Books for Christmas

Merry Christmas, one and all!  I trust everyone had a safe and happy holiday.  Christmas was a strange event down here in the South, as temperatures pegged the 80s and we’ve had a rash of tornadoes and flooding the last two days. Instead of seasonal sweaters, people are wearing tank-tops and shorts!  I never saw the first Christmas movie, and never really felt the bug until witnessing a woman lost in reverie listening to “O Come All Ye Faithful” on Christmas Eve.  Christmas brought very little bookish news;  I gave a couple of books as gifts (The Last Goodbye, Reed Arvin; Four, Veronica Roth) and received John Grisham’s latest, Rogue Lawyer.  I probably won’t be reading that until the new year, as my mental faculties have been taken up processing Emma. I am roughly halfway through. It will probably be the last book I read this year, but I nailed my annual target back in November.  Finishing Emma will complete that 2015 Reading Challenge in the nick of time, and mark my first entry down for the Classics Club.   The book itself has given me a challenge:

 “And then, her reserve—I never could attach myself to any one so completely reserved.”
“It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,” said he. “Oftentimes very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.”

As someone who lives in a reserved state most of the time, that statement cut a little close to the bone. Perhaps it will inspire a New Year’s resolution on my part.

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Horses at Work

Horses at Work: Harnessing Power in Industrial America
© 2008 Ann Norton Greene
322 pages

The quintessential image of horses in American history is the cowboy, of rough men moving cattle in the wilderness on horseback. But follow the cattle, and their destination is invariably the cities, for cowboys were actors in the industrial economy, moving cattle from ranches in the prairies to the railheads expanding throughout the west. Horses and industry were never far from one another; indeed, as Horses at Work bears out, horses and industrialization complemented the other, each allowing the other to flourish.  The 19th century was a golden age for horses, not in spite of but because of the burgeoning industrial economy.

Horses have been working companions for humans for millennia, for reasons the author details in the beginning of her work, evaluating them against their leading competitors, oxen and camels.   In the 19th century, however, they were successful beyond all prior imagining: never before had there been so many horses, and they were doing everything. Horses didn’t just pull carriages for wealthy aristocrats and up-and-coming merchants:   they tugged canal boats down their courses, and treading engines allowed them to power ferries as well. The same apparatus made horses the prime movers within early industrial technology.  Steam was their ally, not a threatening foe.  Rail lines could cut across distances, linking central points to one another, but they required horses to deliver goods to the consumer.  Horses created early industrial infrastructure and prospered from the opportunities it created, but they were also direct beneficiaries of its output.  The industrial system created a massive and steady supply of constantly-needed horseshoes, for instance, without which horses were at risk for lameness, and new wagons and tackle developed that made their work both less strenuous and more profitable for their owners.  Their growing numbers and economic ubiquity led to an intense amount of study, both in breeding and in science, with equine healthcare increasing in measure.  Eventually steam and horses would both run afoul of electricity, internal combustion, and political movements aimed at “cleaning up” the city, both by clearing out worker housing and getting rid of urban animal residents, The work of overhauling the economy’s circulatory system would take time, however: horse populations peaked in the 1890s, even as electric rail lines, bicycles, and primitive automobiles were appearing, and didn’t fall away significantly until the end of the Roaring Twenties.

Although written and published at nearly the same time as Clay McShane and Joel Tarr’s The Horse in the City,  these two books do not step on one another’s toes too much. Both address the role of horses in industrial America, but Horses at Work examines technical issues more in-depth — the technology used in ferry and mill transmission, the development of stagecoach lines — and features even rarer photographs.  The two books together are a perfect pair for understanding horses’ impact on early industrial America.

