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As live-in tutor to a headstrong teen, Shay Walker has her hands full-and the girl's absentee father doesn't help matters, either. All Shay wants is to let loose and indulge in a birthday fling with the hottest stranger who's ever caught her eye. But her one-night stand turns out to be Jace Jennings, her student's long-distance dad, and now he's taking up residence at his lakeside estate and in Shay's most secret fantasies. Jace isn't exactly a family man, but he's determined to do his best by his daughter-and the first step is forgetting how hot he is for her teacher. But close proximity and their heated connection keeps Shay at the forefront of his mind-even though it's obvious that she holds her heart in check. So does Jace-until they both realize that losing control just might mean finding forever.

• Published on: 2015-09-29
• Formats: Audiobook, CD, Unabridged
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 5.30" h x 1.10" w x 6.40" l,
• Running time: 8 Hours
• Binding: Audio CD

Review
"An adorable five-year-old and a smart teenager-in-progress steal the show in this delightful tale that is both sizzling and heartwarming." ---Library Journal

About the Author
Christie Ridgway is the award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of more than forty-five contemporary romance novels. A six-time RITA finalist, she writes sexy, emotional reads starring determined heroines and the men who can't help but love them. Christie lives in Southern California. Visit her at christieridgway.com.

C. S. E. Cooney launched her voice-acting career narrating short fiction for Podcastle, the world's first audio fantasy magazine. She is a performance poet, singer-songwriter, and fantasy author whose collection Bone Swans has garnered starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Locus Magazine.

Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Shay Walker watched the twentysomething man slap a cardboard coaster on the polished wooden surface in front of her. His long sun-streaked hair hung about his shoulders in the careless style of a guy who snow-boarded on the nearby peaks in winter and kayaked on the deep lakes in summer. "What can I get you?" he asked.

"A change in the calendar?" she murmured, looping the strap of her purse over the convenient hook on the underside of the bar. The small leather bag brushed her knees, bared by the new summer dress she wore. Though the late May evenings might still be cool in the Southern California mountains, Shay had opted for the filmy floral garment anyway. It was sleeveless, and the hemline was asymmetrical, nearly mini in the front and then flowing to midcalf in the back. It also revealed a minor amount of cleavage, which even in its relative modesty seemed to be captivating the bartender.

"Um, what?" he asked, his gaze slowly lifting from her chest to her face. "I don't think I know that drink."

"I was kidding," she said. "How about a martini? Vodka. Straight up." Though chardonnay was more often her order, tonight she needed a stronger beverage.

Birthdays didn't bring out the best in her.

In no time, the boarder-slash-bartender slid the requested drink onto the coaster then watched as she picked it up and sipped. Tiny slivers of ice melted on her tongue and the alcohol pleasantly heated the back of her throat. Okay, she thought, as she took another swallow. Maybe this celebration wouldn't turn out so bad, after all.

"You here alone?" the guy on the other side of the bar asked.

"For the moment. I'm meeting a friend." She glanced at the TV mounted above the glass shelves of liquor bottles, pretending a fascination with the news program playing.

Whether Boarder Dude would have taken the hint or not, she didn't know. A waitress approached and fired off a long order that claimed his attention, allowing Shay to give up her pseudofascination with the consumer reporter's fight to get a pothole filled in a city thousands of feet below the mountains.

She glanced around, taking in the adjacent restaurant. Exposed wood, an enormous chandelier made of antlers, warm lighting. People were dressed in peaks-and-pines chic, meaning they wore everything from denim to silk. A meal at the Deerpoint Inn's grill had been her old friend Melinda's idea. She'd recently moved to a tiny cabin a couple of miles from it and said she'd heard good things about the food.

Since the place was fifteen miles of winding mountain road from where Shay was currently living, in Blue Arrow Lake, she'd decided to book one of the inn's six rooms in case the birthday blues triggered some over-imbibing. Thinking of the key already tucked away in her purse, she took a hefty swallow of her drink. No reason not to get all warm and fuzzy as soon as possible.

It beat the heck out of what she could have been doing tonight—sitting alone in a massive lakefront mansion. And didn't that just sound whiny and pitiful? But it wasn't her massive lakefront mansion—she'd always lived in much humbler abodes—and the house would seem much too empty without the presence of the teenager Shay was charged with looking after until the end of summer. For the previous three months, she'd been a governess of sorts for a girl who colored her hair inky black, who exclusively draped herself in dark shapeless garments and who walked around with the jaded air of a thousand-year-old vampire. It made for interesting times.

But the teen was otherwise occupied for the night. In a show of rare enthusiasm, she'd opted to attend the Hollywood premiere of a much-anticipated animated movie with Shay's sister, her sister's young son and her sister's fianc�. They would spend the night down the mountain, too.

So when Melinda called, suggesting a get-together, Shay had agreed.

The bartender strolled by and glanced at her glass, and she gave him the nod. Yes, sir, I'll have another. She wanted more warm and fuzzy.

Birthdays were her bane not because her age upped a digit, but because the occasion reminded her of the circumstances of her conception. She wasn't a Walker, really—not by blood. When strained finances had put a rift in Dell and Lorna Walker's marriage, Dell had headed for a mining job in South America. Lorna's subsequent affair with a wealthy visitor to the mountain resort area had ended when she found herself pregnant. But not long after Shay was born, Lorna's husband returned to the States, reconciled with his wife and accepted another daughter into the family as if Shay were his own. There were adoption papers somewhere to prove it.

Still, she'd always felt a step or two outside the family circle, even though her older brother, Brett, and her big sisters, Mackenzie and Poppy, had never once made her feel like only half their sibling.

She lifted the fresh martini and took a swallow. Maybe her throat was numb now, because the burn there was gone. Instead, the drink sparked a bright idea in her brain. She should locate those adoption papers! Frame and display them as a daily reminder that she was actually one of the Walkers. Legally anyway.

With her parents deceased, however, she didn't know how to find the documents. Maybe Brett would have a clue where to look, she thought, digging her phone from her purse. When he didn't answer, she sent him a text, realizing her fingers were a little clumsy on the tiny keyboard.

Another swallow of mostly vodka eliminated her concern over it.

She'd nearly drained the second martini when the phone buzzed in her hand. The display read Mel.

"Where are you?" Shay demanded through the device. "It's my birthday and I'm all alone."

"Your birthday's tomorrow," Melinda pointed out.

"Oh, yeah." Shay had been going glum a whole day early. But that was okay, she decided, tilting back her head to shake the last drops of her drink into her mouth, because there was enough glum to spread across the calendar. Not all of her sibs could do cake and ice cream—their usual tradition—tomorrow so that was being postponed to yet another time.

Poor Shay. Poor Shay, who was not really a Walker.

"Uh-oh," she said to Melinda, signaling the boarding bartender that she needed a refill. "You better speed over here, stat. I'm drinking martinis and getting morose."

"About that…"

"Noooo." Shay began to shake her head, then quit, because the movement made her dizzy. When had she eaten last?

"I'm sorry, but—"

"This was your idea, Mel. I need an un-no, a mun-mo. An un-moroser!" She finally spit out the made-up word with a note of triumph.

