Customer Reviews

ROWING AGAINST THE CURRENT: On Learning to Scull at Forty

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I was surprised by how much I loved Barry Strauss's Rowing Against the Current. Although it's not meant to be the main course, I was smitten by the personal saga interwoven with the passionate and scholarly initiation into the history and technique of rowing and the unfolding drama of the powerful tug of the water's spell. This little book scrapes the clay off the feet of men and women who approach mid-life athletics with the same trepidation that anchored them to the sidelines in elementary school sports, the last to be chosen for any team. As the story progresses, the reader roots for the middle aged loosening of the harness of schoolyard gender constrictions as the athletic leftover of a boy becomes the multifaceted man. Strauss is a generous and complex writer who invites you into his childhood athletic struggles as seemingly effortlessly as he accompanies you to the boathouse, drinking in the sounds and smells at dawn, or ushers you into an art gallery brimming with images of boats on water- all in support of sharing his passion for sculling and the process of becoming a rower. Skillfully linking the modern rowers tensions and relational harmony with ancient male bonding rituals, Strauss translates the stories of Greek rowers in poetry as if anyone could. But he comforts the aspiring athlete in each of us who has participated as a beginner in any sport that looks so easy when done by the pros when he confesses: "Rowing was not simple for me. I nodded whenever the instructor made a point, as if I understood, but I could as easily have assembled the space shuttle as repeated the moves she was explaining." Strauss's self deprecating humor may be the slice of this book that resonates with many of our own armored adult convictions of who we are, but his reverence for the pull of the water and unsentimental questioning of his own niche in the world as well as his writer's eye and often lyrical prose not only make his book an experiential and compelling read, but an offering of who we may yet become. Even for those of us who have no proven intention of working out before daybreak, pledging our souls to the water or losing our balance in a long skinny shell, the reader closes the book with a smile and the feeling that the doors of possibility have opened.

From time to time you run across one of those books that wanders gracefully from one topic to another, all the time circling around a central theme. John McPhee's "Oranges" is like that, and so is "Rowing Against the Current." Mr. Strauss, a classics scholar himself, is perfectly poised to write a book about rowing. His background in classics gives him a special vantage point from which to appreciate the ancient sport of rowing and its survival into modern times.

Be warned, this is not a book for everyone. If you're looking for a book on rowing techniques or how to improve your stroke, look elsewhere. The subtitle says it all: "On Learning to Scull at Forty." This is an intensely personal memoire about one man's experiences taking up a new sport in middle-age (although some of us might regard him as a mere spring chicken).

But for those looking for a book that ranges from a description of what it's like to take out a narrow shell with a twelve-inch wide seat on a river at dawn to a comparison of the status of rowers in ancient Greece and Rome, this book is highly recommended. Think of it as a fireside book -- something to curl up with on a cold night. And if you like it, then move on to David Halberstam's "The Amateurs." Enjoy.

At first reading, I found Mr.Strauss to be a tad to prone to poetic whimsy. Though I found his prose style very impressive, he seemed to want to wax eleoquent about every aspect of his middle-age rebirth. However, after finishing the book, I could not get certain paragraphs out of my mind, and I would leaf through in order to re-read said paragraphs. Eventually I read the book four times, the resonance and poetry I so blithely dismissed as hyperbole, was replaced with an awed respect for the author. He is excited and curious, and those qualities rush forth in a flowery prose, but it is not extentanious, it is the childlike glee of learning a new sport. Through out this book, Mr.Strauss touches on topics that relate to us all: sports injuries, getting back in shape, juggling fitness with family and work. All of these topics touch most people and he handles them with an ease and grace that will inspire all that read this tiny tome. Nowhere is he more effective than when discussing the biggest reason for choosing so ardous an athleteic endeavor; that being a horrid Little League experiance that scared him for decades. In between humorous laments, and fresh diatribes, Mr.Strauss also covers rowing technique, history, and preparation. He becomes a whirling dervish, a man possesed! Yet he handles all these subjects with great prose dexterity, and a human touch that will reach out to all who buy this book. On a personal note, I found his description of the Concept 2 rowing machine( ergometer) to be wry, funny and dead on. I own one of these machines, and it is a hellish, brutish, sweet torture, and Mr.Strauss nails the experiance with great wit. This is a wonderful read, as the trials and tribulations of Barry Strauss are the same for most of the human race. Yet he shows how to handle these, to push oneself, to triumph in defeat with such grace that you will feel like attacking your personal foibles with rapier and musket!

Rowing a single scull is the essence of vulnerability: you're perched atop a rolling seat in a featherweight hull, above the waterline and facing backwards! Now try to move this contraption forward (it seems backwards) without swamping the boat or ramming into something. Now try to do all this in a race down a river that meanders for several miles. Strangely, it's possible to learn to do all this -- and to enjoy it.

Barry Strauss, in a witty and heartfelt story, shares with his readers all the appeal and fear that sculling creates. He weaves his own motives and impressions with a rich history of rowing that reaches back to the ancient Greeks -- whose culture he celebrates as a history professor. And he constantly surprises his readers with insights and observations: about life, America's sports culture, family and friendships, and the special world of "messing about in boats."