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Forgotten Ally

Forgotten Ally: China’s World War II
© 2013 Rana Mitter
467 pages

Two years before a mad painter’s schemes plunged the world into war, China was fighting for its life.  It began the 20th century at a crossroads; the old imperial order had faded away, and in the vacuum that followed, the great land was fair play to a variety of ambitious men from both within and without. Idealists dreaming of building a better future for themselves struggled against opposing visionaries, petty warlords and would-be-colonizers.  Scarcely had the young Republic of China begun establishing itself than it became an object of proprietary interest to the rising Empire of Japan, and after a near-decade long struggle for survival that merged with World War 2, the republic finally fell prey to internal enemies. Postwar politics made forgetting the Chinese trial against Japan easy, but in the eyes of Rana Mitter, China’s experience of World War 2 was uniquely formative. The bloodletting wasn’t just a tragic episode to be endured, but destroyed what progress had been made in the 20th century and led to a completely new economic and political order. Forgotten Ally is a mostly-political history of the war which views it was nothing less than the birth of modern China, born of a decade of frustration and sorrow.

The odds were against the Republic of China from the start. China is a vast land, and the Republic’s command of it was never perfect; the ascendant west pockmarked China’s coast with colonies, and internal division reigned, from brigands to communist rebels. Japan, increasing in both wealth and power after its own successful leap into industrialization,  took advantage of that internal weakness to announce itself as Asia’s new leader. Positioning itself as a big brother, it promised to chase off Occidental intruders and establish a new order, of Asia for the Asians.  Beginning in the late 19th century, Japan began asserting itself on the Asian mainland, and as its armies grew closer to China, the celestial kingdom stood alone.  Between world wars and depression, the United States and Britain were hardly in a place to stop them. The Russians had made noise before and gotten a bloody nose and a sunken fleet for it, and as another crisis in Europe loomed no one wanted to provoke a Japanese attack on their Asian colonies.  Relations with potential allies were tense to begin with;  Britain had opened a drug market in China and waged war against those who protested it, and Russia frequently flirted with supporting the Republic’s armed in-house opposition,  Cooperation did happen, however;  before the United States was ever attacked, American volunteers trained Chinese pilots and helped wage guerrilla aviation, and even after the Japanese had secured much of southeast Asia, the Allies sent what resources they could by air.

In addition to the ordinary destruction of war, made worse by particularly vicious invasion tactics (“Kill All, Loot All, Burn All”), China’s chronically stressed government became its own enemy. Its attempt to keep soldiers in the field caused famine, and another strategic move (destroying dikes that checked the Yellow River) slowed down the Japanese advance but led to the deaths of a half-million Chinese civilians.  Both the Nationalist government and the Communist splinter in the north developed brutal police-state agencies throughout the war, attempting to consolidate their power and expunge dissent, but the Nationalists controlled and thus disaffected more people.  Between this and Chiang Kai-Shek’s increasingly poor relations with the American commander on the ground (controlling lend-lease supplies), the Republic lost legitimacy both in China and abroad with every passing year.   Throughout the chaos of war, the Communist state grew in strength, its ranks filling with bombed-out and ordered-about peasants who considered Mao a less brutal choice than Chiang;  no sooner had the guns of World War 2 fallen silent than did a civil war erupt in China, one which saw the Nationalists exiled to Taiwan, and China overtaken by the Communists.

Forgotten Ally is largely political history, one in which the war is an essential backdrop but not the express subject.  Mitter is primarily concerned with how the war damaged the prospects of Chiang and allowed Mao’s to blossom. Mao began the war as an exiled rebel, forced to retreat to the hinterland, but he would end it as China’s new master. That is an accomplishment cut with opportunism, for while the Nationalists were taking the brunt of Japanese assault, having to move entire factories into the interior to keep the war going, the Communists were able to sit pretty, making the occasional raid against Japan but never engaging it in open battle.  Despite the inhumanity of Chiang’s regime, considering what followed after, it seems a tragedy that his China fought World War 2 through the end, only to succumb to its wounds afterwards.   Their role in resisting Japan should not be forgotten, although a little more military meat might have served this book well — demonstrating, for instance, how much of Japan’s resources were consumed in fighting the Nationalists that would have otherwise been deployed fighting the United States and the Commonwealth nations across the pacific.  Aside from this quibble,  this is a history well worth considering.

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2016 Reading Challenge

A new challenge has been issued, one slightly shorter than last year’s. There are a few curveball categories (a romance set in the future..? Maybe I can count The Moon is a Harsh Mistress), but it looks like a fun set.  For those on facebook who want to throw in with others who have taken up the challenge, there is a group called the 2016 Dumbledore is Dead and Prim Doesn’t Feel Too Well Reading Challenge.

