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Object Lesson
Scorpions of the sea
July/August 2007
by O. Erik Tetlie and Derek Briggs
O. Erik Tetlie, a postdoctoral associate in invertebrate paleontology at the Peabody, is studying eurypterids.
Derek Briggs is the Frederick William Beinecke Professor of Geology and Geophysics and the director of the Yale Institute for Biospheric Studies.
Around 420 million years ago, much
of New York State and southern Ontario was covered by a large, shallow bay that
opened to the south. During what geologists call the Silurian Period, this area
was near the equator, and the combination of a hot sun and restricted water
circulation led to evaporation and high salinity.
The water was so salty that the bay
probably had no permanent inhabitants. But eurypterids—predators
popularly known as sea scorpions—often entered the bay, seeking refuge at
a vulnerable time. Here, huge numbers of eurypterids shed their external
skeletons, waited for the soft skin underneath to harden, and then returned to
open water.
Myriad eurypterid molts were
fossilized in the rocks of upstate New York. The detail preserved is often
exquisite, with the fossils showing evidence even of the sutures where the
skeleton had split.
The specimen illustrated here is a
member of the species Eurypterus remipes, the most common eurypterid in Silurian localities
in New York State. In 1984, it was named the official state fossil. Though some
eurypterids reached gigantic proportions, with body lengths around seven feet, E.
remipes was only
about 15 inches long. It was the first sea scorpion species ever discovered—in
1818—but scientists at the time thought it was an ancient catfish.
This fossil and many others are part
of a collection amassed by Samuel J. Ciurca Jr., a former research chemist at
Kodak who found his first eurypterid in upstate New York in the early 1960s.
Ciurca was just a teenager when he noticed two small eyes looking up at me"
from a pebble in a streambed south of Rochester. (Ciurca’s website is at www.eurypterids.net.)
By 2006, Ciurca’s eurypterid
collection had become the richest and most diverse ever known. It also weighed
about 50,000 pounds. Its owner, who had started out by storing his specimens at
home, even under his bed, had had to rent space in storage facilities near his
house in Rochester. Finally, last year, Ciurca gave most of the collection to
Yale’s Peabody Museum of Natural History. He is still hard at work finding new
material, so the collection will continue to grow.
As for the eurypterids, they became
extinct about 250 million years ago. But their relatives, collectively known as
chelicerates—after the claws (known as chelicerae) that are their most
distinguishing feature—live on as scorpions, spiders, and horseshoe
crabs.
Scene: A Typical New York Apartment. (Really.)
Alejandra O’Leary ’04 is a freelance
journalist and rock musician in New York.
In The Sublet Experiment, a new play by Ethan Youngerman '99,
traditional notions of public and private collide in a way that mirrors many
people’s first experiences with life in a big city. It’s designed to be
performed not in a theater but in someone’s apartment—a different
apartment, in a different New York City neighborhood, every week. There are no
house lights, no formal seating, and no stage or wings. These conditions mean
that the audience, usually about 15 people, is on display as much as the actors
(and the apartment).
Further mind-bending comes courtesy
of Youn-german’s labyrinthine script, which starts with a man who sublets an apartment
to a woman in return for sex, and goes on to explore themes of youth, deceit,
identity, and the meaning we give to spaces. It’s a genre mash-up to boot: by
turns a slice-of-life play, a romantic comedy, and a heist-driven thriller.
The Sublet Experiment just completed a six-month run,
during which it was performed in nearly 20 different apartments in four New
York boroughs (it has yet to play on Staten Island) and in Hoboken, New Jersey.
The unorthodox production, Youngerman thinks, is part of the play’s appeal. People
like to get an inside look at a world, to get behind the scenes,” he says. It’s
a big part of what we want from entertainment.” And as it turns out, it’s a lot
of what Youngerman’s characters want from each other. This desire to get beyond
the surface of people, apartments, and situations gives rise to ethical
dilemmas and quests for love, safety, and home in The Sublet Experiment. One central character constantly
switches apartments in an effort to figure out how much of his identity is
circumstances, materials, and surroundings, and how much is unchanging.
