This comes close to being a perfect Christmas album. Admittedly, the orchestra is a little bland, and a few songs have a background chorus that brings to mind chirpy sixtiesÕ commercials (the album was recorded in 1960). But who cares? It also has Ella Fitzgerald at her best (but then, to be fair, Ella was almost always at her best). She had the most gorgeous tone of any singer I know of, along with astonishing phrasing, flawless diction, and, best of all, a sense of playfulness that makes it impossible not to smile when you hear her sing.

I think Ella Fitzgerald was incapable of singing any song in an ordinary, expected way. Her scatting on Jingle Bells is joyous. Her version of Count BasieÕs Good Morning Blues is the some of the earthiest Christmas music IÕve heard this side of Etta James. On every song, the way she plays with rhythm and melody is delightful. At one point she manages to turn Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer into Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley Ñ weird, but a kick. Everything thatÕs fun about Christmas is in this album. Of the dozens of Christmas albums I own, this is one of a handful that gets played the entire season.

There is no doubt in my mind that Jonathan Lethem is a gifted writer. His prose is crisp, a little crazy, and often a lot of fun to read. I was intrigued by his idea of a detective with Tourette's syndrom, which makes him compulsive (actually, a fairly useful trait for a detective) and also given to quirky flights of language. The reviews of the book led me to expect something with the page-turning qualities of a good murder mystery combined with an unusual, and more poetic, use of language than you generally find in genre fiction.

The book seemed to live up to that description for the first fifty pages or so, but I seriously question whether many reviewers read the entire novel, because by the middle the plot bogs down, it becomes clear that the characters are never going to develop into anything more complicated than you'd find in a B movie, and the language, at first intriguing, becomes just plain eccentric.

Lethem has talent, but he wasted it on this novel.

There is no doubt in my mind that Jonathan Lethem is a gifted writer. His prose is crisp, a little crazy, and often a lot of fun to read. I was intrigued by his idea of a detective with Tourette's syndrom, which makes him compulsive (actually, a fairly useful trait for a detective) and also given to quirky flights of language. The reviews of the book led me to expect something with the page-turning qualities of a good murder mystery combined with an unusual, and more poetic, use of language than you generally find in genre fiction.

The book seemed to live up to that description for the first fifty pages or so, but I seriously question whether many reviewers read the entire novel, because by the middle the plot bogs down, it becomes clear that the characters are never going to develop into anything more complicated than you'd find in a B movie, and the language, at first intriguing, becomes just plain eccentric.

Lethem has talent, but he wasted it on this novel.

As much as I love the blues, IÕve rarely liked contemporary versions of early blues, from the 20s and 30s. They usually sound fake to me, and worse than that, just about sacrilegious. Why cover Robert Johnson or Bessie Smith or Mississippi John Hurt when those artists themselves created perfection that can never be equaled let alone surpassed?

I thought long and hard before buying Richland Women Blues which consists of nothing but covers of 20s and 30s blues songs. I wouldnÕt even have considered it except that I love Maria MuldaurÕs voice, and Taj Mahal, who is a guest on here, is one of the very few contemporary musicians who really can do old blues convincingly.

Thank God I took a chance, because this is a great album. The best blues are always less about bad times than about the ability to survive them, and MuldaurÕs earthy, donÕt-mess-with-me voice is perfect for getting that across.

There are four songs originally recorded by Bessie Smith on this album and every one is great. I canÕt believe IÕm saying that because I have NEVER heard a Bessie Smith cover that I thought was any good, but while Muldaur misses Bessie SmithÕs vulnerability, sheÕs got the same toughness in her voice, and itÕs so fine, so rare. It rings true, and any singer who can do a Bessie Smith song justice is the real deal.

There is not a single bad track on Richland Woman Blues, and every time I listen to it, I have a different favorite song, but the gospel-tinged blues of Soul of A Man (with Taj Mahal), I Belong To That Band, and especially ItÕs a Blessing (with Bonnie Raitt) make the hair stand up on the back of my neck. It will be a long, long wait before you hear another duet as good as Muldaur and RaittÕs.