A list of books being made into movies (#11) has already been posted there.  Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies is among `em. Oh, dear…

  1. A book based on a fairy tale.
  2. A National Book Award Winner
  3. A YA Besteseller
  4. A Book Not Read Since High School
  5. A Book Set in Home State
  6. A Book Translated into English
  7. A Romance Set in Future
  8. A Book Set in Europe
  9. A Book Under 150 Pages
  10. NY Times Bestseller
  11. Book Becoming a Movie in 2016
  12. A Book Recommended by Someone You Just Met
  13. Self-Improvement
  14. Book Which Can Be Finished in a Day
  15. A Book Written by a Celebrity
  16. Political Memoir
  17. A Book a Century Older Than You
  18. A Book Over 600 pages
  19. A Book from Oprah’s Book Club
  20. A Science Fiction Novel
  21. A Book Recommended by a Family Member
  22. Graphic Novel
  23. Book Published in 2016
  24. Book with Protagonist Sharing Your Occupation
  25. A Book set in Summer
  26. A Book and its Prequel
  27. A murder mystery
  28. A book written by a comedian
  29. Dystopian novel
  30. A book with a blue cover
  31. A book of poetry
  32. First book you see in a bookstore
  33. 20th century classic
  34. Library book
  35. Autobiography
  36. A book about a road trip
  37. A book from an unfamilar culture
  38. A satirical book
  39. A book set on an island
  40. A book that brings joy
I expect Greg Iles and Wendell Berry to make appearances here.  
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Midway (Maybe)

With the end of the year only a little over two weeks away, it’s high time for me to knock off that classic romance. I’ve had Emma checked out for weeks with little headway made, not that I’ve made a serious attempt. Better get to it, though, because someone has tagged me on facebook with the 2016 Reading Challenge.  That one actually seems easier, though a couple of entries (“A Book Recommended By Someone You Just Met”) will be more..interesting than most. 

After two months of reading I’ve finally reached 1942 in my World War 2 reading set,  and am presently giving attention to the opening action in the Pacific  I think I’m closer to the end of this set than the beginning, because  I don’t expect much else from Europe: a book on Anglo-American bombing,  a pair on the Eastern Front, then one book each on Italy, D-Day, the Bulge, and the fall of Berlin.  I’m not sure about the Pacific. I’m going to read at least one book on the Sino-Japanese war (either Forgotten Ally or When Tigers Fight), and then play it by ear. Certainly Midway will feature, and at least one island campaign. It hasn’t been too long since I read With the Old Breed, though, so I don’t need much of a refresher there. When you see The Fall of Berlin and Hiroshima, though, that’ll be the end of this, and I will have sampled a substantialportion of my library’s World War 2 selection, at least thirty books.  And to think  there still remains more yet unread…

Mixing all this up as we head into the new year will be science (with two new acquisitions not included on that TBR list) and subjects of civic or commercial interest. The first of those was Hack, a book I’ve been meaning to buy for at least five years. It’s actually made it inside my cart and then been taken out before.  (Ten years ago, I briefly considering driving cabs, and the next morning saw in the paper that a local cabby had been shot. My curiosity remains exercised only vicariously, through games like Mafia and GTA that allow the player to take fares.) 

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Hack

Hack: How I Stopped Worrying About What to do with my Life and Started Driving a Yellow Cab
© 2008 Melissa Plaut
256 pages

At the age of twenty-nine, Melissa Plaut was let go from her job at an ad agency. She found the layoff liberating instead of terrifying, freeing her as it did from a safe but utterly meaningless job where she felt distinctly like a sell-out. Having spent most of her twenties spinning her wheels at one safe job or another, she opted this time to pursue adventure.   So it was that she braved the labyrinth of New York bureaucracy and the warren of traffic to become a New York City cabbie.Hack collects stories from her blog about working the city streets, and as they are arranged she becomes progressively more miserable, eventually downshifting to the point that driving the cab is a part-time hobby instead of a career.

