I recently devoured The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard, a riveting account of the Terra Nova Expedition, which culminated in Robert Scott’s fatal journey to the south pole and (almost) back.

The polar journey itself didn’t actually occur until two years into the expedition and, while spectacular in its own right, is not really the focus of the book. The titular journey, in which the author and two others set out during the Antarctic winter of 1911 to retrieve eggs from what was then the only known accessible Emperor Penguin rookery, is an epic tale of suffering and perseverance, but it’s not the book’s focus either.

Interweaving his own recollections with the letters and journal entries of himself and his companions, Cherry-Garrard tells a story not about a single expedition to Antarctica, but about mankind’s inherent need to explore the unknown fringes of the world we inhabit and to expand our knowledge of it at any cost.

I strongly recommend this book.

Wasp, by Eric Frank Russell, is one of my favorite books of all time.

The Terrans are embroiled in an interplanetary war with the Sirian Empire. As the war draws on and the death toll rises, they realize they can't win in a fair fight. They send a secret agent, James Mowry, to wage a one-man war on an entire Sirian planet. Mowry does this by committing various acts of civil disobediance and terrorism. In fact, he does very little himself; he lets the planet's government do most of the work.

By striking fear into the hearts of the populace and prompting the government to heighten security to paranoid levels, he sets a machine in motion that does virtually all his work for him. Then, when things have gotten so out of hand that the government is fighting its own people and vice versa, the Terran fleet swoops in and finishes the job.

We're losing, and we're so blind and stupid that we're actually happy about it.

A month ago, some anonymous donor left Ebola on my front porch. The book, not the virus. Seeing as how Ebola (the virus, not the book) fascinates and terrifies me, I couldn't avoid reading it.

Ebola, by William T. Close, M.D., is a moderately dramatized account of the first outbreak of the Ebola virus in Zaire in 1976. The book's cover and introduction make it a point to inform you that Dr. Close was there to witness the outbreak firsthand and "worked desperately to contain the first outbreak of the virus", but the book is written in the third person and Dr. Close never makes an appearance. It's clear that he changed the names of the other people involved, but why change his own name in a book he's writing? Strange.

Also somewhat strange is the fact that the word "Ebola" never appears in the main narrative. This is understandable given the book's focus on the characters rather than on the virus, but since the book's title is Ebola, I was expecting a little more information on the virus itself. Close's choice to focus on the characters rather than the virus is at times a good thing and at times perplexing.

The story begins slowly, establishing the look and feel of the village of Yambuku, its people, and the Flemish nuns running the mission there. As the first victims of the virus begin to appear, the foreshadowing gets a little ham-fisted. It almost feels like Close is intentionally portraying the nuns as unconcerned and even careless merely for the sake of adding to the suspense.

After the first hundred pages or so, things finally start to pick up and the really interesting stuff begins. The dedication of the nuns in caring for the victims under some of the harshest conditions imaginable, even as they themselves begin to contract the virus, is touching, and it's what makes the book worth reading.

Unfortunately, while the middle of the book is gripping and generally well written, the last third goes completely off track. When two doctors from the WHO finally arrive at Yambuku, the virus has already killed hundreds of villagers and is beginning to burn itself out. Without the constant influx of Ebola victims, the author seems to lose his bearing, and the story inexplicably shifts its focus to a schoolboy crush one of the doctors (who is married) has developed on one of the nuns. It's so awkward it's almost creepy at parts. After this confusing twist is resolved, the book just keeps on going for no discernable reason, following the nun as she flees Yambuku when it seems like the virus might reappear. Nothing interesting happens to the nun, the virus doesn't return, and the book just ends, having strung you along for the last hundred pages or so for no real reason.

There's another creepy thing about this book, and that's the author's apparent fascination with breasts. He describes them at every possible opportunity, often in unnecessary detail. The reader is kept constantly aware of the statuses of the breasts of nearly every female character, villagers and nuns alike. At one point we're even forced to read a description of the teats of one of the village's mangy dogs. I like breasts as much as the next man, but Close seems to think (and write) about them far more than is warranted, especially for a story primarily about Flemish nuns.