The bartender replaced her glass with a fresh one. She pointed at him with her free hand. "I bet you really tear it up when you're shreddin' the gnar," she said to express her appreciation of how he'd anticipated her need. "And you never biff, do you?"

"Are you talking to me?" Mel said in her ear.

"Nope." Probably her friend didn't understand snowboard lingo any better than Shay, but that didn't stop her tonight. "That was to BB—Boarder Bartender."

"Oh, dear." Mel sighed. "You are drunk. And alone in a bar, where I can't get to you."

"Which I'm still waiting to hear what for." Shay frowned. "How. I mean, why."

"A wildfire has caused local road closures," her friend said. "They're diverting cars from the highway, too."

Shay blinked, somewhat sobered by the news. Fire was a constant danger in their mountains. "Structures threatened?"

"Not so far. But the closed roads mean I can't reach the inn…and you can't get home, either."

"I booked a room here." She drew the martini closer, and, thinking of fire, took it up for a hefty swallow.

"So's all's good."

"You're slurring," Melinda said.

"I'll order food. What goes with martinis?"

"Olives?" Mel suggested.

"Oh." Shay inspected her glass. "Mine came with those twisty lemon peels."

"I was kidding," the other woman said. "Get something with protein. And order bread. That's good to absorb the alcohol."

"But I'm enjoying the alcohol," Shay protested. Her gaze shifted to the TV screen as the bartender upped the volume. The picture was from a helicopter and showed the dark mountains and a glowing orange snake of flames. A shiver rolled down her back. Fire had taken a lot from the Walkers and she didn't appreciate the reminder of it.

Again, she brought her glass to her lips, hoping to drown her discomfort.

"Shay?" her friend called.

"Oh." She'd forgotten about Mel. "I wish you were here."

"Me, too." The other woman's voice went stern. "Now promise me no more martinis."

"Um…" Shay closed one eye to better inspect the clear liquid left in her glass. The yellow curl of peel was so delicate and pretty. Who needed olives? "No more martinis." Maybe.

"And try to have some fun tonight," her friend said. "That's an order."

Fun? All alone and with no more martinis? That wasn't the way to make Melinda's command come true.

The volume of noise from the patrons of the Deerpoint Inn amplified as more of them became aware of the fire and tuned into the coverage on the TV over the bar. The manager struck a glass with a fork and when the voices around him died down, he announced which roads were blocked. New people trickled in, having been rerouted from the now closed highway. The longhaired bartender got busy filling drink orders as many guests figured out they likely wouldn't be driving anywhere that night.

Trying to tamp down her nerves, Shay sipped at the last of the third martini, ordered a plate of chicken quesadilla appetizers, then threw caution to the wind and asked for another alcohol concoction.

Mel had told her to have fun, hadn't she? When the front door of the restaurant opened once again, bringing with it the disconcerting scent of smoke, Shay didn't hesitate to reach for her new glass.

She needed to block the fire from her mind.

A body slid onto the bar stool beside her. Shay looked over, the glance automatic, but her response was anything but.

As she took in the man on her right, it was as if a cold pail of water had been dumped on top of her head—an icy surprise. Following that, a rush of heat crept up from her toes all the way to the roots of her hair.

He was gorgeous.

And no boy, she thought, with a mental apology to BB, the boarder-bartender who had, after all, been so ably supplying her with vodka and a splash of vermouth. The newcomer was tall, his build rugged, with heavy shoulders and muscled arms, a broad chest, lean waist and strong thighs, all signaling a more than passing familiarity with manual labor. Linking his fingers on the bar, he ordered a beer, and Shay directed her gaze to his hands. They were big, too, and wide-palmed. She could see tiny white scars scattered on the tan skin.

Then, under the cover of her lashes, she took a second look at his face. At the same time, she tilted her head, just a little, as if trying to get a better view of the television and not his fine, fine features.

Wow.

His hair was mink-brown, thick and straight. It was shorn fairly tight, revealing a broad forehead. His cheekbones were high, he had a straight blade of a masculine nose and his lips were full. His strong jaw was edged with just a hint of dark stubble.

She stifled the urge to fan herself, afraid to draw his attention. What would she say to someone like him?

And then, before she could redirect her eyes, his head turned. His gaze cut straight to her face.

Like a lion's, his irises were golden. Also like a lion's, they seemed preternaturally aware of the weaker creature—Shay—in the vicinity. The tiny hairs on her body lifted, her senses warning he was supremely aware of her tripping heartbeat and all the delicious warm blood rushing below her skin.

Though her belly fluttered, she remained as she was—frozen, and feeling like an impala just now singled out by the biggest predator on the savannah. One of his dark eyebrows winged up.

And Shay blurted out the first thing that came into her head. "I'm supposed to be celebrating my birthday tonight but my friend couldn't get here."

The corner of his mouth twitched as the second eyebrow joined the first. "Okay."

"This is my third martini." She gestured toward her current glass, then frowned. "Or my fourth."

"All right."

"I've had nothing to eat yet." At that, she ran out of things to say. None of what she'd already shared, she realized, gave any rational explanation for why she'd been staring at him. Damn.

"Is it a four-martini birthday, then?" he inquired conversationally. He murmured thanks as his beer was placed before him. His gaze turned assessing. "I can't imagine it's one of the more painful ones."

"Oh, um, well." She shifted her attention to her drink and drew it closer. "Maybe it's the fire."

"Aren't we safe?" He sipped from his beer. "The highway patrol seemed to know what they were doing when they shuttled me in this direction. They said I might be stuck here for as little as a few hours, though possibly longer."

"We'll be fine." There was no need to pass along her skittishness. "The fire protection people and the other authorities have a lot of experience."

Her quesadillas arrived and the smell of them tickled her taste buds. She could feel the man at her side eyeing them with interest. Enough interest that she felt compelled to offer, "Help yourself. There's too much for me to eat all by myself."

"Oh, I—"

"Go on," she said. "We're fellow refugees of a sort, after all."

There was another moment's hesitation, then she saw his hand reach toward the platter. She pushed half the tall stack of paper napkins that had been delivered with the food toward him.

What she didn't do was look at him again.

Never before had she found a man so attractive, Shay decided. She wasn't a nun; she'd dated and had been in a couple of longish relationships. But one-night stands were on her Not Ever list.

Living in a small tight-knit community meant that everyone knew everyone's else's business. Since Shay was the product of an extramarital affair and the father of her sister Poppy's son had hightailed it at the words positive pregnancy test, there was more than enough Walker tattle for people to tittle over. Shay had never been tempted to add to it with a casual hookup.

Not that the man on the next stool was in the market for a hookup with her. He could have anyone. Though he didn't wear a ring, for all she knew he was married to the most beautiful woman on the planet.

"Hey, birthday girl," the man at her side said. "You really are down in the dumps, aren't you?"

She risked a look at him. Whoa. Still unbelievably handsome. His golden gaze swept her face, dropped just briefly, then came back up to meet her eyes.

That was good, because her nipples were tingling as they tightened into hard buds just from that quick glance. With masterful effort, she resisted squirming on her seat.