A constant for Youngerman has been
his collaboration with director Michelle Tattenbaum '98. The pair worked
together on plays and musicals at Yale, interned at the Manhattan Theatre Club
together, and produced Youngerman’s An Archipelago of Clouds at the New York Fringe Festival in
2000.
After developing the
rotating-apartments plan, Youngerman and Tattenbaum worked to make sure the
script could be performed in any kind of domestic space. For example, every
scene has to end with a character exiting or entering, since there are no
curtains or stage lights to signify the end of a scene. Tattenbaum then looked
for actors who would be able to adjust to unpredictable performance spaces and
could handle having an audience up close for two hours. We talked a lot about
film acting,” Tattenbaum says. When you’re acting for the camera, there’s a
lot of stuff and equipment and people around you that you completely ignore.
The acting style in the play is much more akin to film than it is to
traditional theatrical acting.”
From a network of Yale friends and
theater friends, Tattenbaum and Youngerman lined up initial performance dates
in apartments in the West Village, Chelsea, Astoria, and Williamsburg. But for
the play’s opening weekend, Youngerman volunteered his own apartment in
Washington Heights. Looking back, he describes the performances as surreal. It
was like my imagination had created this great party. These are characters who
had been in my head, and now they’re in my living room.”
Though it was conceived with New
York in mind, both artists believe the show could succeed in any place where
residents are concerned with the boundaries of neighborhood and domestic
identity. Says Tattenbaum, The job of artists in our culture is to break
through boundaries for other people. This show gives people permission to
violate social boundaries in a real way and in a pretend way.”
The Regulars
Carlo Rotella '94PhD writes for the New
York Times and Washington
Post magazines.
When I was in graduate school, I
became a regular at the Anchor, the perpetual-twilight watering hole on College
Street in downtown New Haven. Once the bartenders got to know my habits, they
brought me a bottle of Schaefer and a glass of water when I walked in the door,
and kept them coming, a beer and a water, at regular intervals. I went there at
night to crowd around tables with friends and classmates, but I also went by
myself in the early evening to sit at the bar. The place was mostly empty at
that hour. I scrutinized every single frame of the funnies or watched
carcinogenic TV or sat there lizardlike on my stool and thought about nothing
much, the damp change from a twenty dwindling in front of me as fresh rounds
periodically replaced spent ones. Sometimes I joined a conversation along the
bar; sometimes I just listened. Somebody’s dumbass fiancé, somebody’s theory
about what was wrong with Joe Piscopo—really, any subject would do. I was
no more than a couple of hundred yards from Yale, but when I sat at the bar of
the Anchor I could leave school at the office.
Every bar is different, but they're
all the same. They’re like schools, libraries, or gyms in that each individual
location, whatever its distinctions, is also a branch office of a
world-spanning parent company: The One Big School, The Library of Mankind, The
Universal Gym, The One True Bar. The mechanics of being a regular are pretty
much the same in every bar. You create an identity for yourself with what you
drink and how much, how you handle your booze and your money, when you come
around, who you know, how you speak and what you talk about, how friendly or
standoffish or irksome you are, what you wear, whether and what brand you
smoke, and so on. You can’t become somebody you’re entirely not, nor is escape
exactly the point, but as a regular you can be a variation on the theme of who
you are at home or at work.
Sarah Stolfa, a first-year MFA student
in photography at the School of Art, tended bar for nine years at McGlinchey's,
a saloon in Center City Philadelphia that has a horseshoe bar, a certain dingy
baronial quality, and a motley clientele. She had moved to Philadelphia because
she played farfisa organ in a rock band, The Delta 72, that relocated there
from Washington, D.C. After she left the band, which later ran aground on the
usual shoals (ego, heroin), Stolfa got serious about photography while taking
undergraduate courses at the Art Institute of Philadelphia and then Drexel
University. While working at McGlinchey’s she shot the series of portraits that
became “The Regulars,” which has won awards, had solo and group gallery shows
in Philadelphia and New York, and appeared in the pages of the New York
Times Magazine and
the New Yorker.
