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Los Angeles Times
21 hours ago
- Business
- Los Angeles Times
Fires and floods have plagued L.A. forever; brilliant marketing lured millions of newcomers anyway
From the book 'GOLDEN STATE: The Making of California' by Michael Hiltzik. Copyright © 2025 by Michael Hiltzik. Published on February 18, 2025, by Mariner Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Excerpted by permission. The writer Morrow Mayo seldom minced words, especially when his subject was the gaudy, tawdry city where he made his home in the 1920s and 1930s. 'Los Angeles, it should be understood, is not a mere city,' he wrote. 'On the contrary, it is, and has been since 1888, a commodity; something to be advertised and sold to the people of the United States like automobiles, cigarettes and mouth wash. ... Here is a spirit of boost which has become a fetish, an obsession, a mania. Everything else is secondary to it.' Mayo's acerbic book 'Los Angeles' appeared in 1933, when the city was in its second decade as the dominant metropolis of California; in the 1920 census, its population had finally exceeded that of San Francisco, which had been the center of the state's economic and political life since the Gold Rush and the granting of statehood. That Los Angeles would someday overtake San Francisco in prominence was in some respects preordained. San Francisco is geographically constrained, perched at the end of a narrow peninsula like a fingernail, with water on three sides. Consequently, its population has never reached even 900,000. Los Angeles lies nestled within a vast basin stretching from the Pacific Ocean to the San Gabriel and Santa Monica mountain ranges on the north and northwest, some 3½ million acres of mostly undeveloped territory capable, in the fullness of time, of supporting a population of more than 13 million. Yet seen from another perspective, nothing could be as surprising as the birth in that particular location of a gigantic, vigorous megalopolis. The Los Angeles Basin is a place seemingly devoid of the resources needed to sustain life and commerce. For most of its history, it has had no reliable supply of water, no port. The best natural harbor in Southern California is San Diego's, and the nearest shore is a 30-mile trek from the pueblo that the Spaniards of Mexico established as their civic seat early in the 19th century. Its rivers are dry gulches for most of the year; Mark Twain is said to have quipped that he once fell into a Southern California river and 'come out all dusty.' The Los Angeles that became the queen city of California did not grow naturally, but had to be 'conjured into existence.' Almost everything that made it habitable needed to be imported. Its water came from a river valley 200 miles away and its electricity from a river canyon 300 miles to the east, brought to the city via systems that are titanic marvels of human engineering. It is wrong to think of the basin as a void to be filled up; better to view it as a gigantic canvas on which its settlers painted a new, transformative future for their state. For decades, the economy of the region stretching south of the Tehachapi range stagnated. In 1850, while San Francisco was basking in the stupendous influx of people and wealth produced by the Gold Rush, Los Angeles was still barely a village, with 1,610 inhabitants recorded in the 1850 census and 'no newspaper, hospital, public school, college, library, Protestant church, factory, bank, or public utility of any kind.' One-third of its residents could neither read nor write. With one exception, the Gold Rush left almost no trace of itself in the portion of California from Monterey south to the Mexican border. The exception was the Southern California cattle industry, which briefly prospered thanks to the gold miners' demand for beef. Yet in time, the cattle ranchers fell victim to the emergent boom-and-bust pattern of the Southern California economy. Beef prices were driven so high by the surge in demand that Mexican ranchers flooded the market with livestock, eroding what had been a Southern California monopoly; by 1855, the competition had sent prices plummeting by 75%. Then came a series of natural catastrophes, starting with punishing droughts in 1856 and 1860. They were followed perversely by torrential rains in 1861, which drowned hundreds of head. Yet another drought arrived in 1863, killing cattle by the tens of thousands; for years to come travelers in the south would be 'often startled by coming suddenly on a veritable Golgotha, a place of skulls, the long horns standing out in defiant attitude, as if protecting the fleshless bones.' The promotion of Southern California's Mediterranean climate took hold in the first decade after the Gold Rush and continued into the new century. Travel writers praised the region's moderate temperatures and lack of humidity — dry, but not too dry — and described its healthful effects as almost miraculous. 'The diseases of children prevalent elsewhere are unknown here,' reported Charles Dudley Warner, the co-author with Mark Twain of the 1873 novel 'The Gilded Age.' 'They cut their teeth without risk, and cholera infantum never visits them. Diseases of the bowels are practically unknown. ... Renal diseases are also wanting; disorders of the liver and kidneys, gout, and rheumatism, are not native. ... These facts are derived from medical practice.' Ben C. Truman, an East Coast transplant, compiled the death rates from all causes in American cities for his 1885 book 'Homes and Happiness in the Golden State of California' and found 37 deaths per thousand inhabitants in New Orleans; 24 in St. Louis, Boston and Chicago; and a mere 13 in Los Angeles. 'Fevers and diseases of the malarial character carry off about half of mankind, and diseases of the respiratory organs one-fourth,' he wrote. 