Most helpful customer reviews

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
Enjoyed it though I couldn't understand the heroine's issues
By Book and Dog Lover
Shay Walker is the summer tutor for 15-year-old London Jennings. London's parents divorced when she was young and she spent her time with her mother in England. Now that her mother has died, she's staying in Blue Arrow Lake being tutored by Shay Walker. Her father, Jace Jennings, hasn't been in her life since her parents divorced when she was 5 years old.

Jace Jennings doesn't know a thing about being a father. His own father was a cold man and Jace knows nothing about being a part of a family. He's moved his daughter to Blue Arrow Lake to figure out what to do - he knows construction, but doesn't know a thing about raising a daughter.

Shay has her own issues: She's the bastard daughter - her mother had an affair while she and her husband were separated. And although her entire family always included her as part of the family, she felt different and not a "Walker" like her siblings.

Shay and Jace meet and have a one-night stand (though it's a bit more than that, so they did get to know each other more than your typical one-night stand). Now that they're sharing a house, can they keep their feelings under control?

I really liked this romance. The characters were likable and Jace's issues with his romance with Shay and raising his daughter seemed believable. Less believable to me was Shay's issues: her entire family loves her and includes her and yet she feels separate. It just didn't work for me.

I've read many Christie Ridgway contemporary romances and have enjoyed most if not all of them. Like her other books, you have likable characters with quite a bit of steam in the romance (though not so much that it overtakes the book).

This is the second book in the Cabin Fever series. I haven't read the first book and I didn't feel confused starting with this second book. In fact, I liked this book enough so that I'm going back to read the first book.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Move over Jane Eyre
By a
I have read a couple Christie Ridgway novels before "Make Me Lose Control," so I suppose it would consider myself a moderate fan of the author. Her introduction here had me wondering if I'd be reading a twist to the Bronte classic "Jane Eyre," and sure enough, even the tutor/live-in babysitter hoped to meet the father of her charge ala "Eyre."

This was the second book in a series, though completely enjoyable without having read the first. "Make Me Lose Control" is about Shay Walker, her employer Jace Jen, and his teenage daughter, London. Shay has family ties to the picturesque town of Blue Arrow Lake, but her life is another story. While she has three loving siblings, she feels as though she is an outsider to the family after an unexpected birthday surprise. While drowning in her sorrows, Shay meets "Jay," and while the sexual attraction may not be immediate, it is impossible to ignore.

London, meanwhile, is mourning the death of her mother, the heartbreak of an absentee father, and the loss of her home. She finds solace in a Blue Arrow native and a change of heart in many aspects of her life.

Jace Jennings spends most of his days in remote, unsafe areas outside the country wishing his life had been different, but not sure he can take the steps to change any of it. Thrown into fatherhood after a lousy childhood and a loner life, he's not sure he's the man for the job, but he doesn't know how to tell London she'll be starting boarding school so he can get back to work. His personal life gets even more complicated by his need to bed "Birthday Girl" every chance he gets (and yes, there are explicits details in the bedding).

Overall, I enjoyed this breezy romance as much as I enjoyed Christie Ridgway's other novels. (I have read two in her Beach House No. 9 series). I suppose without realizing it, she has become one of my go-to romance writers. And this one is well worth your time.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
A sweet read
By Deborah V
Shay Walker does many odd jobs to earn money including tutoring. Her current job is a live-in tutor to a 15 year old girl named London who hasn't seen her father for ten years. London's mother died and her dad is on his way back from Quatar to care for her. Shay, for her birthday, decides to go to town and meet a friend who can't make the meeting due to a fire that closes the road. She indulges in her first one-night stand with Jay an oh so handsome stranger also stranded by the fire. After she gets back to London who shows up as her charge's dad? Jace Jennings, Jay.

At first I was a little unsure whether or not I wanted to finish the book--after all how many times has this type of scenario been used in romance novels? But Ridgway developed Jace, Shay and London into real people with strengths, weaknesses and very human characteristics. We are able to enjoy the story from three points of view--that of Jace, the loner with a miserable childhood who feels he has destroyed his relationships as he has gone along. Shay with her own issues leftover from childhood that have made her feel less than worthy of her family. And my favorite character: London. A child of a selfish mom, a dad (Jace) who felt unworthy to be a parent and bowed out thinking it was for the best--London shines in the book as a 15 year old looking for herself during the angst of teen years.

The last few Christie Ridgway books were a disappointment to me, but this one makes sure I'll catch the next one!

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[W771.Ebook] PDF Download I Saw the Light: The Story of Hank Williams, by Colin Escott, George Merritt, William MacEwen

PDF Download I Saw the Light: The Story of Hank Williams, by Colin Escott, George Merritt, William MacEwen

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I Saw the Light: The Story of Hank Williams, by Colin Escott, George Merritt, William MacEwen

PDF Download I Saw the Light: The Story of Hank Williams, by Colin Escott, George Merritt, William MacEwen

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The book that inspired the major motion picture I Saw the Light. Originally published as Hank William: The Biography.

In his brief life, Hank Williams created one of the defining bodies of American music. Songs such as "Your Cheatin' Heart," "Hey, Good Lookin'," and "Jambalaya" sold millions of records and became the model for virtually all country music that followed. But by the time of his death at age twenty-nine, Williams had drunk and drugged and philandered his way through two messy marriages and out of his headline spot on the Grand Ole Opry. Even though he was country music's top seller, toward the end he was so famously unreliable that he was lucky to get a booking in a beer hall.
Colin Escott's enthralling, definitive biograph--now the basis of the major motion picture I Saw the Light--vividly details the singer's stunning rise and his spectacular decline, revealing much that was previously unknown or hidden about the life of this country music legend.

• Sales Rank: #166982 in Books
• Published on: 2015-11-10
• Released on: 2015-11-10
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.25" h x 1.00" w x 5.50" l, .0 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 400 pages

Review
"Fast and interesting reading. . . . An impressive book. . . . Probably the definitive word on Hank Williams's life."
―Boston Globe


"Our best look yet into Hank Williams's pained, piercing eyes. . . . Escott has peeled away the layers of legend."
―Philadelphia Inquirer


"Deftly written and researched. . . . Colin Escott is Hank Williams's latest and best biographer."
―Newsweek

About the Author
Colin Escott has conducted twenty years of research on Sun Records as a catalog and reissue specialist. Escott lives in Toronto.

Most helpful customer reviews

8 of 8 people found the following review helpful.
An excellent biography...
By Jill Meyer
I bought this book after seeing the movie, "I Saw the Light", with Tom Hiddleston as Hank Williams. (The movie has received mixed reviews, but I thought it was quite good.) Colin Escott's biography of Williams - formerly titled "Hank Williams: The Biography" - is one of the best biographies I've read. From the beginning of his life to the end, Hiram "Hank" Williams was a walking country-western song. Beset by alcoholic and pill addictions that may have stemmed from physical pains, Williams flashed onto the musical scene before his life ended in the back seat of a car, while being driven to a concert in Canton, Ohio, a mere 4 years after gaining prominence.