Shot on film from head-on with a
bounce flash in the bar’s crepuscular light, inkjet-printed large (about two
feet on a side), each picture is simply titled with the subject’s first and
last names. The uniformity of the series creates opportunities for individual
distinction; all of the regulars have the same basic set of equipment to work
with, but they do different things with it. Most look frankly, if guardedly, at
the camera, but some look away. Some hold their drink, some don’t. The bottle
of lager, pint of dark beer, or glass of wine stands proudly for its own
portrait, a significant supporting character. The drink and other iconic props—a
purse, a bag of chips, a book, money fanned or stacked on the bar, cigarettes and
ashtray, a pair of gloves, a raised hood—seem as important as Saint
Catherine’s wheel and sword, or the skull that Saint Jerome contemplates, in
Renaissance painting.
But the props are not allegorical,
nor are they imbued with the subject’s essence. Rather, they’re the building
blocks of a public persona that incompletely overlies and expresses the private
personhood behind it. There is a thin line in most of the pictures between the
public face and the private,” Stolfa says. These unforced, unposed shots of the
regulars' public poses, alive with the tension between naturalism and
artificiality, show you both the act and the actor, but they don’t rip away the
veil. Instead, they accord due respect to both, and to the play between them.
Her subjects may go to bars to gain
a sense of commonality with strangers,” says Stolfa, but even amongst so many
people, they can still be alone. There is a certain amount of social desire and
wanting, but people can be very guarded at the same time. It’s an interesting
conflict within an individual, to appear engaged and open but alone at the same
time.”
Seen from within the U of the bar,
each customer sits alone on its outer rim, but they also form a community—together
in their separateness, like a string of small farms along a remote two-lane
highway. The dignity of each sitter is accentuated by the company of the
others. I don’t feel that I know them, but I feel that the bartender’s camera
eye knows who they are to each other, and to her. I don’t know what Moira McFadden
is saying, open-mouthed, cross-armed, head cocked in an attitude of what might
be aggression or defensiveness, her blond hair streaked pink at the ends, but I’m
pretty sure that John Barbetta, watchful and self-contained and perhaps equally
vain about his own opinions, has heard it before.
There’s resonant, lonely distance in
these portraits, and mystery, but none of the anonymous noir romance of, say,
Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. Instead, Stolfa’s camera finds a rough and ready
courtliness in her subjects that’s of a piece with the setting. Her address to
them is intimate but restrained. She says she was moved by the formal
qualities in the way that the people hold themselves or present themselves to
the camera,” but also by the timeless and even regal colors and tones of bars.
The dark browns, blacks, reds, and maple colors pull the portraits out of the
mundane. The colors create a formality to the sitter and relate the work back
to painting, along with the size of the prints.”
I’m not the only commentator to note
the resemblance of the series to portraits by seventeenth-century Dutch
painters like Rembrandt, Hals, and de Keyser—rich but not overripe,
realistic but not entirely natural. Like those Dutch portraits, Stolfa’s make
the leap to a more general insight into human affairs, but they also create an
affecting record of a specific place and time. I am fond of Pennsylvania,
having lived near Philadelphia for three years after I moved away from New
Haven, but it took me by surprise when the green bottles of Yuengling parked in
front of several of Stolfa’s sitters caused my heart to turn over in my chest.
I was seized by a sudden thirst for the acrid, hangover-inducing Pennsy brew,
and by an acute sense-memory of the College Hill Tavern in Easton, Pennsylvania—its
smoke-cured paneling, its variable closing time, the glare of daylight in the
window at one end of the gloomy tunnel of a room, the sanctuary it offered to a
novice feeling his way into his calling. Had I sat for one of Stolfa's
portraits there, along the bar, you would see a Yuengling and a water and
change on the bar; a college-affiliated non-local marked as such by his
spectacles, lack of bodily heft or facial hair, and plain leather jacket that
no hunter would ever wear in the woods; a guy who had just turned 30 and hadn’t
yet figured out how to play the character he was becoming: professor, husband,
father.
I waver when I consider which of the
men in Stolfa’s portraits might be the exemplary male figure, the prom king, of
“The Regulars.” Maybe it’s Arpson Bravos, whose up-and-away searching look,
pencil mustache, long-fingered hand gesturing ambiguously at newspaper and bag
of chips, and glass of port manage to convey both gentle decency and a measure
of self-regard. Maybe it’s Robert Fleeger, stonily foursquare in his tie and
V-neck sweater and dark jacket, cigarette held to one side, the other hand
around his glass of dark beer, a shot glass in the foreground. He seems at
first to stare directly at you with a lawyerly blend of candor and reserve—This
is who I am, and you can take it or leave it—but the more you look at him the more he seems
to be not quite meeting your gaze, at bay in his solitude: This is who I
prefer to be … okay?
