Sunday, October 4, 2015

Sandra Dallas

Award-winning author Sandra Dallas was dubbed “a quintessential American voice” by Jane Smiley, in Vogue. She is the author of The Bride’s House, Whiter Than Snow, Prayers for Sale and Tallgrass, among others. Her novels have been translated into a dozen languages and optioned for films. She is a three-time recipient of the Women Writing the West Willa Award and a two-time winner of the Western Writers of America Spur Award.

Her new novel is The Last Midwife.

Recently I asked Dallas about what she was reading. Her reply:
The last book I read was Go Set a Watchman, the novel Harper Lee wrote prior to To Kill A Mockingbird. I found the book inspiring. Not because it is a brilliant book. It isn't. If it had been published in the 1950s you probably wouldn't have heard of it. What inspires me is that the author took this ordinary story and turned it as America's best-loved novel. If she can do that, maybe there's hope for the rest of us writers who agonize over really crummy first drafts.
Visit Sandra Dallas's website and Facebook page.

Writers Read: Sandra Dallas (May 2011).

Writers Read: Sandra Dallas (October 2013).

--Marshal Zeringue

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Michael Golding

Michael Golding’s first novel, Simple Prayers, was published in 1994 and has been translated into nine foreign languages. Benjamin’s Gift, his second novel, was published in 1999. He is also a screenwriter, whose works include the adaptation of Alessandro Baricco’s Silk. He lives in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas in Northern California.

Golding’s new novel is A Poet of the Invisible World.

Recently I asked the author about what he was reading. Golding's reply:
At the moment I’m midway through Philip Roth’s American Pastoral, and its brilliant, rambling voice leaves me breathless. The story of a high school football hero, “Swede” Levov, whose life is shattered by the actions of his rebellious teenage daughter, it paints a vivid portrait of the clash between generations: the postwar children of the 1940s, whose lives glowed with promise, and the antiwar children of the 1960s, who turned the world upside down. Roth’s writing is like a speed train barreling through the night—you often fear the novel will jump the tracks and crash, but you hold on, exhilarated by the ride. It’s in the tradition of novels like The Great Gatsby in which the story is told through the eyes of a peripheral narrator—in this case, Roth’s alter ego Nathan Zuckerman—but the author manages to barge his way into the hearts and minds of nearly all of characters. The novel explodes with anger, wails with a deep sadness, and is rich in mid-century historical detail. I can go for days without wanting to pick it up. Its truths are painful. But once I pick it up, I find it hard to put it down.

I just finished a lovely novel called Claire Marvel by John Burnham Schwartz. John gave me a generous blurb for my new novel, so I thought I’d read one of his books that had slipped by me. Claire Marvel is exquisite. Written in beautiful, haunting prose, it captures the oddness and delicacy of falling in love, the maddening way two people can slip by each other, and how we sometimes make choices that lead to grave, unexpected results. It’s tender and wise and it touched me deeply.

I’ve also been reading a wonderful book called Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Novel by Jane Smiley. A meditation on the art of novel writing, it examines what a novel is and why we derive such pleasure from reading them. The first half of the book is devoted to questions of craft and historical context. The second half examines 100 novels Smiley challenged herself to read when she reached an impasse in her own work. It’s an autobiography of the author’s life as a reader, and an insightful—and playful—investigation into what fiction is all about.
Visit Michael Golding's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Friday, October 2, 2015

Jonathan Weisman

Jonathan Weisman is a Washington-based economic policy reporter for the New York Times.

His new novel is No. 4 Imperial Lane.

Recently I asked the author about what he was reading. Weisman's reply:
So much of what I read these days seems linked to what I am struggling to write. My new novel-in-process is about two young missionaries working to record and preserve the language of a dying tribe of former headhunters in the Philippines, swept up by war and the swirl of geopolitical forces that are too big for them to comprehend. I read Euphoria by Lily King to get me into an anthropological state of mind. Now I am trying to better understand the religious fervor of a true-believing Christian imbued with a Christ-like sense of sacrifice. I am determined to keep my protagonist sympathetic, and not a caricature of a religious nut.