Country music historian Colin Escott seems to understand Hank Williams and his times and his songs and his influence on both those times and those songs. Born in 1923 in a southern Alabama town to a family that seemed to have the vicissitudes of life down pat. The father, Lon, was a drifter, and the mother, Lillie, saw musical promise in her young son. He grew up in small towns, eventually ending up in Montgomery, where he began working with other singers with a purpose of singing at the "Grand Ol' Opry". He wrote songs - never as successful for other singers as they were for himself - and began a rise through the Shreveport, LA radio barn shows. He married a firecracker - Audrey - who battled his mother for managing Hank's career and their marriage was combustible from the start. Depressing drinking and fighting and philandering on both sides of the marriage. Divorce...then musical fame, beginning in 1949. But the good times - and the bad marriage - didn't last through the haze of liquor and prescription pills. Another marriage followed and so did what seemed to be an untimely death...but probably wasn't. The man was just "wore out" in both body and spirit by his 29th year.

Escott's biography is a straight forward one. He's kind and sympathetic to his subject and understands America of the times (though he does refer to a politician as "standing" for office, rather than "running" for office.) and how country music was never as "pure" after Williams' death. Would Hank Williams be as much of a success today? Escott reminds the reader of how "packaged", "molded" and "handled" today's music makers are. Williams doesn't seem to have been the type that took to handling. He was his own man and his music proved his individuality.

7 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
Very Well Written, Incredibly Depressing
By Chrystine Collins-Blums
This is a difficult review to write. The book itself is well researched and well written. Hank is an incredible song writer and this biography chronicles his life very well. As someone who has been a long time fan, for at least 40 years, it was depressing. Of course I knew about his drinking, his domineering mother and volatile wife Audrey but I had idea just how deplorable some of his acts were. This family makes the Kardashian clan look like saints. Most of the main characters in his life seem sociopathic. I have of empathy for him, I know he was in a great deal of pain and some of his acts may have been due to the times in which he lived. I honestly think I would have preferred to be left in the dark about how he really lived.

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
It would be hard to imagine a better rendering of the life of arguably country music's most ...
By Matt R. Lohr
It would be hard to imagine a better rendering of the life of arguably country music's most influential artist than Colin Escott's exhaustive and beautifully written biography of Hank Williams. This book is brilliantly well-researched, moves like a house afire, and gives the reader a compelling perspective on the life, times, and demons of a man who, in the space of only six years, compiled one of the most essential discographies in all of American song. Escott wisely never attempts to definitively pinpoint a cause for Williams' demons; by anatomizing them in detail, the book does enough to illustrate how the artist was ruled and ultimately destroyed by compulsions and sadnesses beyond his control. The book is also a clear-eyed yet never overly nasty depiction of the battles that have been waged in the aftermath of Williams' death over the rights to his catalog and legacy; it's heartbreaking to see how people who were never there enough for Hank when he was alive have become literally invested in his earnings after his death. Nobody comes off as an angel here, and some people are downright hateful in their willingness to turn every last earthly scrap of Hank's life into gold. (Hank Williams Jr. arguably comes off better than anyone else, though it's odd that the book never even mentions Hank 3, who has carved his own unique outlaw-country niche, one that I honestly think Hank himself would approve of.)

This book was the basis for the new biopic starring Tom Hiddleston as Hank. The film smoothly condenses the narrative presented here, even as it somewhat dilutes the raw, often tragic events depicted here. The film is recommended. The book is damn near essential.

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• Published on: 2014-01-10
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Mutant Message Down Under is the fictional account of an American woman's spiritual odyssey through outback Australia. An underground bestseller in its original self-published edition, Marlo Morgan's powerful tale of challenge and endurance has a message for us all.

Summoned by a remote tribe of nomadic Aborigines to accompany them on walkabout, the woman makes a four-month-long journey and learns how they thrive in natural harmony with the plants and animals that exist in the rugged lands of Australia's bush. From the first day of her adventure, Morgan is challenged by the physical requirements of the journey—she faces daily tests of her endurance, challenges that ultimately contribute to her personal transformation.

By traveling with this extraordinary community, Morgan becomes a witness to their essential way of being in a world based on the ancient wisdom and philosophy of a culture that is more than 50,000 years old.

• Sales Rank: #102472 in eBooks
• Published on: 2009-03-17
• Released on: 2009-03-17
• Format: Kindle eBook

From Publishers Weekly
Morgan's much-hyped first novel, a fictionalized account of a "walkabout" she took in the Outback with a group of Aborigines, gains from the use of authentic detail, although the storytelling is hindered by the author's heavy New Age agenda and incessant cultural proselytizing. A 50-ish alternative health practitioner from the American Midwest, Morgan was working with underprivileged Aborigine youths in the inner cities of Australia when a group of Aborigines offered her a chance to learn firsthand about their culture. Morgan's account of the tribe's customs, healing methods, food-finding tactics, etc. is absorbing, and her willingness to forgo Western luxuries and to relish the experience is courageous and touching. Less compellingly, the author claims that she was "chosen" by the Aborigines to tell the rest of humanity that the so-called "real people" are refusing to reproduce because of the ravages of Western civilization, and that Westerners have a limited time to clean up their act. Morgan's rudimentary writing skills are stretched to the limit, and she lessens the power of her story and its egalitarian lessons by adopting the perspective that Western culture is innately inferior to the naturalistic beliefs of the Aborigines. Still, with its high-powered package of New Age philosophy wrapped in an adventure narrative, this book may be the next Celestine Prophecy. (It is interesting to observe that both books began life by being self-published.) Illustrations by Carri Garrison not seen by PW. 250,000 first printing; Literary Guild Special Release; Doubleday Book Club alternate; author tour.
Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Booklist
The first incarnation of this spellbinding account of an American doctor's experience on walkabout in Australia was a "peaceful self-published work." As such, it stirred up quite a bit of controversy and sold more than 370,000 copies. Very few of these ended up on library shelves, however, and HarperCollins is banking on an ongoing demand with a 250,000-copy first printing, a decision bolstered by a Literary Guild special release designation. Does this quiet little book merit such faith and enthusiasm? Yes. Why? Because Morgan's spiritual journey is as compelling as any classical myth. Morgan has called her narrative a work of fiction to protect the identities of her Aboriginal guides, to conceal the locations of sacred places, and to let readers interpret her tale as they see fit. In fact, she wants us to be as open as she was when her adventure began. Morgan believed she was being taken to an awards luncheon for her work with urban Aborigines when, sporting a fancy new suit, she climbed into a jeep and headed out of town, but hours later, she found herself at the edge of Australia's outback clad only in a thin shift, watching her possessions go up in flames. Her guides, telepathic and spiritually advanced descendants of a 50,000-year-old tradition, call themselves the "real people" and refer to Westerners as "mutants." Morgan's trek across the heart of Australia involved a series of increasingly revelatory and even miraculous occurrences. This demanding journey transformed Morgan's work as a healer into that of a messenger with a message many are eager to hear. Donna Seaman

From Kirkus Reviews
Morgan's originally self-published fictional account of her trek with Aborigines in Australia's outback has already sold over 370,000 copies. But that hasn't stopped HarperCollins from picking it up and printing more. During her travels with the Aborigines, Morgan learns their customs, and she believes that she has come to a deep understanding and appreciation of their culture. The conflation of fact with fiction, and the assumption that the distinction doesn't matter, is bothersome. In any case, it's the old story: An earnest person strides out into the world and returns--a New Age prophet glowing with the wisdom of indigenous cultures--to tell us that we are living life out of balance. (First printing of 250,000; Literary Guild selection; author tour) -- Copyright �1994, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

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741 of 797 people found the following review helpful.
According to The Australians This Book is a Hoax
By Frank Seeley
I am sharing One Australians Perspective with you please read

Frank Seeley

Cultural Mutilation Uptop

by Chris Sitka (Australia)

Shortly after I arrived in the United States from Australia friends started asking me "What do you think of the book Mutant Message Downunder?" As this book is virtually unknown in Australia I decided to read it in order to give them an opinion. It soon became obvious why it is not a hit in Australia. Only people totally unfamiliar with Australia and the culture of its indigenous people would be taken in by the claim that this fantasy is reality.