I have no doubt about who the prom
queen is. Joanna O'Boyle drops her chin and closes her eyes to the camera,
cigarette partway to her lips, beer half empty. Shadows pool under her
cheekbones, setting off the paleness of the high forehead, the supple hands
with their chipped dark nail polish, the scalp showing white like bone in the
part that meanders through her red hair. A greater stillness lurks under all
the implied action of drinking, smoking, effacing herself, and projecting her
persona. I can’t decide whether the stillness is part of her private self or her
public performance, or both at once, a Garbo turn. She can’t face the camera,
but commands it; can’t carry off her act, yet delivers a bravura performance.
Her mask is a refusal to wear one.
Sarah Stolfa has been traveling
regularly this year from Yale to New York to teach classes as artist in
residence at the Whitney Museum. On one trip to Manhattan, while walking to the
Museum of Modern Art, she heard a voice call out, Can I have a Yuengling
Lager?” It was a regular from McGlinchey's, driving by in a truck. No matter
where photography might take her, she says, I’ll always be known as that surly
bartender from McGlinchey's.” She has been taking pictures of landscapes and
non-saloon interiors this year, stretching herself to try new things in
graduate school, but she has also been shooting in New Haven’s drinking
establishments.
The art of portraiture, at least as
she practices it, is all about the thin line between public and private that
she first began to explore with a camera at McGlinchey's. She’s not done taking
pictures in bars because she’s not done taking pictures of people.
You Can Quote Them
Murphy’s Law”—If anything
can go wrong, it will”—is the emblematic proverb of the modern age,
explaining with one simple principle the doings of human beings, inanimate
objects, and the largest social and natural forces. The standard account of its
origin is in a 1978 issue of Desert Wings, the newspaper of Edwards Air Force Base in
California:
Murphy’s Law … was born here—in
1949 at North Base. It was named after Capt. Edward A. Murphy, an engineer
working on [a project] to see how much sudden deceleration a person can stand
in a crash. One day, after finding that a transducer was wired wrong, he cursed
the technician responsible and said, If there is any way to do it wrong, he’ll
find it.” The contractor’s project manager [George E. Nichols] kept a list of laws"
and added this one, which he called Murphy’s Law. … Shortly afterwards, the
Air Force doctor (Dr. John Paul Stapp) … gave a press conference. He said
that their good safety record on the project was due to a firm belief in Murphy's
Law and in the necessity to try and circumvent it. Aerospace manufacturers
picked it up and used it widely in their ads during the next few months, and
soon it was being quoted in many news and magazine articles.
This account is accepted by most
authorities. I believe, however, that it does not hold up under the historical
microscope.
The key fact is that the most
diligent research finds no documentation for the Nichols-Stapp-Murphy incident
until 1976. Neither the Los Angeles Times (Edwards is 100 miles from LA) nor any other online
source has anything on the anecdote or press conference. Edwards historian
Raymond L. Puffer tells me he can find no documentation. The etymologist Barry
Popik read through all available 1950s issues of the base’s Desert Wings and No-Name News, as well as Aviation Week, American Aviation, U.S. Air Services, and works about Stapp. He found
nothing.
The most significant negative evidence
is in the 1955 book Men, Rockets and Space Rats, by Lloyd Mallan. Mallan talked
extensively with Stapp and other aerospace figures for the book, a precursor to
Tom Wolfe’s test-pilot epic, The Right Stuff. An entire chapter is devoted to
Stapp’s heroic exploits at Edwards in pursuit of safety improvements. But
although it mentions Colonel Stapp’s favorite takeoff on sober scientific laws—Murphy's
Law, Stapp calls it— ‘Everything that can possibly go wrong will go wrong’” (the sole recorded
pre-1976 link between the law and Edwards), it has no yarn about Nichols,
Stapp, and Murphy where we would expect it.