To that end, I am reading Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas. That might sound like an unlikely choice, but Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a devout Christian theologian and clergyman in Nazi Germany who stood up for the Jews, tried in vain to keep the church pure as National Socialism wedged into every aspect of German life, plotted to assassinate Hitler, and was ultimately executed by the Nazis for his sins. He never wavered in his faith, nor did he ever fear for his safety. What better place to look for inspiration?

For a little relief, I'm also reading Aquarium by David Vann just for the soulfulness of his little girl protagonist and the heartfelt sadness of her story.
Follow Jonathan Weisman on Twitter.

My Book, The Movie: No. 4 Imperial Lane.

--Marshal Zeringue

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Dawn Lerman

Dawn Lerman is a board-certified nutrition expert and a contributor to the New York Times Well Blog. Her company, Magnificent Mommies, provides nutrition education to students, teachers, and corporations. She lives in New York City with her two children, Dylan and Sofia.

Lerman's new book is My Fat Dad: A Memoir of Food, Love and Family, with Recipes.

Recently I asked the author about what she was reading. Her reply:
I have always been a fan of diaries and memoirs. My favorite book as a child was the Diary of Anne Frank. I would read, and re- read the same sentences over, and over as I world disappear into her little annex, her world.

“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.” – Anne Frank

“Although I'm only fourteen, I know quite well what I want, I know who is right and who is wrong. I have my opinions, my own ideas and principles, and although it may sound pretty mad from an adolescent, I feel more of a person than a child, I feel quite independent of anyone.”

Her words inspired me to live better, to appreciate more, and to find my own solace in the pages of my own journal.

I just finished reading Autumn Balloon by Kenny Porpora and It Was Me All Along by Andie Mitchell. Both of these memoirs deal with the effects of growing up in toxic homes, riddled with addiction and turmoil, where the lines between parent and child are blurred. The main characters in each story eventually thrive and rise above the odds.

Growing up with a 450-pound dad who battled food addiction and a wanna-be actress mom who was not present in the way I needed, I really related to the despair, loneliness, and desire that these two protagonist faced. I laughed. I cried. I called my sister quoting the beautiful pages filled with gut-wrenching raw dialogue. The impact of their stories and their words stayed with me weeks after finishing. In the words of my ad man dad, "You've come along way baby."
Visit Dawn Lerman's New York Times blog and Facebook page.

--Marshal Zeringue

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Ruth Galm

Ruth Galm’s writing has appeared in the Kenyon Review Online, Indiana Review, and on Joyland: a hub for short fiction. She holds an MFA from Columbia University and has been a resident of the Ucross Foundation in Wyoming. She was born and raised in San Jose, California, spent time in New York City and Boston, and now lives in San Francisco. Into the Valley is her first novel.

Recently I asked Galm about what she was reading. Her reply:
I just finished Colin Winnette’s Haints Stay, which staggered me. It’s often a brutally violent book, but that was fine with me because I loved how this rash physicality and the shifting identities and protagonists unsettled me. This jarred and unsafe feeling also twines with a way the novel, for all its use of genre, lifts us out of any known world into a kind of dreamscape, or “voidscape” maybe; I deeply admired this effect. (I read an interview with Winnette after I finished and learned the term “acid Western” for the first time; now I realize I’m a sub-genre fan.) And also Winnette’s stark, recursive sentences sometimes floored me: “Things changed in town. They changed often. There was no use fighting it. What they did was, they found a way and worked it until they worked a new one.” I will seek out Winnette’s other books.

I’m now reading Rudolph Wurlizter’s The Drop Edge of Yonder and can already see I’ll want to read more of him as well. (Clearly I’m on a revisionist Western—and a Two Dollar Radio—kick.) The sentence style and tone are very different from Haints Stay, more playful and ornate in their way, but there is already the promise of the trippy and outré at play in the genre, the click of a good pace, and I’m hooked.