Although her stories behind the wheel constitute the bulk of the book (the exception being frequent breaks to chat about her social life) there is not a lot of revealed about the inner workings of taxi services in general. A combination of customer service, chronic traffic jams, and steady physical deterioration, taxi driving quickly loses its allure and becomes a daily grind for her. Working with the public at large is not for the faint of heart, and quickly takes an emotional toll on Plaut as she endures all kinds of abuse and contempt from her patronage. Soon she is bypassing types  (teenagers and grizzly men) who she suspects will be fare-jumpers or trouble-makers, and feeling guilty for not being as trusting and open as she once was.  Driving a cab for twelve hours a day also wrecks her physically; the human body was not meant to spend half its time sitting in an odd-shaped seat, one leg constantly working the gas or brakes and the rest comparatively inactive while the driver deals with the constant stress of traffic, hunting fares, and restraining her bladder. One of Melissa’s coworkers routinely soils himself, his continence wrecked by years of trying to hold it until demand slowed down.  Being the result of only a year or so behind the wheel, not much is said about the taxi industry in general: readers get a feel for how her particular company’s practices work, but that’s about it. There are moments of broader import, as when she weighs whether or not to make the most of a transit strike; ultimately, sheer fatigue at trying to work at all overwhelms any thoughfulness. Most of the book consists of stories about abusive customers, pushy cops, and her social life,  rendered with ample vulgarity. As one takes in her growing frustration — and her inability to find anything outside of work that will meet her needs for meaning or happiness — sympathy grows, especially when she witnesses a brutal traffic accident that reminds her all too much of her own near-miss, when a car struck her as a pedestrian and she was hospitalized.

Hack is interesting, though often ugly and not particularly useful about learning the ins and outs of the taxi service. It is good exposure to the raw experiences of drivers, especially New York cabbies who find the city government nearly as hostile to them as the public.

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We Band of Angels

We Band of Angels
© 2001 Elizabeth M. Norman
325  pages


When Japan invaded the Philippines and besieged the Bataan peninsula,  the Filipino-American army wasn’t the only entity enduring months of dwindling supplies and attritive warfare. Stationed alongside soldiers and sailors were nurses, farm girls from the United States who never intended to go to war, but found themselves in the middle of one. We Band of Angels uses letters, diaries, and interviews with still-living nurses to recount  their increasingly desperate experience, as they set up emergency medical stations behind the lines, a few dozen women tending to thousands of patients as bombs fell and monkeys helped themselves to the scant food and medicine available. It is unusual and attractive in being a non-military memoir of the fall of the Phillipines, the siege of Corregidor, and later imprisonment, and rather lively.

On Bataan and Corregidor, there were no secure rear quarters; the warzone was everywhere, and bombs were just as liable to fall into hospitals as they were vehicle pools. Unlike the soldiers, these nurses — civilians, really, whose programs were nationalized — had never trained for conditions this hostile, but they took them on just the same. They tended the injured after every bombardment and raid, and did their best to keep disease from utterly destroying their comrades despite being the walking wounded themselves,  caught in the grips of malaria but attempting to do what good they could. When forced to evacuate, they left part of their hearts behind in the patients abandoned in beds. Some would return to the United States following the fall of Bataan and Corregidor, while others would spent years held prisoner by the Japanese.  Those who returned were aghast to find themselves hailed as saintly heroes; what they they done, other than stick to their duty and make the best of an awful situation?  After the Philippines were liberated, those imprisoned met the same fate, idolized and put to good use selling war bonds and inspiring an increasingly war-fatigued populace.

Their irritation at being used is shared by a sometimes prickly author who resents women being treated any differently than men. When nurses were evacuated to Corregidor shortly before Bataan was abandoned, she fumes against the male egotism that wanted to protect the women, a bizarre judgment given that she had just shared everyone’s speculation about a Nanking-style desecration, and the fact that soldiers were being evacuated. (The judgment is proven  tragically faulty when later a nurse is raped by the imperials, and others endure deliberate sexual taunting by the swaggering invaders.)   Norman’s scorn for her subject culture doesn’t manifest itself too often, however, and the story of the nurses themselves is so fascinating that misplaced political griping does’t diminish it. Her core grievance is that the women were idolized as Women — tender, doting nurses or damsels in distress  — and not given their proper respect as working professionals, ladies of intelligence, skill, and steadfast devotion to their vocation. It would be a fairer complaint if levied against modern audiences, but for those living the world crisis, seeing all of Eurasia under the command of totalitarian governments, no doubt legends carried more traction than staid reports. There is a time for stories about knights fighting dragons, sustaining faith in a fight against monstrosity.  Norman’s book does give them that respect, taking a fuller measure of their character, one we are now safe to appreciate far from the peril of the hour.