In 2003 I interviewed George Nichols
by telephone. Nichols, in his early 80s, was extremely sharp and his memories
seemed clear, and he stuck consistently to the standard account. But he could
offer no documentation to corroborate his memories.
The closest I can come to a
refutation is an epigraph from a 1952 book about undergraduate mountain
climbers, The Ascent of Yerupaja, by John Sack: Anything that can possibly go wrong, does.—Ancient
mountaineering adage.” This early documentation casts a long shadow. It’s
unlikely this phrase would have spread in under three years from an Air Force
base to collegiate mountaineers, with its age and origins utterly
misremembered.
Where, then, might the law have come
from? A number of early thinkers had partially glimpsed its cosmic truth, from
George Colman in 1763 (Accidents will happen”) to George Orwell in 1941, on
the British government (If there is a wrong thing to do, it will be done,
infallibly. One has come to believe in that as if it were a law of nature”).
But the strongest evidence I have
found is several 1950s and '60s references in the New York Times to Murphy’s Law” as an old
theatrical maxim. And recently, Bill Mullins, an Army engineer and amateur
philologist and magician, searched an electronic archive of conjuring journals
and found this:
It is an established fact that in
nine cases out of ten whatever can go wrong in a magical performance will do
so.
Adam Hull Shirk, The
Sphinx, Sept. 1928
My conclusion from the 1950s
citations in show business, mountaineering, science, aviation, and business is
that the Murphy tale is either an after-the-fact embellishment or, even if it
actually happened, simply the transfer of an old proverb to a new setting: the
men of the right stuff” paying homage to the eternal gods of wrongness and
frustration.
Summer Reading
The Spy
Wore Silk
Andrea
Pickens (aka Andrea Darif '73, '74MFA)
Warner
Forever, $6.99
Reviewed by
Janice P. Nimura '93
A curl of heat tingles through your
limbs as you confront the spinning rack of steamy paperbacks … yet
something holds you back.
Is it worth the ridicule of your
literary friends?
Well, in this case you can tell them
the author is a Yalie. Ripped bodices abound in this spirited Regency romance,
all belonging to the lovely and dangerous Siena, star pupil at Mrs. Merlin's
Academy for Select Young Ladies. A Hogwarts for hellions, the academy teaches
swordplay and martial arts, along with more seductive skills, then deploys its
gorgeous graduates undercover(s) in the service of the British Crown. As the
book opens, a classified dispatch has gone missing, and the suspects have been
narrowed to the aristocratic members of the Gilded Page Club. Siena has a
fortnight to strip the mask from the traitor, but will the enigmatic Earl of
Kirtland strip her first? It ain’t literature, but there are snatches of Blake
and Donne between sex scenes. If you loved Charlie’s Angels, try Merlin’s Maidens—Pickens
plans a trilogy.
In Secret
Service
Mitch Silver
'68
Touchstone/Simon
& Schuster, $25
Reviewed by
Bruce Fellman
It is a fact that Ian Fleming worked
in the British intelligence service before he created James Bond. It could also
be true that in that job, he learned many unsavory things about the royal
family. Silver’s taut thriller takes it quite a few steps further. It seems
Fleming penned a manuscript in which he dishes some really devastating dirt on
Edward VIII and the woman for whom he would abdicate the throne—everything
from Edward’s Nazi ties to Wallis Simpson’s sexual peculiarities. Years later,
the account, Provenance, turns up in an Irish safe-deposit box willed to Amy Greenberg, a
literature professor at Yale. As soon as Amy flies to Dublin to claim it,
people start dying. Gruesomely.
In one Bond-esque scene, a shadowy
Englishman pursuing the young academic receives a call—which will terminate
in exactly 45 seconds,” of course—authorizing the agent to do whatever
is required to retrieve the material,” with the emphasis on whatever. A stiletto in the NYC Yale Club. A
harrowing chase from Grand Central to New Haven on a Metro-North train and in a
cab. A gun battle in the Sterling stacks and across Cross Campus. … Publish
or perish takes on a whole new meaning.