On the whole, while I wasn't crazy about it, the book did tell a compelling story. I think a better author could have made it even more compelling, but since Dr. Close was apparently there, he'll have to do. However, if you're looking for technical descriptions of Ebola, its effects, and its treatment, look somewhere else. This is a book about villagers and nuns and how they dealt with an outbreak; it's not a book about Ebola.

I’ve prattled in recent months about my newfound adoration for Patrick O’Brian, and I may have prattled a little about my even more newly found adoration for Herman Melville, but it’s been a while since I’ve prattled about my favorite living author, Steven Brust.

I was reminded of how cool Brust is by a short interview he recently gave, in which he:

1. Answered the phone with, “I’m your huckleberry.”
2. Made a joke about hex.
3. Talked about how he likes to occasionally cuddle his OED.
4. Mentioned that he often plays Pirates of the Caribbean (among other movies) in the background while he writes.

One of the things that makes Brust’s books so entertaining is that he practices what he calls the “Cool Stuff” Theory of Literature:

All literature consists of whatever the writer thinks is cool. The reader will like the book to the degree that he agrees with the writer about what’s cool. And that works all the way from the external trappings to the level of metaphor, subtext, and the way one uses words. In other words, I happen not to think that full-plate armor and great big honking greatswords are cool. I don’t like ‘em. I like cloaks and rapiers. So I write stories with a lot of cloaks and rapiers in ‘em, ‘cause that’s cool.

The novel should be understood as a structure built to accommodate the greatest possible amount of cool stuff.

I was first introduced to Steven Brust’s books several years ago by an old friend from high school who I ran into at Barnes and Noble. He handed me a copy of To Reign in Hell that had a positively glowing foreword in which Roger Zelazny of all people waxed fanboyish about Brust’s badassery. I bought it, devoured it, and went back for more. I didn’t stop reading Brust until I’d read everything he’d written. Then I passed the time by thrusting the books at my friends and demanding that they read them.

In fact, it was Brust’s self-proclaimed love for O’Brian (and, of course, the movie by Peter Weir) that led me to start reading the Aubrey-Maturin series, which I’ve also devoured (luckily I haven’t finished it yet; I’m not sure what I’ll do once I have).

If you haven’t read anything by Brust, run, don’t walk, to the nearest bookstore. I’m serious. Just buy everything with his name on it and start reading. You can thank me later.

Whenever I feel like I just want to start life over and do it right this time; whenever something dredges up a memory of some terrible thing I did that I’ve been trying my best to forget; whenever I become content just to sit back and let life take me where it will; that’s when I dig out my tattered and worn copy of Replay and give it a read.

Hopefully my mistakes have made me a better person. When I wish I could undo them, am I not wishing myself less wise?

There’s nothing like a good book and a healthy dose of self-justification to stave off an impending shortage of self-esteem.

A few months ago, Steve and I went to see Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. I wasn’t expecting much more than a good boat movie, but what I got was a full-blown seafaring epic adventure that left me wanting more. I hadn’t heard of Patrick O’Brian before, but after seeing the movie I had to check out his books.

I’ve always read a lot, but most of what I read is sci-fi, fantasy, or non-fiction. I’ve never really been interested in anything else. When I was a wee lad, I flat out refused to read anything that didn’t have some combination of beam weapons, faster-than-light space travel, or magic. I distinctly remember perusing every single book in the meager science fiction section of my middle school library, passing over the ones that didn’t meet my standards and devouring the ones that did. I wanted big flashy futurism; deadly gadgets with flashing lights; big shiny spaceships with brushed metal hulls and hyperdrives; time travel, magic spells, black holes, and badassery. The last thing I wanted to read about was leaky wooden sailing ships.