Marlo Morgan, the author, claims that this book is a documentation of her experience with a tribe of Australian Aboriginals who chose her to carry a message of great importance to the world. She describes a journey of several months across the Australian continent in which she is taught Aboriginal cultural secrets. I am told she now gives well attended workshops teaching the insights she says they asked her to convey.

In one part of the book she is buried up to her neck in the sand to be cleansed of toxins. The fans of this book have the opposite problem. They have their heads buried in the sand. A large number of people are reading this book and have faith that its message is authentic. That is why I believe it is important for me to point out that this book a ridiculous fabrication.

I am a white Australian of European descent. I do not have any Aboriginal blood in me. I have worked for and with Australian Aboriginals, including traditional elders. I do not claim to have been initiated or told any secrets of clan lore. I have learned much from them and from studying writings about their culture for over twenty years. I have been given a 'skin' name by women elders of the Western Desert Kukatja language group. This is necessary for them to be able to relate to and work with me. I do not claim that it in any way makes me Aboriginal. However I do believe that it gives me certain obligations. I see exposing the grossly inaccurate portrayal of Australian Aboriginal desert culture in Mutant Message as one of those obligations.

The introduction to this volume, written by the author, is full of defensive claims about the authenticity of her story. No wonder. As an Australian who has spent some time walking out in the desert and relating to traditional Aboriginal people I found it hard to find any authenticity in the pages of this book. Revealingly, elsewhere in the introductory pages, it is described as a novel. However even novelists usually do research to make the setting of their story ring true.

A feature of this poorly written novel (claiming to be fact) is that no locations are described by name. Even the author's pre-adventure stay in Australia's large cities is enveloped in secrecy. We never learn whether she wooed her Robert Redford look-a-like beau in Sydney or Brisbane or Cairns. We can only guess. A difficult job because she describes a city with the world's most beautiful natural harbour - presumably Sydney - where tropical cane toads abound. There are no cane toads in Sydney so perhaps we should assume that Cairns has miraculously obtained a harbour for the benefit of this writer.

Marlo Morgan alludes to the fact that she was to spend five years in Australia but doesn't tell us how long she really was there. From her description of Australia I wonder if it was even a week. If indeed she was in Australia for a number of years, or even long enough to act out the events described in Mutant Message she must be very forgetful. It is more than suspicious that after describing in detail, from memory only, numerous conversations she had over four months with the nomad tribe she supposedly travelled with, the fact that you don't make phone calls with quarters in Australia slipped her memory. I wonder how come she forgot that in Australia we don't even have quarters as part of the currency.

Towards the end of her account Marlo describes walking out of the desert and meeting a man on the edge of a city who gives her a quarter. Maybe he happened to have one and was just humoring an obviously flaky American. However she does claim to have made a call from a phone box with it. Sorry Marlo but you would have needed two twenty cent pieces and even that would not have been enough for the long distance call you describe making. Then follows an even more surprising description of how the New Age Mutant Messenger found her way back to civilization to convey the great wisdom she alone is chosen to impart. She has money wired from her office to the telegraph company nearby. I understand that in the States there is such an institution as a telegraph company and a telegraph office where wayward wanderers can pick up cash. But Marlo was describing an unnamed Australian city. In the interests of a more authentic sequel let me tell you there is no such thing in any Australian city.

Perhaps this is being picky. I could mention any number of inaccuracies like this such as the description of Australians liking warm beer (that's England, Australians like it icy) and mere spelling mistakes (Quantas for Qantas, Foster's Lauger for Lager). Her descriptions of cutesy Australian scenarios and even the insulting sub-title downunder written upside down are designed to appeal to American readers' desire to see Australia as quaint and exotic. It would be just laughable to an Australian brought up on American Westerns and sit-coms if it were not for the core "message" of the book.

When I first picked up Mutant Message and flicked through it I was prepared to believe that Marlo Morgan had some kind of experience with some Aboriginal people and had kind of stretched the truth out in the interests of self promotion. However a close reading leaves me in no doubt that she did no such thing. Almost every detail is false. This is blatant cultural appropriation in the interests of profit. If the author is not an out and out cynical operator she is sadly deluded.

Her description of the tribe she crossed the deserts of Australia with bears little relation to any indigenous Australian people. She describes ornaments, musical instruments, cooking utensils, ceremonies, landscape, social relations, clothing and much else which simply do not exist anywhere in the traditional cultures of the Australian continent. She does claim that her tribe is a special, less corrupt, more highly evolved group than your average run of the mill Australian Aboriginal. It is still curious that her description of their culture bears no resemblance what so ever to any Aboriginal traditions. Instead her tribe practice numerous Native American customs. I would be tempted to believe that this was the story of a Native American tribe lost in Australia if Marlo Morgan had not herself assured us that they are Aboriginal.

I could give you several dozen examples of this cultural inversion designed to make American readers feel at home. For example at one point she describes the women making an object that mystified me. It involved making a hoop and catching spider webs out of a tree. The origin of this one was revealed to me when I glanced through a New Age catalogue a couple of days after reading Mutant Message. Why, it was a Native American dream catcher!

Most notable in this Americanization is the names she ascribes to the desert tribe's members. Storyteller, Tool Maker, Sewing Master, Big Music, Secret Keeper. This was my first indication that this book was suspect. This kind of naming does not exist in Aboriginal culture. People have names, but they are not translatable in this way. Nor is there such a thing as a specialist Tool Maker. Everyone makes their own tools. Many of the functions described in her fanciful names don't even exist.

What's more people are rarely addressed by their personal names. People are commonly addressed by their 'skin' or kinship name. This term is shared by others of the same generation. The translation for Napaltjarri, my 'skin' name, is daughter-in-law to a Napanangka or grand daughter to a Napangarti. Even if there are six other Napaltjarris sitting within ten feet of me I am always addressed by that term. One's kinship is far more important than one's individuality. Even in language groups without strict 'skin' terms older people are called aunty or grandmother rather than their name.