I’m also dipping in and out of “The Changing Light at Sandover,” a 560-page epic poem by James Merrill that I don’t even know how to describe. I had no idea who Merrill was until I read Dan Chiasson’s review of a new biography on him in The New Yorker (being woefully ignorant of and yet hungry to learn about poetry, I relish all Chiasson’s news of this world) and learned that the poet wrote this opus from decades of Ouija board sessions with his partner. That just seemed wild and lawless and endlessly artistically fascinating, and I would highly recommend the book without even being sure what exactly to say about it or whether I’m “getting” it all. I can only say that I keep tagging lines and when I finished the first volume “The Book of Ephraim,” I felt great love for Ephraim, this character-spirit who warms us and makes us wiser, and then the second volume started into heady discussions with the beyond on science and the building of souls, and it all does feel epic, provocative and frightening and emotional in altering ways.
Visit Ruth Galm's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Barry Wolverton

Barry Wolverton has been writing for children for 20 years, helping create books, documentary television, and online content for Discovery Networks, National Geographic, the Library of Congress, Scholastic, and Time-Life Books, among others.

His debut novel, Neversink, was named the Children’s Book of Choice by Literacy Mid-South for their Read Across America program in 2014.

Wolverton's new novel is The Vanishing Island, book one of The Chronicles of the Black Tulip.

Recently I asked the author about what he was reading. His reply:
A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Le Guin

I just started re-reading this as part of an NEA grant program I am participating in. Even though I’m not far into it, I am immediately reminded how precise and compelling her prose is, and how scrupulously she built the world of Earthsea. The names of people and places and the languages used feel wholly invented, and I love how strict her rules of magic are and the care she takes to explain how magic is learned and used. It’s not just opening a book of spells and learning Latinate phrases.

The Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss

So far there are two books in this proposed trilogy, and though a friend recommended the first — The Name of the Wind — I bought it because there was a blurb on the back from Ursula Le Guin (I guess it’s obvious I’m a fan). Both books are enormous yet deliberately incomplete. It’s not the trilogy for you if you want each installment to have a conclusion, a la Star Wars. And on one level, almost nothing happens. The entire narrative is being told by the main character to a scribe in a tavern over three days. But it’s incredibly absorbing because of the narrator’s voice and the author’s world-building. It’s like staring at the most amazing, intricate diorama you’ve ever seen.

Mr. Fox and Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi

I always try to bounce between different types of books or books for kids and adults, and Ms. Oyeyemi was by far my favorite discovery of the year. She is such an incredibly agile writer with a sharp, devilish wit I really love. Mr. Fox in particular reminded me a lot of another of my favorite writers, Italo Calvino, for the way its stories are sort of elliptical and nested. I can’t wait to read the rest of her books.
Visit Barry Wolverton's website.

The Page 69 Test: The Vanishing Island.

--Marshal Zeringue

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Polly Dugan

Polly Dugan is the author of So Much a Part of You and The Sweetheart Deal. She lives in Portland, Oregon.

Recently I asked the author about what she was reading. Dugan's reply:
I’m ¾ of the way through Making Nice, Matt Sumell’s debut, which deserves all of the attention and praise it’s received, as does Sumell for sharing Alby’s unflinching honesty as he staggers along his journey through grief after the death of his mother. Alby’s being cyclically infuriated and brokenhearted in the wake of great loss make him a complex and compelling character. He’s not entitled or proud of behaving badly when he does, but he is painfully self-aware of his flaws—he has no delusions about himself or his motives—and it made me root for him. He’s not trying to get away with anything, he’s trying to get through something, even if the only means to do so is by hanging on for just a little longer and doing the best he can, his best often being a mounting list of regrets.

Any reader who is a fan of smart, literary fiction with a volatile and vulnerable character and intense emotional stakes at its center either already loves this book or will when they get their hands on it, but having lost my mother 12 years ago this September 23rd (next week as I write this), my connection was more personal. Unless you’ve experienced it, (and I’m sorry if you have), people don’t know what grief will look and feel like or what course it will take. Grief can make people misbehave, take risks they shouldn’t, jeopardize relationships, abandon self-care, self-medicate, can make them both needy and antagonistic, to name a few that Alby and Matt Sumell are obviously familiar with. And more: you cling to what you still have that you dearly love—your dog—or to what you believe you could possibly save—a dying bird or your brother from marriage.

I’m familiar too, and since the death of my mother is either thematically at the center of my work, or the event that directly informed it, I applaud Sumell for using what hurts to write this unforgettable book. And, what I also know is true about grief, as clearly Alby does, is that it’s proof of our continued capacity and irrepressible willingness to risk loving deeply, despite the cost.
Visit Polly Dugan's website, Facebook page, and Twitter perch.