'From such diseases many of the towns of California are remarkably free.' The German-born journalist Charles Nordhoff wrote glowingly of the regional climate's health-giving qualities for tuberculosis patients, describing it as the French Riviera's equal, lacking only the deluxe hospitality infrastructure of that renowned gathering place of the rich: 'You will not find ... tasteful pleasure-grounds or large, finely-laid-out places. Nature has done much; man has not, so far, helped her.' If he was trying to alert resort developers to the existence of a blank slate to be written on for great profit, he could hardly have done better In 1887, some 120,000 passengers were brought into Los Angeles by the Southern Pacific railroad, while the Santa Fe served the region with as many as four passenger trains a day. Tourists jammed hotels and boardinghouses, but they were not the only newcomers. The steady rise of land values attracted fortune seekers eyeing the prospect of making a killing in real estate as well as families with the simpler ambition of making new lives in the West. Between 1880 and 1890 the city's population nearly quintupled, from 11,000 to 50,000. Los Angeles 'suddenly changed from a very old city to a very young one.' In 1890, more than three-fourths of its residents had lived in the city for fewer than four years. Recounted travel writer H. Ellington Brook, 'Everybody that could find an office went into the real-estate business ... a crowd of speculators settled down upon Los Angeles like flies upon a bowl of sugar.' The railroads brought swarms of sharp operators who had already drained the Midwest of its potential for land fraud and detected on the West Coast a 'golden opportunity of the fakir and humbug and the man with the past that he wanted forgotten,' a municipal historian wrote. Thus was born Southern California's image as a place to start anew, especially among those with reason to shed memories of a previous life. To a great extent, the boom in real estate values was based on fiction. Los Angeles still had almost no industry to sustain its growing population — indeed, virtually no economic activity at all other than real estate speculation. Promoters established new townsites on every patch of vacant land, building hotels and laying down concrete sidewalks and community halls: 'A miniature city appeared, like a scene conjured up by Aladdin's lamp, where a few months ago the jack-rabbit sported and the coyote howled,' Brook wrote. Climate, romantic mythology, the lure of real estate wealth — all these factors set the stage for the greatest boom of all. Nearly 1.5 million new residents moved into Southern California between 1920 and 1930, an influx that was labeled 'the largest internal migration in the history of the American people,' and one that would not be exceeded until the postwar 1940s and 1950s. The explosive growth brought with it gimlet-eyed reassessments of what it had taken to bring Los Angeles to its newfound stature as reigning metropolis of the West.
Straits Times
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Straits Times
Book review: Yiming Ma's These Memories Do Not Belong To Us imagines China as imperial hegemon
Sign up now: Get ST's newsletters delivered to your inbox Shanghai-born writer Yiming Ma, who now lives in Toronto, New York and Seattle, is the author of These Memories Do Not Belong To Us (2025). By Yiming Ma Fiction/Mariner Books/Hardback/224 pages/$35.92 Under the new Qin (formerly China) world order, traditional storytelling – its emotional ambiguities and moral ambivalences – is becoming obsolete. In its place are Memory Epics, vetted memories and histories transferred as facsimiles across minds through a cranial device called Mindbank.
Japan Today
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Japan Today
A new biography goes long and deep on the rise and fall of rock band Talking Heads
This cover image released by Mariner Books shows "Burning Down the House: Talking Heads and the New york Scene that Transformed Rock" by Jonathan Gould. (Mariner Books via AP) By ANN LEVIN Talking Heads fans, rejoice! Hard on the heels of the re-release of 'Stop Making Sense,' the 1984 Jonathan Demme film widely considered the best concert movie ever made, Jonathan Gould has published a comprehensive biography of the seminal band that injected an art school vibe into popular music and forever changed rock 'n' roll. Gould, the author of well-received books on Otis Redding and the Beatles, chronicles in meticulous detail the rise and fall of the band that got its start in New York City's underground punk scene and ended up touring the world with a repertoire shaped by blues, funk and jazz. He begins 'Burning Down the House: Talking Heads and the New York Scene That Transformed Rock' with a vivid description of the drizzly June night in 1975 when the original trio – singer/songwriter David Byrne, bassist Tina Weymouth and drummer Chris Frantz – made its debut at the seedy club CBGB in downtown Manhattan, opening for the Ramones before a handful of patrons. With their 'unremarkable haircuts' and 'nondescript casual clothes,' they offered a sharp contrast to the 'baroque turn' that rock fashion had taken in the 1970s, Gould observes. 'The qualities that characterized this neophyte group in their first public performance centered on the awkward, disquieting intensity of their singer-guitarist, David Byrne, their sketchy, skeletal arrangements, and the quirky intelligence of their songs,' Gould writes. 'Tall and thin, with a long neck and an anxious, wide-eyed stare, Byrne stood stiffly at the microphone, his upper body jerking and jiggling like a shadow puppet as he scratched out chords on his guitar.… Instead of doing his best to command the stage and the room, Byrne looked trapped by his surroundings, as if he were prepared, at any moment, to make a break for the door.' Within a couple years of their zeitgeist-changing performances, they enlisted keyboardist/guitarist Jerry Harrison, adding a much-needed dose of professionalism to the band. Gould, a former professional musician, writes exceedingly well about music but suffers from a kind of completism, cramming in an almost mind-numbing level of detail including the name of the elementary school in Pittsburgh where a young Frantz first took up drums to every military posting of Weymouth's naval aviator father. Though much of the material is fascinating, including his observations about how Byrne's then-undiagnosed Asperger's syndrome may have influenced his music and relationships with the other band members, it is likely to be a bit too much for all but the most diehard fans. © Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.
