Madagascar is a drug. Between its dazzling culture and biosphere—ninety percent of its species found nowhere else—everything is beautiful. But nothing is possible. The world’s fourth largest island is also its fourth most corrupt nation. The rivers run red.
Lawrence Winkler is a physician, traveler, and natural philosopher.
His molecules have morphed from medicine to manuscript. He lives with Robyn on Vancouver Island and in New Zealand, tending their gardens and vineyards, and dreams.
Books by Lawrence Winkler
The fates of three tormented men, born as many eras apart, come together in a rock cave on the Coromandel Peninsula of New Zealand— Tama of the Ngatei Hei, Billy Green in the days of gold, and Dr. Sababa from across the ocean— seeking revenge, discovering treasure, and searching for redemption. Inside The Bolthole, on a mossy platform, is the skull of a Maori chieftain, the silver button of a British Naval captain, and a greenstone club.
Most remote islands of the imagination conjure up paradise. Japan is an archipelago of puzzlement. Most remote islands of the imagination conjure up paradise. The principle product of Nippon is mystery. Who are these people? How do they view themselves, and others? What makes them behave so well, and so badly? And why is Japan the weirdest place on Earth?
The American West was a notion, not a nation. It was a process, not a place. Late in the summer of 2013, I set out to find the Old West, what it had been, and what had replaced it. The quest for my own wild panorama would turn wheels of fortune into a movable feast of Wagon Days. And if this don’t get your fire started, your wood’s wet.
It lives in the hole where the moon used to be. And for most of the worst part of the northern winter, over the last two decades, so have we.
The real South Pacific was not a Bali Hai musical, but a drama of cannibals and castaways, headhunters and slavers, paradise and perdition.