Beginning to end, this is a terrific album.

Some people say you can judge a society by how it treats its weakest members, and if that is true the United States has repeatedly failed the test. When it comes to dealing with the most vulnerable people among us Ñ children whose families can not or will not take care of them Ñ over and over we turn our backs on horrible examples of abuse and neglect.

After reading Orphan Trains, which deals with the origins of the foster care system in the mid-nineteenth century, the first attempts to deal with the problems of children without families, rather than dealing with the problems (primarily crime) that such children created for society, IÕm struck by the fact that this failure is far from a new thing.

Charles Loring Brace, the founder of the ChildrenÕs Aid Society, which found homes for orphans, runaways, and children who had essentially been abandoned by their families, was both an intelligent and a well-intentioned man. Fighting the prejudice of his time, he argued that homeless children were not criminals and threats to society, but potentially upstanding citizens. All they needed was the love and attention of a family. A noble sentiment, but unfortunately Brace mixed it with another noble, but tragically wrong, sentiment. He believed that all middle class families, especially farm families, were good. So he put New York children on trains headed west to be taken in by just about any family that would have them. Many children were adopted by wonderful, caring families, but others ended up as virtual slave labor. Girls were often subject to sexual abuse.

In hindsight, it is easy for us to see the flaws in BraceÕs thinking. But in a fascinating final chapter, Stephen OÕConnor points out that we are making many of the same mistakes today because, like Brace, we donÕt see children who need families as unique individuals. We argue abstractly about whether it is better for a child to stay in a flawed family or be removed to a foster family, when the truth is that there are thousands of factors to take into consideration in each case (of course taking those factors into consideration would require well-trained social workers with small caseloads Ñ which we are unwilling to pay for). We argue about whether a child ought to be placed in a family of his race or ethnic group, or whether any good family is better than none, when the truth is that it depends on the child. Some children feel out of place if they are not in families that look like them; for other children race or ethnicity makes little difference. But to get children to the right place, we need to invest time, and time is expensive.

Whether in the nineteenth century or the twenty-first, good intentions and theories about what is best for children donÕt take the place of seeing children as individuals. As a society, we need to decide if we care enough about children to pay for the time and attention they need.

Orphan Trains has a complex and fascinating story to tell and makes a great contribution to an important national issue.

I stumbled across beliefnet.com a few days after September 11 and found it to be full of much of the best and most insightful writing to be found anywhere. This book, which compiles many of the articles Beliefnet has published on the tragedy, demonstrates that the spiritual issues raised in the articles Ñ justice, evil, retaliation, even the very existence of God Ñ are not just timely. They are issues we are going to have to deal with over and over again. And this book is loaded with wisdom for anyone who is attempting to deal honestly with those issues.

The authors range from traditionalist Christians to Bishop John Shelby Spong, who argues that after September 11, we have to picture God in a different way than we ever have before. The ideas range from strong supporters of military response to the Dalai Lama and Bishop Tutu who counsel forgiveness. One of the most interesting pieces, for me, was Karen Armstrong's essay on Islam, comparing its attitude toward violence to that of Judaism and Christianity. There has been so much nonsense published on that subject over the past month. It was wonderful to read the insights of someone who understands and respects all three faiths.

The best thing about this book is that despite the range of opinions (which guarantees that every reader is going to find many ideas they disagree with), I did not find a single essay to be without merit. Even the ones I disagreed with all said things I felt I had to think about. There is no political or spiritual posturing here, but, in every case, an open and honest discussion of issues.

This is a beautifully written and important book for anyone who cares about spiritual issues.

IÕve always been interested in comparative religion, but in the aftermath of September 11, it has felt urgent to understand what brings people to beliefs that are so obviously grotesque distortions of any religious tradition. I picked up Karen ArmstrongÕs book because after reading several articles about Islamic fundamentalism, it seemed to me she was the only writer I encountered who had a clue what she was talking about. While others spouted platitudes and engaged in useless debates about whether Islam was a religion of peace or war (virtually all religions are a mixture of the two), Armstrong offered clear and fascinating analyses of how Islamic fundamentalism developed and what its relationship was to the politics of the Middle East.

