoes and walk out to the shop. I will leave my wife to her weighty decisions.