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Bataan: March of Death

Bataan: March of Death
© 1962 Stanley J. Falk
256 pages



Japan’s strike at Pearl Harbor was not a solitary military move, but the opening play in a Pacific strategy. Having disabled the American Pacific Fleet,  Japanese forces would be free to sweep down on Anglo-American holdings in southeast Asia and create its own empire. The plan went into effect with such rapidity that the Philippines,  seized from Spain in the late 19th century,  fell under attack on the  very day of Pearl Harbor. The Rising Sun found stiffer resistance in the Philippines than it met at Wake Island and Guam, however, and not until early spring 1942 did American forces there surrender.  They survived a siege, the weeks of bombardment and short rations, but  the most hellish hours were yet to come.

The defense found endurance in retreating to the rocky Bataan peninsula, where for months they held without support or supplies. Increasingly ravaged by disease and malnutrition, however, eventually they had to accept the inevitable.  Even in defeat, however, they remained a nuisance to the Japanese:  Bataan was the ideal site to launch an attack on the Pacific Gilbralter, the little island fortress of Corregidor whose guns barred Manila Harbor.  The defeated needed to be moved out, immediately, and so began a hike of the damned.  Though the siege offered plenty of time to plan for dealing with P.O.W.s,  Japan’s itinerary of short hikes and feeding/rest areas fell apart almost immediately, overwhelmed by both the sheer number of prisoners and their deteriorated status.   The two factors worsened the effect:  food and supplies were simultaneously much reduced and much more needed.  Every mile of the march saw physically exhausted and disease-ravaged men fall out, and those who did not succumb to injury or infirmity were dispatched with indifferent bayonets .  Though the Death March is regarded in propagandized history as an act of cold malice by the Japanese empire, intent on humiliating and destroying those who surrender instead of fighting to the last and dying honorably,  Falk here builds a case that the atrocity was more a symptom of the chaos and hell of war aggravated but not initiated by Japan’s severe militarism.  The Japanese commanders remained ignorant of both the amount and condition of prisoners headed their way, possibly through errors in translation but also owing to the confused state of American defense: as at Dunkirk, few units were intact; the massed body of ailing defenders were a confused patchwork of commands.   

All this is not to say that Bataan was merely a tragic accident. It was the stage of many a war crime, some casual and others more deliberate.  Early on, an entire division was beheaded for reasons still obscure.  Individual Japanese soldiers practiced chronic and petty acts of cruelty that further bled an already wasted body of men, like the man who amused himself by knocking off the helmets of prisoners who marched by him. Unable to slow down or stop on pain of beating or death, the troops had to leave their precious headgear behind, further exposing them to the roasting tropical sun.  Prisoners were robbed not just of equipment and personal items, expected losses in war, but of what little food they had retained or were given. The Japanese were despairingly inconsistent;  the food given to men by one command might be  taken from them by another.  Some Imperials dispensed cooked rice; others  forced the prisoners to be content with raw grain.  The dehumanization of Japanese military training – in which beatings for small infractions were commonplace – manifested itself in their treatment of the Filipino and American soldiers under their power, but the Japanese government deserves direct scrutiny and condemnation for the “rest areas”, which would have been dangerously overcrowded and wholly unsanitary even if the men shoved into them not been desperately ill with dysentery, constantly soiling themselves and the environment.  Campsites were open latrines in which men were forced to lay in a miasma of rotting bodies and feces.  The quarter of men who were allowed to ride  in trains to the final camp instead of march found  it a more torturous alternative, for the cars were nearly completely sealed, permitted standing room only, and collected such heat that the men inside could not touch the walls for fear of scalding themselves.