The book, a comparison of Christian, Jewish, and Islamic fundamentalism, has more than lived up to my high expectations. The world isnÕt less dangerous after reading it, but it makes a little more sense, and I feel better equipped to cut through the platitudes and nonsense.

Armstrong argues that in the modern world "we can not be religious in the same way as our ancestors," and yet without any religion at all, life feels as if it has no meaning. And so all of us, whether devout, agnostic, or atheist, search for meaning, for "new ways to be religious." Fundamentalism represents one of those searches, but it is a way that grows out of fear.

One of the things I found most interesting about this book is that Armstrong emphasizes that this "fear" isnÕt simply some bizarre paranoia. ItÕs often quite legitimate. American Protestant fundamentalism grew up among poor, rural, badly educated people who felt that powerful and sophisticated people were laughing at them and their beliefs. And, to be fair, they were right. And so, in a virtual parody of the people who were looking down on them, they began to argue that their beliefs were "modern" Ñ the Bible was historically and scientifically verifiable. Jewish fundamentalism developed in the aftermath of the Holocaust, which left many Jews with valid reasons to fear annihilation and hope that a picayune observance of "GodÕs law" would save them. Islamic fundamentalism developed in societies asked to modernize too quickly and in ways that had horrendous social consequences. Many Islamic fundamentalist movements, ironically, began as positive attempts to provide social services like health care and education that governments were not providing, but political repression radicalized them and made them more aggressive.

All three fundamentalist religions, Armstrong says, have positive aspects. TheyÕve helped people operate in a confusing modern world without losing their sense of the meaning of life. But all three have also shown a dangerous tendency to lose the compassion that is at the core of any authentic religion, and to degenerate into "a theology of rage and hatred."

Armstrong concludes that fundamentalists need to become not less religious, but more so Ñ more faithful to the compassion that is the heart and soul of religious faith. But at the same time, secularists and people with more liberal notions of faith need to recognize the real fears that fundamentalists face, and deal with the problems that spawn those fears. Fundamentalists are not going away. We need to understand them.

Although I had been hearing his songs for years, since I was a little kid, the first Bob Dylan album I bought was Highway 61 Revisited. I was twelve years old at the time and did not remotely understand it. When Dylan sang, "You donÕt know whatÕs happening here, do you Mr. Jones?" I knew just how Mr. Jones felt. I didnÕt get it either. Funny thing about that album though, I kept listening to it. Over and over. So often that eventually I wore down the grooves and had to buy a second copy. The music was different from anything I had ever heard. (Like most American kids in the sixties, I had no knowledge of the brilliant roots of American music. I thought country music was for hillbillies, and blues I had never heard at all. Dylan already had them in his blood and bones and was a master of combining those roots.) Although I was much too young to make sense of DylanÕs sometimes surreal lyrics, there was some quality to the language that I could not get out of my head. Lines stayed with me and I had a great yearning to understand them. I have always viewed Highway 61 as a turning point in my life. It started a love affair with roots music and language that, more than thirty years later, I still have not recovered from.

Sorry if that seems like a digression. I mention it because I have exactly the same feeling listening to Love and Theft. I bought this album more than a month ago and IÕve listened to it ( and not much else) almost every day since. It is easily one of the most compelling albums Dylan has ever made, in the same league as Highway 61, Bringing It All Back Home, Blonde on Blonde, and Blood On The Tracks.

At first it is the music that grabs you. The range of musical genres and the quality of the musicians is so astounding I literally listened to the album for a week or more without paying any attention whatsoever to the lyrics. This is one of the best bands Dylan has ever played with. And when you consider that this is a man who has had Al Kooper, Mike Bloomfield and The Band as backup musicians, that is really saying something.

And DylanÕs singing on Love and Theft is equally astonishing. I know the clichŽ is that Dylan is a brilliant writer and a lousy singer, but that has never been true. His voice has always been unconventional, sometimes downright unpleasant, but he has also consistently been the best interpreter of his own songs. As he has gotten older, his voice has developed into an eccentric cross between Johnny Cash and HowlinÕ Wolf, country and blues, gentle and snarling, that couldnÕt be more perfect for these songs.