Never once does Marlo refer to having been given a 'skin' name or of herself in kin relation to the people she claims to have spent several months with. A strong kinship system is the dominant feature of all Australian Aboriginal traditions. In numerous instances I have witnessed traditional Australians unable to speak to or fully acknowledge the presence of a person without a 'skin'. They avert their eyes and mumble incoherently if forced to speak to a white person. As soon as it becomes obvious this person will be around for a while, and must be related to, they are given a 'skin' name so that relaxed communication is possible. Anyone outside the kinship system is virtually non-existent. Given the boasting in the rest of her novel it would be surprising if Marlo forgot to mention having been given a 'skin'. It is inconceivable that Aboriginal people would impart secrets to anyone without a 'skin'. Being given a name like Mutant is equally improbable. The concept of a mutation, a Western scientific term, is non-existent in Aboriginal culture.

I have to wonder if Marlo Morgan has ventured out into the Australian desert at all. She does accurately describe the thorny nature of walking in the desert barefoot. I too have pulled thorns from my feet - but I knew what kind of thorns they were. Marlo obviously does not. She describes in detail walking for months on spinifex grass. Walking on spinifex grass is virtually impossible. It grows in large clumps, quite widely spaced, with red sand in between. Walking in the desert consists of walking around and between tussocks of spinifex. Yet Marlo several times describes walking on it as its sharp barbs dig into her feet. She must have very long legs, or the word walking means jumping in her unique dictionary. Why spend months jumping from tussock to tussock to cut your feet? In the interests of a good story? Why describe spinifex as a sharp lawn when it looks nothing like that? Could it be because you don't really know what spinifex looks like?

Still Marlo is a woman of great stamina. I know no white people, including friends who have lived out in the desert for many years, who can walk all day in the summer sun without a hat. Almost every year someone, including numerous Aboriginal people, perish from trying to walk for help when their cars break down. The temperature range is understated in Marlo's account. Perhaps it was a particularly cool summer where the temperature did stay at 110 F. In any case, why did this group decide to walk from one side of Australia to the other in summer when the rest of their kin would have been resting in the shade of a desert oak?

People living a traditional nomadic lifestyle rarely travelled outside their territory. Occasionally they would do so to visit another kinship group and for ceremonial exchanges. Travelling in another group's territory could only be done with permission from that group and for ceremonial purposes. No family group would have travelled thousands of miles from their own country, meeting no-one and thereby transgressing traditional law and neglecting ritual obligations to their own land.

Here we get into dicey territory. In fact there are no more traditional nomads in Australia. If there were, then their survival skills would have to be finely honed because the ecology of the desert has been irrevocably altered by feral animals and plants introduced by the white invasion. The water table has been drastically lowered. Australia's desert Aboriginals have all been forced into settlements. It is vaguely possible that a group of 62 people as described in Mutant Message might have escaped detection and, unlike all their kin, avoided civilization. There was a group of four people who came out of the desert in Kukatja country in 1984. They would have been almost as surprised to meet Marlo Morgan's clan as they were by what they saw at the white mission settlement.

They would be horrified to see the number of possessions lugged around by Marlo's clan. Desert nomads wore no clothes and carried very little with them. She describes them as wearing clothes, carrying sleeping skins, skin water bottles, musical instruments, cooking utensils and any amount of paraphernalia. Unlike other desert peoples they boiled up brews of tea and manufacture menstrual pads, etc. Strangely such activities reminded me more of specific descriptions I recently read in Jean Auel's Valley of the Horses (set in Stone Age Europe) than any Aboriginal nomads.

Marlo claims to have been taught many wisdoms by her guides. Yet she describes virtually none of the regular spiritual practices and day to day activities of actual desert people. Instead she inaccurately describes the meaning of concepts such as Songlines. (They are not a measure of distance.) Her people were not performing their ritual obligations. Instead of singing for the country they gave what Marlo describes as 'a concert'. Now I have seen an Aboriginal concert. It was organized by a white teacher at an ex-mission settlement. School kids sang European hymns translated into Pitjantjatjara and cowboy booted stockmen played Country and Western numbers on battered guitars. However a concert is a concept unheard of in traditional culture. People 'sing their country' in ancient chants accompanied by dance and sometimes sand drawings. Instead of experiencing and sharing with us her observations of such activities Marlo describes a very Western like concert for which her clan manufactures instruments never used in Australian traditions such as wind chimes and flutes. What's more they include in the concert a bullroarer which is a highly sacred instrument which women are forbidden to listen to. However it did appear in a Crocodile Dundee movie which may account for Marlo's familiarity with it. Likewise the percussive instrument of Australian peoples are the clapping sticks. They do not and did not use drums. Yet Marlo has them making drums.

This concert occurs in a gorge which, by its description, would undoubtedly be a sacred place necessitating a real ritual ceremony. Aboriginal people would compulsively recount the Dreamtime (mythological) significance of such a place, but this is not mentioned. Instead it is called "the medicine of music", again a Native American term. Her pals compose music for the occasion and walk away saying "Pretty great concert." and "Guess before too long I'll change my name to Great Composer." Such ego intrusive behaviour is patently laughable to anyone who has been around any real Aboriginals performing ceremony for country.

Of course this tribe even has a Western style therapist called Secret Keeper who listens to people's problems. Something for Mutant Message's fans to relate to. In case they still feel lost there is a sky being called Divine Oneness. Once again something that none of the other Aboriginal clans in Australia, who have a strongly earth focused spirituality and no god-like being, share with Marlo's crew. There are any amount of such White Western concepts put into Marlo's characters' mouths. One old woman says to her "I think you must come from outer space." Outer Space? Has she been watching T.V.? She also puts into their mouths western concepts of free will, time and creation myths which include Noah's flood. There are even Eastern mystical concepts like celibacy (not an Aboriginal aspiration).

Towards the end of the book Marlo says "I now have knowledge and understanding that is beyond anything I could have imagined for myself". To the contrary, I believe Marlo was fully capable of imagining every bit of it. Hardly any of the knowledge she describes in the book is anything like what I have heard come out of the mouths of traditional elders. It sounds much more like the personal philosophy of an American woman who is promoting the kind of pop psychology we have all read in numerous other New Agey publications over the last few years.

The words that come out of the mouths of the characters in this book are Marlo Morgan's words. They do not reflect how a people living a traditional lifestyle express themselves. Even if Marlo did in fact talk to some desert people, which I seriously doubt, she can't have been listening to them. Anyway Aboriginals have an astute method of handling nosy people. They simply answer yes to every inappropriate question asked of them. This allows white people to remain secure in their own reality and deflects intrusion and hostility.

Natural healing seems to be one of Marlo's passions. She claims to have learnt much from her travels and describes some extraordinary experiences. She portrays her guides as being extremely healthy due to their natural lifestyle. So much so that Great Stone Hunter had to deliberately break his leg so that they could show Marlo how to heal it. Though there were and still are Aboriginal healers, such romanticization draws attention away from the real tragedy of Aboriginal Australia's third world living conditions. Why would these people impart their powerful secret healing methods to a white American when their own Aboriginal kin, contrary to Marlo's description of them, are dying young of a large number of preventable diseases. The health conditions of Australia's Aboriginal population is an international scandal. She doesn't even get it right when describing the White Australian health system. Claiming that Australia has socialized medicine "with harmony between medicine and natural practitioners." Sorry, not true. The Australian government is constantly banning use of herbs and homeopathy, etc. by allopathic doctors.