In a war of genocide, fire-bombings, and mass starvation,  the competition for horror is fierce.  Though much less severe than the wholesale murder at Dachau and Auschwitz,  Bataan is no less grim in its own right. Here are men as the detritus of war, cut off from every resource, given nothing but abuse and mockery, and left to die. Some 20,000 men perished from disease, execution, exhaustion, live burial, or hunger in the sixty-five mile march.  Stanley Falk’s history is admirable, neither softening the blows nor attempting to propagandize them. He diligently seeks for the causes of the catastrophe, and finds it a bad situation merely made worst by martial brutishness, instead of being an act of deliberate evil.  Bataan is invaluable not just for its information, but for its measured tone.


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Horse

Horse: How the Horse Has Shaped Human Civilization
© 2006 J. Edward Chamberlin
288 pages

How do I love thee, O horse? Let me count the ways.   J. Edward Chamberlin’s Horse begins with one lonely native American mare separated from her tribe  recounting, from long memory, the many centuries that horses and humans have traveled together. Even after moving to more conventional historical narrative, the book remains highly storied, drawing much from art and poetry and   never far removed from recollections of Blackfoot, Greek, Chinese, or other horse-related mythology.  In terms of history, war and sports predominate, with the scant mention made to an actual workhorse   appearing and vanishing in the last chapter like the twinkling of a star.  The history itself sits under the shadow of mythology;  the author’s claim that chariots were used more to taxi infantry to the battle than as weapons themselves is illustrated with nothing more than The Illiad, and he manages to put the cart before the horse (ho, ho) by referring to Islamic expansion as a reaction to the Crusades. Say again?   There’s useful information here – on the evolution of  different breeds, saddles,  riding styles – but  it’s altogether very general.  It’s a loving tribute to creatures that inspire awe and have been at the center of human history for thousands of years, but shouldn’ t be approached for too much substantial history.

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The Grid

The Grid: A Journey Through the Heart of Our Electrified World
© 2007 Phillip Schewe
310 pages

In every room there sits a caged beast waiting to cause mischief, but which most of the time  is put to honest work, instead.  When Thomas Edison began selling electrical service for artificial illumination in the close of the 19th century, did he realize how radically he would transform the world?  Steam engines went a long way, but they never took up residence in the house.  At the opening of the 21st century, homes are linked together not just by ribbons of asphalt but by buzzing wires overhead, and those are only the first part of a complicated apparatus that can sink an economy for days if it hiccoughs.  Phillip Schewe’s The Grid is a layman’s introduction to the world of the electrical grid,  an educational sampler.  He lightly touches on the grid’s early history,   moves into the social relevance of electricity,  writes about some of the aspects of electrical infrastructure, and then looks to the future.

 It is as the author describes it, a “journey” — rather like passing through a city on a bus and catching a sight of very interesting things but not being able to get out to spend time studying them. The early book is quite jumpy, as the reader passes from early electrical enterprise straight to electricity being seen as vital infrastructure that the government can’t leave to the hands of the people who paid to create it.  The latter half is more integrated, especially as Schewe uses his chapter on the home’s internal electric works to argue that the future of electricity may be more distributive,  with solar-paneled homes supplying much of their own electricity and sometimes contributing their excess into the grid. This is followed by a chapter on nuclear plants, the concentrated alternative.  The Grid has a frustrating lack of focus, though, and this is worsened by the author’s creative gifts.  His subject may be mechanical infrastructure, but Schewe waxes lyrical about it — literally,  at one point offering commentary in verse form and filling another paragraph with so many allusions to Hamlet that one wonders if he had a quota. Although electricity is regarded by most everyone in the book as an unmitigated good, Schewe vainly includes Lewis Mumford and Henry David Thoreau as counters, both being technological critics, but neither really bares their teeth;  it’s as impact as someone musing on how over-much we depend on electricity when there’s an outage, and then forgetting about it as soon as the lights pop back on.   It was a nice gesture, though.   The Grid is thus  tantalizingly incomplete,  offering just a taste and then charging ahead into China or Africa to look for different things to sample.

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