But great as the music is, this is of course a Dylan album, and at some point it is the lyrics that make it brilliant. IÕm tempted to quote dozens of lines from the album that have kept popping into my head over the past month, illuminating things that have been going on in the world, but IÕll limit myself to one. Every time I see a politician on t.v. using tragedy to push an agenda, I hear DylanÕs voice, from "Summer Days," singing about politicians "sucking the blood out of the genius of generosity." Got that right.

For almost forty years, Dylan has managed to be both topical and timeless. I have read several reviews of this album that mentioned how timely Love and Theft seems, mainly because of its apocalyptic language and its sense of danger. But the truth is, Dylan was writing that way on his earliest albums. If the album feels perfect for this moment in history (and the critics are right about that), it is not just because Dylan writes so brilliantly about a world in which "every moment of existence seems like some dirty trick," and "some things are just to terrible to be true," but because he is able to record horror in an absolutely honest voice and still come out of it with little scraps of love, hope and redemption, all the more meaningful because of the threat of the world in which we find them. Dylan has always been an honest and sane voice in a crazy, dishonest world, and I especially welcome those qualities right now. What a perfect time for him to have given birth to one of the best albums of his career.

Dick King Smith, the author of MartinÕs Mice, is best known for Babe the Gallant Pig, which of course was turned into a movie that is a lot better known than any of his books. The movie is one of the best childrenÕs films ever, and the book is even better. But it does have one disadvantage. The British dialect in Babe, while charming, is so thick it is difficult for many American parents and teachers to read aloud, and for American children to follow. DonÕt get me wrong. I love Babe and have read it aloud several times. But it is not easy.

What I like about MartinÕs Mice is that it has many of the same qualities that made Babe such a joy, including the gentleness, the emphasis on kindness, and the quirky, understated humor, but without the heavy dialect. There are Britishisms sprinkled throughout the book, but they are manageable with an American tongue.

In terms of plot and character, MartinÕs Mice is not quite up to the standards of Babe. But then how many books are? Like Babe, Martin is a farm animal who marches to a different drummer. HeÕs a cat who loves mice. But he loves them as pets, not as meals. The novel focuses on how he learns to love them more as friends and equals than as pets. Martin is a sweet, gentle character, but there is no denying he does not have the charm of Babe. And the novelÕs plot seems a little disjointed. The ending felt like it sprang on us out of nowhere.

Still, my six-year-old daughter and I both enjoyed the book. If you are looking for a childrenÕs book full of nice, gentle humor and kind characters, this is a good choice.

Rachel and Obadiah is one of the best of Brinton TurkleÕs Obadiah Starbuck stories (the others in the series are Thy Friend Obadiah, The Adventures of Obadiah and Obadiah the Bold), all of which deal with a little Quaker boy in colonial-era Nantucket. The plot of Rachel and Obadiah is basically a variation on the story of the tortoise and the hare. Little Rachel canÕt run as fast as her big brother Obadiah, so when they race to see who will get to bring to town the news of a ship returning to the harbor, her chances of winning do not look good. But Obadiah gets distracted by some blackberry bushes (and the belief that he is so fast that he can always catch up later) and so, by sheer determination, by never giving up for a second, Rachel wins.

I have a six-year-old daughter who has an older brother, so you probably wonÕt be surprised to learn that she thinks this is the very best of the Obadiah books.

Besides being a wonderful story, the book also has superb illustrations. The clothing, the clapboard houses with their widowsÕ walks, the windmills, and the old sailing ships coming into port are all great introductory history lessons for young children. But even better is the variety and expressiveness of all the charactersÕ faces. The joy and expectation on the faces of the crowd waiting for the ship to come in. The pride on RachelÕs tiny face when she wins the race. Especially good is the final picture of Obadiah slumping home while Rachel looks at him with a mixture of new-found pride in herself and compassion for her brother. Brinton Turkle is a master at capturing the complexity of human emotions, and this book is one of the best examples of his work.