On another tack, Marlo also gets the social organization of Aboriginal people all wrong. She has a character called Tribal Elder who is the chief. Native Americans may have chiefs but indigenous Australians do not. He seems to be her primary instructor. This would be most unlikely. Aboriginal culture is very sex segregated, especially when it comes to sacred teachings. Men simply do not instruct women. From puberty all women are instructed in their ceremonial obligations by older women. Ritual life is strictly divided into women's business and men's business. Some ceremonies involve both women and men performing separate parts of the whole, but the instruction for a woman would happen in the women's camp. Not that any actual ceremonies are accurately described anywhere in this book. The powerful connection to land never comes across. There is no dancing, no singing, no sand drawings and no Dreamtime myths. Even tourists often get to see more than was described in this book.

The story of Marlo's "initiation" is patently unbelievable. Firstly she claims she was chosen because she had set up a business to help a group of young urban Aboriginals find employment. Something she claims they could not have done without her. A snide bit of racism there, as numerous Aboriginal groups are setting up businesses in Australia. She claims that before she invented them in the 1990s white Australians had never thought of fly screens despite the prolific number of insects. That is why her business venture, which is never named or located, was such a runaway success. The news for Marlo is that I had a fly screen on my bedroom window in the 1950s.

No matter. A tribe of desert nomads was so impressed with this achievement, despite their lack of windows, that they chose her, of all people, to be their messenger. Ignoring many others who have dedicatedly worked for them for many years and speak their languages and understand their culture to a far greater extent than Ms Morgan, who shortly before her initiation says; "I knew very little about any of the Aboriginal groups ... I didn't know if they were a close knit race or if, like the American Indians, vast differences, including different languages, were common." (p.3) More to the point; why not chose an Aboriginal person. Despite a decidedly racist passage in the novel which describes even urban Aboriginals as illiterate and without ambition (p.33) there are many Aboriginal writers and teachers and workshop presenters. There is even an Aboriginal owned and run publishing house (Magabala Books) which publishes the real words of real Aboriginal people e.g. Footprints Across Our Land - just released.

Not to worry. Marlo was born with a deep psychic connection to the chief of a people with no chiefs. She is picked up and driven out to the desert and everyone is waiting, already painted up for a ceremony in her honor (in designs that resemble no others seen on Aboriginal people). She is robbed of all her possessions, tested by weird Las Vegas-like games and virtually kidnapped into the desert. All within a matter of hours.

Usually any real introduction to Aboriginal ceremonial culture takes a long time of building up trust. It demands patience. On arrival in an Aboriginal camp as a stranger it is quite likely that no one will talk to you much for days or weeks or months. There is no such thing as fast track teaching in this timeless land.

It is even more unlikely that they would take a white person's clothes, expensive watch and rings, burn them and then lead her off into the desert against her will. White people are approached with great caution. Aboriginals in the desert still remember their people being shot and poisoned in mass slaughters, women being raped, fathers being dragged off in chains. In their own lifetimes. In the present they live with summary injustice. Disproportionate numbers of their people die in legal custody each year. They are locked up for swearing in front of a white person. It is unlikely they would risk the wrath of a white person. If Marlo had decided she did not want an enlightening desert adventure they would have been in big trouble.

Apart from the silly bits of this story there is a serious racist element to Marlo's fantastic tale.

She claims that Uluru (Ayer's Rock) is no longer a site of "worship" and that no tribe but hers has any sacred ritual objects in existence. This is presumably to big note the special nature of her Real People, as she calls them. This is an insult and misrepresentation of the actual indigenous peoples of Australia who are performing traditional ceremonies and maintaining the sacred objects, songs, dances, designs and teachings against great odds. To purvey the lie that traditional culture is dead is to undermine their efforts to preserve their culture. To add injury to insult she makes statements like "Their population is declining by their own free will" and says they have decided to have no more children. Such untrue genocidal projections are a criminal assault against an ancient race struggling valiantly to survive under the dominance of a hostile white society which continues to find many ways to try to wipe them out.

Marlo Morgan, while including puerile fragments of sympathy, litters her book with racist terms and statements: phrases such as half-cast, half-breed, native, dark skinned natives, cannibals and the way the word tribe is misused.

She frequently describes the people as having animal-like hooves. She shows little human respect for the people she claims to have taught her so much. She remains a very superior, arrogant White. Her ego appears unbounded. Until she came along the Real People had "never before ... associated with a white person or even considered any kind of relationship with one."(p.40) The text is littered with little nuggets of self praise "My friends always remarked how self sufficient I was." (p.3)

Sometimes this reaches absurd heights such as in the introduction where she states "This manuscript was a peaceful self published work which became controversial. Australia's top judicial body, the High Court, overturned the concept of "terra nullis," which falsely contended the continent was unoccupied by civilization when British colonists arrived in 1788." The assumption from these sentences is that her book influenced the High Court decision. I seriously doubt any one on the High Court has ever heard of her book. They have however heard of the countless Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people who have fought for Aboriginal Land Rights over the decades and demonstrated and spent large sums for the legal struggle. All of this effort counts for nothing apparently because it was Marlo Morgan who brought the High Court and the Australian people to enlightenment.

Despite this claim, I know no one in Australia who has even read her book. She had a real gumption distributing it in Australia. I am not the only one who noticed the inaccuracies and inconsistencies. It did not sell well. The Aboriginal people greeted this book with outrage. The few accurate facts scattered sparingly amongst the rubbish in this volume were gleaned from reading books published in Australia. I could almost show you the pages they are taken from. There are several volumes describing bush foods and medicines, for example.

Even though I accept that not many people in the United States are qualified to pick its faults I am surprised that they can take this book seriously. The writing is painfully bad. Anyone who has to use large blocks of capital letters to get her point across is an amateur and the self-serving egoism of the author is transparent. Perhaps her readers are drawn to the romantic notion of being taken in by a people still in touch with their ancient spirituality. Such surrogate experiences are very trendy and profitable at the moment. Yet the insights served up are hardly nourishing or original; e.g. "All life is one." or "Mutants no longer have the good digestive system of the Real People." (p.132) Wow. It is a very poor substitute for the profound spirituality of real, existent Aboriginal culture.

I could go on criticizing this book for days. There is barely a page not full of suitable targets. Suffice to say that I urge you to discourage fellow Americans from taking it seriously. This is blatant cultural theft for self promotion and profit. It would serve readers much better to make a study of the true wisdom and insights available from traditional Australian Aboriginal culture which require respect and patience, not voracious greed and speed. Better still, a study of their own culture will lead White seekers to realise that devotion to profit and ego lead to unethical behaviour.

In conclusion; Marlo Morgan, you owe the Aboriginal peoples of Australia a big apology accompanied by the donation of all your considerable income from this venture to the cause of Aboriginal Health and Land Rights.

Chris Sitka

P.S.: In 1996 a group of Aboriginal elders, seriously disturbed by the book's implications, received a grant to travel to the States and confront Marlo Morgan about her book and to try to prevent a Hollywoodisation of it. She admitted publicly that she had faked it but this received little publicity in the USA. The Aboriginal people are very angry that this book continues to be promoted and sold widely because it gives a very false picture of their traditional culture and of their current political and social status. This is very damaging to their very real struggle for survival.

