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Winds documents in a well-research and accessible ways how Israeli universities are complicit in the Occupation, oppression and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. The first chapter demonstrates how specific disciplines, such as archeology, legal studies and Middle East studies, are almost entirely in service of justifying and upholding the Israeli political order. Next, Wind turns to how university campuses are used to physically establish a presence and take over Palestinian land. The third chapter looks at direct collaborations between the state, the industrial military complex, and universities, considering scholars involvement in the development of new weapons, propaganda and military training, among other. The forth chapter explains how Israeli universities represses the academic freedom of Palestinian and anti-Zionist Israeli academic, essentially banning them from researching and speaking about some topics, e.g. the Nakba. The fifth chapter is an account of the ways Israel sought to prevent and regulate Palestinian access to higher education, through outright bans, entry requirements and policies designed to exclude Palestinians, or physically, by making it difficult for students to go to class through checkpoints, road closures or simply lack of transport. The sixth and final chapter focuses on the repression of Palestinian students in Israeli universities (through policy and policing), the West Bank (through military raids) and Gaza (through bombing).

The Well of Loneliness is a great book to read for anyone interested in LGBT history, and European upper-class morality, but it is not a GOOD book. Not because it is classist, racist, homophobic (especially camp-phobic) and militarist - I understand moral standards and understandings of sexuality shift with time. Actually, it is a great chance to get a sense for the world views of a British aristocratic lady. But, there isn't much complexity, nor a desire to question moral judgements except those that directly affect Stephen. And, let's be honest, it is hard to write such a whiny book without being boring (even leaving aside the fact that Stephen's wealth gave her so many options that most lesbian/queer people didn't have).To my mind, there are two redeeming aspects to the book, both more evident in the first part - the one describing Stephen's growing up. First, the honesty and 'raw-ness' in the account of Stephen's tomboy childhood, and her feeling of not belonging. And, second, the description of Morton and the Midlands, which really conveyed the author's love for those places (and for the British class system, argh).

The coming of age story of two sisters who have to deal with a series of difficulties and tragic events, including disfunctional parents, the sense of not belonging, sucide, alcholism. I enjoyed the strong women characters who populated this book, and especially Hyacinth, the girls' grandmother: hurt, wise, fierce. I also enjoyed the descriptions of Barbados, its food, towns, landscapes and people. The way the story and the characters developed, however, was a touch too predictable, leaving little room for tension, indecision, and lack of resolve, which would, in my view, added to the book. The bad guys are bad, the good guys (ladies) are good, and get even better as the book goes by. That being said, I liked it. I read most of it on a long plane journey, and, in that context, I appreciated that its straightforwardness, which made for an easy read, and a good travel companion.

I had tried reading The Shipping News once before and gave up - largely because I found it difficult to understand. I suspect that if I had a go at it a third time, I would give it five stars. I was past half of the book when I started to get used to the Newfoundland's language, inflection, and images. I still had to skim over maritime terms and entire sentences, and just give in to the story and the rhythm of Proulx's writing. In other words, even if I did not understand it, I could tell it was beautiful. Luckily, I did understand enough to follow the story, be charmed by it. Her characters are wonders, so imperfect and damaged and funny and brave and poetic. Needless to say, I'm a big fan of aunt Agnis. When I finished the last pages, in the heat of Jerusalem's summer, I found myself longing for a cup of steaming tea, with milk, and the sight of snow. I imagine this is a book you'll love or hate. If you are looking for something quick-paces and easy to read, pick something else. But if you can be patient, there is something magic about this book.

The premise of the book is fascinating: what would a Spanish expedition in the 'new world' look like, through the eyes of a Moroccan slave? I went into the book fearing it would be a hard read, but I should not have worried: the story will carry you through. Some interesting themes run through the book. First, the power of story-telling, and of putting things into writing (be it a map, a chronicle, or a notary act). Second, the way in which power and powerlessness interplay with human nature. Third, the relation between identity, 'race' and belonging. On the other hand, I wished the protagonist, Esteban, wasn't that perfect a man. True, he traded slave in the past, but this is put down to a moment of greediness, in an otherwise gentle, wise, and 'enlightened' character. He restrains from the violence and plundering in which the Spanish explorer engage, powerless to stop it. These traits put him in the position of the innocent witness, simply recounting what he sees, and judging it from the vantage point of an outsider (or, perhaps, of a XXI century author. Perhaps irrelevant, I couldn't help noticing that the book fails the Bechdel text. While Esteban is respectful of the women in his life, they are always 'alive' only as Esteban's mother, Esteban's lost love, Esteban's wife, etc. Though I understand the book is narrated from his perspective, and it is set in a 'men's world'...I couldn't quite get over it. Admittedly, it is also entirely possible that I missed the points the author was trying to make about these relations.