My Book, The Movie: The Sweetheart Deal.

Coffee with a Canine: Polly Dugan & Tripp.

--Marshal Zeringue

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Julianna Baggott

Julianna Baggott has published more than twenty books over the last twelve years.

Her new novel is Harriet Wolf's Seventh Book of Wonders.

Recently I asked Baggott about what she was reading. Her reply:
Clarice Lispector's Complete Stories. I'm not reading these beauties in order. Lispector is hailed as the greatest Brazilian writer of the twentieth century and I hadn't ever heard her name before reading a review of the book by Jeff VanderMeer. I'm enjoying dipping in and out of the book, letting them haunt, circling back for more.

I studied with Fred Chappell in the 90s and just came around again to The Fred Chappell Reader. Lee Smith calls him the "resident genius" of Southern writing and I wanted to come back to his work with my eye a bit more mature. I've been awed and disturbed. So wonderful.

Along with so many others, this summer will always be marked by Ta-Nehisi Coates' book -- written to his son -- Between the World and Me. He has altered the way I think about race, about the United States, and about how I'm raising my own children. I'm so thankful for his work and his voice.

In picture books -- our youngest is still young enough -- we have the new release by Laurel Snyder, Swan. My eight year old says that it's beautiful and sad, sadiful.
Visit Julianna Baggott's website and blog.

My Book, The Movie: Harriet Wolf's Seventh Book of Wonders.

The Page 69 Test: Harriet Wolf's Seventh Book of Wonders.

--Marshal Zeringue

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Polly Shulman

Polly Shulman’s latest novel is The Poe Estate. She is also the author of The Grimm Legacy (a Bank Street Best Book and Mythopoeic Fantasy Award Finalist), its companion The Wells Bequest, and Enthusiasm (a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice). She has worked as a magazine editor, a newspaper columnist, a library page, and a licensed private investigator. She has written for many newspapers and magazines, including the New York Times, Discover, Newsday, Salon, Slate, Scientific American, Archaeology, and The Village Voice. She majored in math at Yale and grew up in New York City, where she lives with her husband in a tall old building guarded by gargoyles.

I recently Shulman about what she was reading. Her reply:
My favorite recent novel is Naomi Novik’s Uprooted. I’d been longing for more of her Temeraire fantasy/alternate history series, which follow the fortunes of an English captain during the Napoleonic Wars. He’s not in the navy, but the Aerial Corps—his “ship” is a dragon named Temeraire, a brave, affectionate, rational soldier of a person who also happens to be a gigantic, scaly flying beast and something of a philosopher. Novik’s writing is even better than the premise: funny, touching, fast paced, and subtle. I was disappointed when I learned her new novel had nothing to do with Temeraire, but somewhat to my surprise, I loved Uprooted even more. Uprooted has a fairy-tale premise: Every ten years, the Dragon chooses a girl from the heroine’s village to work for him in his tower castle, and this time it’s the heroine’s turn. Unlike Temeraire, this dragon is a man—a wizard who’s trying to protect the region from the encroaching enchanted Wood. I wanted to read Uprooted slowly to savor the gorgeous writing, vivid characters and relationships, and magical atmosphere, but the story was so exciting I gobbled it down.

I recently read a batch of 20th century literary novels reissued by New York Review Books Classics—they have great taste. My favorites were Great Granny Webster, by Caroline Blackwood; Summer Will Show, by Sylvia Townsend Warner; and Angel, by Elizabeth Taylor. (The novelist, not the actor.) Great-Granny Webster, first published in 1977, is a dark, semi-autobiographical comedy about upper-class eccentrics. Summer Will Show, first published in 1936, takes place in Paris during the revolution of 1849; the heroine falls in love with her husband’s mistress and joins the rebels. (Somebody needs to reissue Warner’s 1977 Kingdoms of Elfin, which ranks with Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell as one of the best books ever written about fairies for adults.) Angel, first published in 1957, tells the cringingly ironic story of an Edwardian popular novelist’s rise and fall; not everyone will love it, but I did.