124 of 137 people found the following review helpful.
ugly, badly written fraud
By G. Miller
It's extremely rare that Australian aborigines choose one person to speak for them collectively, this book made it happen. Robert Eggelston, director of an aboriginal cultural institute was empowered by a coalition of many tribes to condemn this book as a fabrication and a fraud. He travelled in the outback for 16 months trying to find any aborigines who had heard of Ms Morgan or the 'Real People' tribe she claims to have met. No one had. Is it plausible that a previously unknown American woman would discover a tribe that has evaded discovery by european settlers for 200 years and by other tribes for 50 000 years or more?
Morgan claims her story is true, and only sold as a novel to protect this special tribe. But almost every page of this book contains "facts" that are so wildly innaccurate that it is inconcieivable that she experienced anything of the desert, let alone ancient nomadic ways and lore. She describes cutting her feet horrendously while walking over spinifex grass, but spinifex grows in clumps and in the desert is widely spaced. Not even experienced bushman can walk around in the desert sun heat without a hat, the way Ms Morgan claims she has. People die doing that, including aborigines. Ms Morgan survives, however and even meets crocodiles out there.
The tribe she describes is nothing like any other aborigines in Australia, but surprisingly similar to American Indians. This tribe has a chief, like no other in Australia, and he wears a head dress of parrot feathers. Names and tribal structures are completely unlike anything in ANY Australian tribe, but, again, more like Native Americans, as are desriptions of rituals, and musical instruments. Her descriptions of nomad life often seem derived partly from books and partly from pure fantasy. Her 'tribe' pay no respect to territories of other tribes, enter sacred sites without ritual preparation, carry all sorts of stuff with them and use valuable water for cooking. They collect dingo droppings for fuel - although dead wood is far more plentiful. Her description of the way didgeridoos are made is completely wrong.They are cut from living trees, not dead ones; termites are found on the inside not on the outside (they die in heat and light); and they do not make "sawdust" - they digest wood. Anyone who has actually seen this could not make these kind of errors.
This book is neither fact nor fiction. It misrepresesents exploits indigenous Australians with its claims of authenticity, and exploits her readers' spiritual longing and desire to connect with and learn from the indigenous peoples of the earth. The fact that this book has achieved mainstream popularity indicates a genuine and widespread desire to learn about aboriginal spirituality. I find it a tragedy that this gap is being filled by such a culturally worthless piece of deception.

103 of 113 people found the following review helpful.
too beautiful to be true...
By Yachiku Shimanishiki
In 1996 a group of Aboriginal elders, incensed by this book and the damage it is doing, obtained a government grant to travel to the United States to confront Marlo Morgan and to stop a Hollywood film being made of it. They obtained a very reluctant apology from her which I heard on radio in Australia. As they represented the people of the area in which she claimed to have begun her walk across Australia she had no choice but to admit she had made the whole story up. Unfortunately this admission has gained almost no publicity in the States. For those who still listen to Morgan's message please remember it is the simply the musings of a white woman who has been fully prepared to lie and delude her admiring public. by Chris Sitka (Napaltjarri)

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[S586.Ebook] PDF Ebook The James Herriot Collection, by James Herriot

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Contains six books including "If Only They Could Talk", "Let Sleeping Vets Lie", "It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet", "Vet in Harness", "Vets Might Fly" and "Vet in a Spin". These books form the basis for the BBC TV series "All Creatures Great and Small".

• Sales Rank: #781716 in Books
• Published on: 1992-06-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 816 pages

Review
“A great opportunity to introduce new listeners to audio.”—AudioFile*
Praise for James Herriot:“His message is affectionate, and his four-footed creatures are irresistible.” --Time

“Herriot’s skill as a storyteller is classic.”—Detroit Free Press

“Herriot’s generous nature and honest concern coupled with Timothy’s friendly style are a winning combination.”—AudioFile* on Dog Stories
�Praise for All Creatures Great and Small“Christopher Timothy portrayed the semi-fictional Yorkshire veterinarian James Herriot in the wonderful BBC television series...he’s just as good a reader as he is an actor. His cultured British voice twinkles with humor and shades into heartwarming emotion as appropriate. With his crystal articulation, he is marvelous, and so is the music from the television series.” —AudioFile

Praise for All Things Bright and Beautiful:"Whatever joy one found in [All Creatures Great and Small] is in [All Things Bright and Beautiful], only even more joyous; whatever laughter rippled from the throat in the reading of the first, finds even greater gusto in this one. It is funny, wry, simple in its story but as deep and perceptive of life’s truths as the superlative sensitivity of the writer and his talent can make it.” —The Hartford Courant�All programs read by Christopher Timothy:
“Christopher Timothy conveys his relish for the countryside and country folk, not to mention animals.... Herriot’s generous nature and honest concern coupled with Timothy’s friendly style are a winning combination.” — AudioFile

About the Author
James Herriot was a veterinarian in Yorkshire, England for over half a century until his death in 1995. His bestselling books have sold more than twenty million copies in the English language alone; they include All Creatures Great and Small, All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Things Wise and Wonderful, The Lord God Made Them All, and Every Living Thing.�Christopher Timothy starred as James Herriot in All Creatures Great and Small, the internationally renowned BBC television series based on Herriot’s work. A veteran of stage, screen, and TV, Mr. Timothy is a winner of the prestigious Sir John Gielgud Scholarship and the Sir Laurence Olivier Award. He also co-produced and starred in a critically acclaimed film version of James Herriot’s Yorkshire.

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12 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
Great, classic books
By Terra516
Great, classic books, and Christopher Timothy's performance is excellent. I am only giving it a low rating because it is very unclear from the product description which books in his series you are actually receiving. To me, "The James Herriot Collection" implies the set of four of his most famous books. This set includes only the following three:

1) All Things Bright and Beautiful
2) All Creatures Great and Small
3) All Things Wise and Wonderful

It does NOT include "The Lord God Made Them All."

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
All Creatures Great and Small
By Sig
Without a doubt, this show was one of the most superior shows on PBS. I never missed an episode, read all the books and went into mourning when the show went off the air. Now I can go back to Yorkshire and tag along with James Herriot on his vet calls and reminisce right along with him. Christopher Timothy is the perfect choice to narrate and read these books and it's like old home week when you hear him speak and listen to the stories. This is a fantastic set for a great price. If you missed the series on television, you cannot miss these CD's. If you've never read the books, buy this set and be transported back to England and a simpler time. You will love them all as much as I do.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Perfect Family Entertainment!
By Stephanie J. Lizardo
Perfect! These stories are wonderfully written and read...... perfect for a long cross country trip. James Herriot's storytelling ability is unparalleled. He can paint a vivid word picture, that enables the listeners to be there in the moment. Christopher Timothy IS Dr. Herriot! No one else could have put a voice to these stories with the same result; bringing me back to the first time I saw the TV series. His ability to "do" all the various voices in the story is incredible. This series is great for the whole family, providing the earthiness of the scenes such as calf-birthing, are explained to children ahead of time.

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