The
Silent Assassin
Lori Andrews
'75, '78JD
St. Martin's
Minotaur, $23.95
Reviewed by
Cathy Shufro
Geneticist Alexandra Blake would
really rather be in her lab developing lifesaving vaccines, but the imperious
director of the Air Forces Institute of Pathology keeps diverting her. First,
Alex is called on to identify a corpse found in a dumpster, then she’s asked to
help trace trophy skulls smuggled home from the Vietnam War. If Alex plays her
forensic deck right, a dignified return of the skulls to relatives would
lubricate an oil deal with Vietnam. The story grows complex when she finds a
note in one skull that points to a massacre in the past and links Alex with a
charming (and dangerous?) Vietnam veteran who served with her late father.
At times Alex seems to be the
formulaic blond heroine with good genes—er, jeans, nicely taut over her lean athletic
curves.” But skeletons in the closet, political skullduggery, small doses of
science, and the occasional Yale reference keep the pages turning in this
second novel in the Dr. Alexandra Blake series.
Under the
Rose
Diana
Peterfreund '01
Delta, $10
Reviewed by
Natalie Danford '88
Cross Dink Stover with Nancy Drew
with Bridget Jones and you get Amy Haskel, the sarcastic senior at
transparently disguised Eli University” who briskly narrates this winning
mystery. When Haskel gains entry to the elite secret society Rose & Grave,
she finds that its stodgy alumni are still cold as a crypt on the subject of
women being admitted. Then erudite and threatening anonymous e-mails begin to
fly around the society-only server, and naturally, Haskel investigates.
The mystery is twisty, but the real
fun lies in Haskel’s tossed-off asides about Yale, oops, Eli traditions—from shopping
period (during which undergrads weren’t hunting for good bargains, but rather,
for gut classes”) to the annual Halloween concert, when students wear costumes
aimed at inducing everyone around you to marvel at your brilliance and beg you
to tell them what the hell you’re dressed as.”
Death by
Chick Lit
Lynn Harris '90
Berkeley,
$14
Reviewed by
Carol Weston '78
It irks Lola Somerville that books
by women are labeled chick lit whereas books by guys are lit. But it really rankles her that all
her Brooklyn neighbors seem to have agents, book deals, or bestsellers. When a
serial killer starts offing It Girl authors, Lola decides to crack the case and
write a blockbuster. Will she be victim or hero, and will her loved ones hang
in there during her reckless quest for glory?
Death by Chick Lit is a funny whodunit, ideal for
beach, hammock, or plane. Even the throwaway lines are LOL. At a baby shower,
Lola muses, Babies are the new husbands.” And her Manhattan friends rarely
come to visit her in the section of Brooklyn called North Wayside and known as NoWay.”
Best of all are the made-up titles
of the books in this book-world send-up: a friend of Lola’s reads A
Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius: The Original Unedited Manuscript, and an Ann Coulter-ish commentatress"
writes Shut Up, Liberals: For Chrissake, Shut Up and La La La Not Listening. Lynn Harris is a former stand-up
comic with heart, brains, and a wicked sense of humor.