I’m considering writing a historical novel set in the Gilded Age one of these days—or at least, the pile of books on my coffee table and in my tablet suggests that I might be. I just finished Theodore Dreiser’s The Financier, published in 1912 but set some 40 years earlier, the story of a stockbroker who gets caught up in politics and corruption. Dreiser piles on the details—about everything from the protagonist’s financial transactions to his office furniture to his mistress’s ball gowns—and refrains from drawing any clear morals from the story, which fascinated me. His writing is strangely paced and full of verbal lumps, which I also found fascinating; it’s very different from the infelicities you find in less-than-great writing nowadays. I’ve downloaded the sequel, The Titan, but I haven’t started reading it yet.

When I was writing The Poe Estate I reread Edith Wharton’s ghost stories, looking for haunted houses and ghostly objects to borrow for my book. That set me off on a long Wharton kick; I dipped in and out of her collected works, reread The House of Mirth, her New York Stories, and various other stories and novellas. She’s a spectacular observer, her sentences are witty and perfectly balanced, and she knows how to make her readers want to know what happens next. But she likes to punish her characters, which can make the stories painful to read. This time through I paid a lot of attention to the descriptions and period details.

I’ve also been reading Hotel: An American History, by A.K. Sandoval-Strausz (very informative), and I’ve been accumulating a small collection of travel books from the 1870s or so, the best of which are Over the Ocean; or, Sights and Scenes in Foreign Lands and Abroad Again; or, Fresh Forays in Foreign Lands, both by Curtis Guild; my editions are from 1877. So maybe whatever historical novel I may or may not write might include some travel—possibly a Grand Tour of Europe.

I tend to read more genre fiction and classics (or just old books) than contemporary literary fiction, but right now I’m reading Make Your Home Among Strangers, an absorbing new novel by Jennine Capó Crucet, about a young Cuban-American woman who’s the first in her family to go to college. It’s beautifully written, and I’m loving it.
Visit Polly Shulman's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Peter Jones

Peter Jones is an Associate Professor in the Graduate School of Public and International Affairs at the University of Ottawa. He is deeply involved in running Track Two dialogues in Asia and the Middle East, and also writes and teaches on the subject. His latest book is entitled Track Two Diplomacy in Theory and Practice.

Recently I asked Jones about what he was reading. His reply:
I travel a great deal for my work, and am a voracious reader on planes. Most of my reading has to do with my chosen field; conflict resolution and particularly the question of how one opens and sustains dialogues between peoples in conflict. This is a harder issue than commonly supposed. Intractable, longstanding conflicts create significant pressures to keep going; once the dynamic and logic of war are deeply entrenched it is politically and emotionally easier to continue fighting than it is to step back and consider alternatives.

I am presently reading a fascinating account of behind-the-scenes dialogues between a senior Indian intelligence official and Kashmiri militants during the period when Atal Bihari Vajpayee was Prime Minister of India. It is entitled Kashmir: The Vajpayee Years. The author, A.S. Dulat, was a lifelong member of India’s intelligence community, who rose to the very top of that community and spent many years working on the Kashmir problem. The book outlines how Dulat came to the view that only through dialogue with the militants could the conflict be managed and resolved and tells the story of how he launched and conducted such a dialogue, which came very close to a breakthrough.

His honest and at times painful account of the process does not pull any punches – these were not easy talks and the people at the table on both sides were no angels. Both sides in the dispute had committed harsh, even unspeakable acts against the other and against innocent civilians. Often, in my own experience, it is a very special sub-set of such people – some of those who have done the fighting and killing – who are the ones who come to the conclusion, after many years of fruitless and bitter fighting, that there is no other way forward than compromise and dialogue. This precisely mirrors my own experiences of running so-called “Track Two” Dialogues between people in conflict, including some on this issue which have included Dulat himself.

The book is thus a fascinating account of behind-the-scenes talks as seen by one who was an instrumental player. But it is also a meditation on how someone who has spent his life fighting can come to the view that dialogue offers the only way forward; an amazing personal journey. Dulat shows that, on many occasions, what been firm and longstanding Indian beliefs about the motivations and character of leaders on the ‘other side’ were found to be wrong once he got to know them, and how the other side came to revise its opinions of Indian leaders and a positions. These revelations would not have happened had the two sides not been talking.