Tatler Asia
02-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Tatler Asia
7 honest books on ageing that are good for the soul
2. 'This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage' by Ann Patchett Above 'This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage' (Photo: Bloomsbury Paperbacks) Though this isn't a book on ageing, the undercurrent of time's passage runs through every essay. Ann Patchett brings a novelist's discipline to nonfiction: her sentences are crisp, her stories layered. She writes about the long arc of friendship, the slow-building nature of creative work and what it means to live alone by choice. Her reflections are rarely framed as epiphanies; instead, they unfold gradually, shaped by age, habit and hard-won self-knowledge. For readers seeking quiet insight rather than dramatic reinvention, this collection offers exactly that. 3. 'No Time To Spare' by Ursula K Le Guin Above 'No Time To Spare' (Photo: Mariner Books) Ursula K Le Guin, best known for her speculative fiction, turned her sharp gaze inward in her final years, publishing essays that read like conversations with a brilliant, slightly irritable aunt. She writes about cats, breakfast and the arrogance of youth—subjects that seem small but reveal her larger argument: that old age is not a diminishing, but a different kind of richness. Her tone is brisk and occasionally cranky, especially when addressing ageism or internet culture. Among books on ageing, this one is notable for resisting both complaint and inspiration; Le Guin is simply living, and thinking, out loud. 4. 'A Life's Work' by Rachel Cusk Above 'A Life's Work' (Photo: Picador Paper) Ostensibly a book about early motherhood, A Life's Work is in fact a study of identity breakdown—a theme that mirrors the emotional terrain of ageing. Rachel Cusk interrogates the body's mutiny, the evaporation of former selves and the awkward collisions between expectation and reality. Her prose is spare and confrontational, stripped of the usual maternal glow. What makes it relevant to ageing is its unsentimental treatment of transformation: the sense of becoming unrecognisable to oneself. If you're looking for a book that insists on intellectual and emotional honesty, even when it's uncomfortable, Cusk delivers. 5. 'This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism' by Ashton Applewhite Above 'This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism' (Photo: Celadon Books) Ashton Applewhite isn't interested in gently guiding readers into acceptance, but in dismantling the entire system of cultural ageism. Backed by research and fuelled by righteous irritation, her book calls out the ways society marginalises older people, especially women. She tackles everything from workplace discrimination to the cult of youth in media with sharp wit and unflinching analysis. Unlike many books about ageing that focus on coping strategies, this one demands structural change. It's energising, at times confrontational, and deeply clarifying—particularly for readers tired of being told to age 'gracefully'. 6. 'Late Migrations' by Margaret Renkl Above 'Late Migrations' (Photo: Milkweed Editions) Margaret Renkl, a columnist for The New York Times , blends personal essays with observations from the natural world in this quiet but resonant book on ageing. She writes about the deaths of her parents, the slow rhythm of her Southern backyard and the brief but meaningful rituals of family life. There is a calm attentiveness to her voice, even when describing loss. The book doesn't offer solutions, just presence. Its approach to ageing is reflective rather than corrective—Renkl lets the reader sit with time, rather than race against it. Among books on ageing, this one stands out for its stillness. 7. 'The Year of Magical Thinking' by Joan Didion Above 'The Year of Magical Thinking' (Photo: Vintage) A clinical, unsparing portrait of grief, this book is often shelved under 'bereavement', but it also speaks profoundly to ageing's disorienting effects. Didion documents the year after her husband's sudden death with the precision of a surgeon. She tracks her irrational thinking, her physical exhaustion and the ways time can warp under trauma. There's no comfort here, no platitude—just the cold light of loss. What it offers is not catharsis but clarity. For anyone facing ageing as a series of absences—of people, of faculties, of certainty—Joan Didion's account feels devastatingly accurate.