In my spare time, I row and also write about the sport so I appreciate Strauss's spirited approach to both rowing and writing. His odyssey is a masterpiece!

Rowing Against the Current is one of those books that grabs you.

I'm not sure whether its the mixture of gritty reality and academic pondering, the ability of the writer to bring to life the minutia of coming to and mastering a new sport, a wake up call to the 40 something who feels they can do more, or just the ease of writing style that pulls you along. I am a fan of the short book, and this one I enjoyed.

Don't read it because you have any expectations, read it because you need a fresh view on a man's ability, attitude, and discovery of a new love. This is not a book about rowing, there's much more to it than that.

Strauss has given us a surprising and unique rowing memoir here. In part a blatant excuse to write about a subject of his infatuation, rowing in ancient history, the book doesn't spare us some of Strauss' own trials and tribulations in his attempts and ultimate success in learning to row. All in all, this makes for quite a nice read, mixing personal experience and interesting historical tidbits exceedingly well.

The chapters are each ostensibly about something specific, with simple names to go with them ("The Practice", "The Beginner", "The Coach", "The Greeks", "The Race", "The Return"), and make for nice thematic musings. In the first, Strauss gives an illustration of typical solo sculling, bringing in the mystique of the water. Why scull? "Because it's beautiful. Because it's challenging. Because it's escapist," he answers, and we can relate. In "The Beginner", he combines a discussion of both famous and less-well-known rowing-related art with tales of his beginning steps at learning to row. It's an interesting mix: the technical and mechanical description of the boat and the stroke, and the cerebral experience of pondering visual art. "The Coach" continues on with the process of learning, delving into more philosophical aspects of coaching, teaching and learning in general.

By the time we get halfway through the book, we already know that Strauss has learned pretty well. He gives us a bit of an intermission with "The Greeks", a lovely chapter exploring rowing in ancient Greece. What makes this such a nice chapter is that he unashamedly gives us a very personal account of this history--his own opinions and reactions, intertwined with his desire to have come from tough rowing stock. The next chapter, "The Race" gives us an account of his first race in a single scull, where his ego got "carved into three parts". This is a self-effacing tale of embarrassment, injury, and pushing oneself too hard, and the consequences that come from all that. In "The Return", Strauss gives us more detail on the multi-layered pain of injury and turns it into a good thing. He was forced to abandon rowing for some time, but picked up swimming in the process; he made me want to wander over to the pool. But this chapter is ultimately about getting back into the water in a scull, which he does, with us cheering him along.

In closing, if you are the least bit interested in rowing as anything other than pure exercise, you will enjoy this book. You'll get a nice basic history of the sport--if more history books were written this way, there would be more fans of history. But you'll also get an enjoyable account of someone going through all the stages (painful or not) of learning to row and then rowing both recreationally and competitively. If you are a rower, Strauss' account will resonate throughout your own experiences, whereever you are in the process. And if you have not yet started learning to row, don't be surprised if you find yourself signing up for a class.

The subject of this book has much promise--an elegant sport with a respectable history, the search for a physical activity that satisfies without wear and tear, mastery of a young person's game in middle age, and the solitary, contemplative, rather Zen act of drawing lines in the early morning water. Perhaps I expected too much, but the book did not live up to its promise. The story of his initiation into rowing and his first race were well written and interesting. The disquisition on Greek navigation was out of place and just seemed a recycling of some old article from a journal of classical studies, offering little of particular interest to the subject at hand. The book ends, not "raking the moon from out the sea," but in a smelly gym with a tedious blow by blow of his progress on the ergometer, how his times on it improved, how each part of his body felt, blah, blah, blah. Perhaps some readers enjoy hearing how Tuesday's workout differed from Wednesday's. I found it more tedious than inspiring.

"I am rowing toward the past," writes Strauss in this exhilarating and multifaceted meditation on learning and mastering the ancient art of rowing. As a frustrated athlete searching for a fulfilling sport to call his own and as a scholar of ancient Greek naval history, the author has hit on a fascinating and auspicious combination, the graceful blending of personal narrative with historical interest.

My favorite chapter was the one on the striking love-hate relationship the classical Greeks had with the wine-dark waters that surrounded them, from their naval victory against the Persians at Salamis to the nostalgia of lifelong sailors for home shores and the ever-present threat of loss at sea.

Reading "Rowing Against the Current" is a real adventure!

A wonderful read for all of us wanabees whose youthful dreams of sports heroism were let down by our lack of prowess. Strauss explores the pains and joys of middle aged athleticism while offering fascinating insights to the ancient rowers who battled at Salamis and elsewhere. A rare book that's perfect to lose yourself in while flying to Europe or while riding the train to work.

I just started rowing last summer and I can honestly say that this book really hits home. I think the book is well written and overall the book is good but not great. The author is a historian of the ancient world (primarily Greece as far as I can tell) and seems to dive too deeply on strange tangeants regarding ancient rowing vessels and coaches for my taste. Overall a good book.