That’s why I’m so surprised at the sudden and recent shift in my interests. I bought the first book in Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin series: Master and Commander. I read the first few pages slowly, warily, half-certain that I was going to hate it. But I was sucked in instantly. I couldn’t get enough. It was brilliant. Before I knew it, I had finished the book and I had to have more.

So I bought the next ten books in the series. I’m flying through those too. They’re incredible. I feel like a little boy. These books communicate such a love of the sea that I found myself getting as giddy as Captain Jack Aubrey when I read O’Brian’s prosaic descriptions of the Sophie or the Surprise or the Polychrest. These books are classic adventure yarns of the highest order; the kind of stuff I can’t get enough of.

I want a ship of my own now. I want to sail around the world without ever hearing the whirr of a hard drive or the clickety-clack of a keyboard; without ever even seeing the flashing of a blue LED. I want more books like this and I want more movies like that.

Give me a leaky wooden sailing ship and a high-seas adventure any day. The past is more fun than the future.

I just finished reading House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. It’s going to haunt my dreams for months. I highly recommend it.

The concept of the book Battle Royale is simple. In an alternate-world fascist Japan, 50 junior high classes are chosen randomly each year. Each class is deposited on an island or in another secure, deserted location, where each student is given minimal supplies and one randomly-chosen weapon. They are then told that they must kill their classmates. The only way to survive is to be the last person standing. If nobody dies within 24 hours, everyone dies. Each student is forced to wear an explosive collar with an embedded tracking device. Every day, the surviving students are given a list of zones that will become forbidden at certain times. If they enter a forbidden zone, their collar explodes. This keeps them moving.

The book is controversial, violent, and intriguing. It makes you wonder what you would do if you were put in the same situation. And, naturally, it made me wonder what other people would do. So here’s the situation. You and 41 other people, some of whom are your good friends, some of whom are mere acquaintances, and some of whom you barely know, are chosen for the Program. You are taken to a small, deserted island and set free with one weapon each, and told that you must kill everyone else, as described above. The only way to survive is for everyone else to die. What do you do?

Discuss.

There are few things I love more than a really good, gripping, impossible-to-put-down book. I’d even venture to say I love a good book more than a slice of delicious pecan pie. Unless it’s Mom’s homemade pecan pie, I mean. But you get the point.

It bugs me that there are so few books capable of achieving this magical status. The secret to it is fairly obvious: start the story moving forward, give the characters goals, and for godssake don’t stop moving the story until the goals are either achieved or become unachievable or everyone is dead or all of the above. If the characters have goals and the reader wants them to achieve these goals, the reader will not want to put the book down until those goals are achieved. Think of all the good stories you’ve ever read, heard, or seen on a movie screen. I’ll bet the ones you liked the most all met this criteria. This is why the first Star Wars trilogy is so much better than the new trilogy. It’s why everyone loves a good heist film.

Anyway, the book that prompted all of this is Battle Royale, by Koushun Takami. I made the mistake of starting it late last night, and I ended up reading halfway through the damn thing (and it’s pretty beefy) before forcing myself to put it down and go to sleep. It’s brilliant. I highly recommend it.

Books have always been a huge part of my life. I read a lot. And I’m one of those annoying people who’s always throwing books at other people and demanding that they read them. Here, then, in no particular order, is a list of books (and series of books) that I think anyone who calls themselves a geek should read.

• The Great Book of Amber, by Roger Zelazny
• For a Breath I Tarry and 24 Views of Mt. Fuji, by Hokusai (short stories), by Roger Zelazny
• The Vlad Taltos series, Agyar, To Reign in Hell, and everything else by Steven Brust
• Wasp, by Eric Frank Russell
• The Moon is a Harsh Mistress and Starship Troopers, by Robert A. Heinlein
• Cryptonomicon, The Diamond Age, and Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson
• Gun, with Occasional Music, by Jonathan Lethem
• Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams
• Jumper, by Steven Gould
• Replay, by Ken Grimwood
• The Integral Trees, by Larry Niven
• American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

I’m sure I’ll think of more later.