Through all the fighting and bloodshed, Dulat came to the view that the Kashmir problem could never be resolved unless India accepted the need to talk directly to the militants, and also to the country which supported many of them; Pakistan. Even though the talks he writes about ultimately failed to resolve the issue when other events intruded, Dulat believes they created a set of ideas that will ultimately be the foundation of such a resolution.

A book I have recently finished reading is Frederik Logevall’s very interesting Embers of War: The Fall of an Empire and the Making of America’s Vietnam. This is a very readable and yet also scholarly account of the final years of the French experience in IndoChina, and of how the US came to be sucked into that conflict.

After World War 2, France was keen to re-assert its Great Power status and overcome the legacy of surrender and occupation. Many senior French officials saw a vigorous assertion of Imperial greatness as one means to do this. This view ran smack up against the emerging desire for liberation, which would spawn the de-colonisation movement of the 50s and 60s throughout the developing world. While many of these movements were simply the indigenous expression of a desire to throw off colonialism, it was the misfortune of these movements to be active at just the time the Cold War was settling its grip over international affairs. Though many of them were hardly committed Communists, the language and concepts of the era meant that their struggles would be interpreted through the Cold War prism.

This is very much what happened in French IndoChina. Reading Logevall’s account, one is struck by the many instances when senior figures in the French government and the Viet Minh tried to talk to each other to find a way forward. It is clear that Ho Chi Minh, though a socialist, had little interest in being entirely cooped up within the Communist world; he tried in the early years of the struggle on several occasions to have quiet talks with the French and the Americans to see if a way could not be found to peacefully disengage France from Vietnam, but also leave in its wake a neutral country that would not be a ‘threat’ to broader US interests in the Cold War. Minh eventually accepted large-scale Chinese and Russian aide, but only after he felt that all hope of dialogue with France and the US was dashed.

We will never know, of course, if such an outcome was really Minh’s objective, or if it would have been possible. On every occasion when talks might have taken place, events conspired to create countervailing pressures. Sometimes these were just circumstances. More often than not, it was high-ranking people who simply did not want to compromise. At key moments, for example, leaders of the French colonial administration in Vietnam took a hardline, believing they could ‘win’ in military terms, and also that France’s larger interests in re-establishing itself as a Great Power required that it show the world that a leading European nation could not be defeated by an ‘inferior’ people.

What is particularly interesting is the clear picture that emerges of many senior US officials coming rapidly to the view that France’s position in Vietnam was increasingly militarily and politically untenable and advising Washington of this quite bluntly. And yet, time and again, what were perceived to be larger US interests in the geopolitics of the Cold War meant that Washington supported hardliners in Paris, even when they knew it was an increasingly hopeless cause. The US was keen to shore up France as a European ally against perceived Soviet expansionism, both in Asia, but also in Europe itself. It was repeatedly argued that this ‘bigger picture’ required that France not be seen to ‘lose’ to a Communist insurgency. And yet, that is exactly what ultimately happened, but not before the US had become so enmeshed in that conflict as to lay the foundation for its own disaster in Vietnam.

Embers of War does not provide any firm answers as to whether the tragedy of the US involvement in Vietnam could have been avoided. The world is too complex a place for that. But it does raise the intriguing question of whether an alternate path, a path of dialogue and compromise, might have worked. At the least, this book shows quite convincingly that there was a window when it could have been attempted; feelers were put out and were understood as being such by at least some people. There were discussions of whether dialogue and compromise might be possible, but these were always drowned out by the voices of those who argued that ‘bigger’ interests required a tough stance.

Embers of War, and Kashmir: The Vajpayee Years, both show us that dialogue between enemies is possible. It is never easy and requires remarkable and courageous people. But there are moments in most conflicts – though perhaps not all (what compromises could have been made with the Nazis?) – when alternate paths can at least be explored. It is the job of statesmen, diplomats and people of vision to be on the lookout for such moments, and to recognise when larger interests require a leap of courage.
Learn more about Track Two Diplomacy at the Stanford University Press website.

Jones is also the author of Open Skies: Transparency, Confidence-Building, and the End of the Cold War.

The Page 99 Test: Open Skies.

The Page 99 Test: Track Two Diplomacy in Theory and Practice.

--Marshal Zeringue