More Books by Yale Authors
Dohra Ahmad 1993, Editor
Rotten English
W. W. Norton, $15.95
Daniel Brook 2000
The Trap: Selling Out to Stay Afloat in a Winner-Take-All
America
Times Books/Henry Holt, $23
Stephen L. Carter 1979JD, William Nelson Cromwell Professor
of Law
New England White: A Novel
Alfred A. Knopf, $26.95
Nayan Chanda, Director of Publications, Yale Center for the
Study of Globalization; Editor, YaleGlobal Online
Bound Together: How Traders, Preachers, Adventurers, and
Warriors Shaped Globalization
Yale University Press, $27.50
David L. Clough 2000PhD and Brian Stiltner 1990MAR, 1997PhD
Faith and Force: A Christian Debate about War
Georgetown University Press, $26.95
Jeannine Marie DeLombard 1991MA
Slavery on Trial: Law, Abolitionism, and Print Culture
University of North Carolina Press, $65
Eric Jay Dolin 1988MEM
Leviathan: The History of Whaling in America
W. W. Norton, $27.95
Charles Finch 2003
A Beautiful Blue Death: A Mystery
St. Martin’s Minotaur, $24.95
Stephen William Foster 1983MSN
Cosmopolitan Desire: Transcultural Dialogues and
Antiterrorism in Morocco
Altamira Press/Rowman and Littlefield, $75
Wayne Franklin
James Fenimore Cooper [Yale College, 1803-05]: The Early
Years
Yale University Press, $40
Roy Freed 1937, 1940LLB, and Anne Freed
Fulbrighters in Retirement: Networking With Bulgarians Keeps
Us Engaged
Xlibris, $19.54
Thomas R. Frosch 1968PhD
Shelley and the Romantic Imagination: A Psychological Study
University of Delaware Press, $65
Jennifer Galvin 2000MPH
We, Sea: Photographs and Words from the Children of South
Eleuthera
reelblue/Fastback Creative Books, $45
John C. Gordon, Pinchot Professor of Forestry and
Environmental Studies Emeritus
Planning Research: A Concise Guide for the Environmental and
Natural Resource Sciences
Yale University Press, $15
Leor Halevi 1995MA
Muhammad’s Grave: Death Rites and the Making of Islamic
Society
Columbia University Press, $35
David D. Hall 1964PhD and Hugh Amory, Editors
A History of the Book in America, Volume 1: The Colonial
Book in the Atlantic World
University of North Carolina Press, $34.95
Forrest Hamer 1978
Rift: Poems
Four Way Books, $14.95
Richard W. Hayes 1986MArch
The Yale Building Project: The First 40 Years
Yale University Press, $45
Jeff Hobbs 2002
The Tourists: A Novel
Simon and Schuster, $24
Terry Hokenson 1973MDiv
The Winter Road: A Novel
Front Street/Boyds Mills Press, $16.95
Paul Kane 1973, 1990PhD
Work Life
Turtle Point Press, $16.95
Jill Kargman 1995
Momzillas
Broadway Books, $22.95
Kenneth Paul Kramer 1967STM
Redeeming Time: T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets
Cowley/Rowen and Littlefield, $19.95
Lawrence Kramer 1972PhD, Daniel Goldmark, and Richard
Leppert, Editors
Beyond the Soundtrack: Representing Music in Cinema
University of California Press, $24.95
Min Jin Lee 1990
Free Food for Millionaires: A Novel
Warner Books, $24.99
Robert E. Litan 1977JD, 1987PhD; Carl J. Schramm; and
William J. Baumol
Good Capitalism, Bad Capitalism, and the Economics of Growth
and Prosperity
Yale University Press, $30
Paul W. MacAvoy 1960PhD, Williams Brothers Professor
Emeritus of Management Studies
The Unsustainable Costs of Partial Deregulation
Yale University Press, $55
James Nelson 1943
Killing Dave Henderson, Etc.
RDR Books, $17.95
Howard T. Odum 1951PhD
Environment, Power, and Society for the Twenty-First
Century: The Hierarchy of Energy
Columbia University Press, $74.50
Peter Van Osdol 1953
Nightsongs from Paradise: A Novel
Trafford Publishing, $16.75
Tom C. Owens 1999PhD, Editor
Selected Correspondence of Charles Ives
University of California Press, $45
Todd Papageorge, Walker Evans Professor of Photography
Passing through Eden: Photographs of Central Park
Steidl, $60
Chandra Prasad 1997
On Borrowed Wings: A Novel
Atria Books/Simon and Schuster, $23
Arthur Rosenfeld 1979
The Cutting Season: A Novel
YMAA Publication Center, $21.95
Lawrence D. Schimel 1993
Fairy Tales for Writers
A Midsummer Night’s Press, $6.50
Bridget Stutchbury 1990PhD
Silence of the Songbirds
Walker and Company, $24.95
Jeremi Suri 2001PhD
Henry Kissinger and the American Century
Belknap/Harvard University Press, $27.95
Elizabeth Wein 1986
The Lion Hunter: The Mark of Solomon, Book 1
Viking, $16.99
Amy Werbel 1996PhD
Thomas Eakins: Art, Medicine, and Sexuality in Nineteenth-Century
Philadelphia
Yale University Press, $55
Yale Daily News Staff, Compilers and Editors
The Insider’s Guide to the Colleges, 2008: 34th Edition
St. Martin’s Press, $19.99
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