deeper, approaching earth’snmolten core, some of it meltsnand spews upward as volcanoes,ncreating land masses like thenHawaiian Islands.nOne geologist who does notnaccept the plate-tectonic theorynin toto is Anita Harris, then”heroine” of John McPhee’s InnSuspect Terrain. A world-recognizedngeologist, Harris subscribesnto the basic soundness of thentheory but, by way of author’nMcPhee, she points out a numbernof geological puzzles, includingncertain aspects of the Appalachiannrange, unanswered by thentheory. Her gripe is not againstnthe theory but against those scientistsnof the bandwagon varietynwho fail to observe and analyzendata with scholarly rigor. Unfortunately,nfads can affect scientistsnas well as laymen.nAnother American propensity,nlike the yen for newness, is thenurge to get things done rightnnow, be it winning a war overnightnor showing a bottom-linenprofit on the corporate quarterlynbalance sheet. Largely becausenof this propensity, a number ofnpublishing houses which used tonproduce quality literature—neven though it wasn’t immediatelynprofitable—have beennswept up by conglomerates andnthrown into the dustbin. So, whatnis the bottom Une on geology?nWhat’s in it for us? How can wenturn an immediate profit in thisnscience so reminiscent of Hinduncosmology in which a kalpa, an”day of Brahma,” is 4320 millionnyears long, and over many kalpasnthe earth is taken apart and putnback together again?nJohn McPhee answers thisnquestion in In Suspect Terrain.nHarris herself discovered a characteristicnof differently locatednconodonts (tiny fragments ofnancient marine animals) whichnultimately provided a sort ofn”geothermometer” in the searchnfor oil. When the OPEC-inspirednoil crisis occurred in the earlyn70’s, American oil companiesnused her discovery to zero inneconomically on new oil deposits.nThe bottom line. A moral couldnbe, and probably should be,ndrawn here, something aboutngovernment support for pure research—whethernin astronomy,nparapsychology, or geology. Anscholarly curiosity, not a companynpetrogeologist’s search, lednHarris to her discovery. In thenbeginning she had no notion thatnher discovery would aid thencountry in its hour of need, butnshe worked for years on her ownntime and without benefit of governmentngrants. Senator Proxmirenregularly illuminates withnfiilsome irony how our governmentnsubsidizes patentiy ridiculousnprojects. There should be anway to separate the grain fromnthe chaff, but given our evergrowingnand often mindless bureaucracy,nis such a salubriousnsolution possible?nJohn McPhee is a prolific writernwho is able to transmute technical,nsometimes arcane, subjectnmatter into layman’s language.nHis scope is Faustian; he obviouslynis a quick learner, and hisnknowledge is well digested. Unfortunately,nnot many readers ofnIn Suspect Terrain will be as^ excitednas the author at his encounternwith a fresh road-cut exposingnstrata of prehistoric rock formations.nEven McPhee’s narrativenskill and his clever knack ofnweaving relevant tales and anecdotesnare not likely to sustain anlively interest in a lay reader. Wencertainly need people like AnitanHarris and we nped people likenJohn McPhee to write aboutnthem, but In Suspect Terrain isnhardly a book to be read for relaxednenjoyment. It demands thenclose attention of a textbook. DnA PatheticnMacbethnThomas H. Cook The Ordrids;nHoughton MifHin; Boston.nFew speeches in Shakespearenare more often quoted than thatnspoken by Macbeth just beforenhe is slain by Macduff. Yet hisnevaluation of life as an emptyndream, an idiot’s tale, must benseen within its dramatic context:nthis is, after all, the view of a manifoldnmurderer nearing the endnof a moral collapse. It is a morenclear-sighted Macbeth who earliernperceives that “even-handednjustice,” not deranged idiocy, ultimatelyngoverns the course ofnthe human soul and who thereforenrightly fears that the virtuesnof the butchered Duncan “Willnplead like angels, trumpettongued,nagainst/The deep damnationnof his taking off.” As anformer SS doctor who performedn”medical experiments” uponnhundreds of prisoners in a nazinliquidation camp, Peter Langhofl;nthe protagonist of Thomas Cook’snThe Orchids, has even morenreason than Macbeth to fear thenvengeance of pleading angelsnand deep damnation. However,nthough Langhoff first views thenCamp as an approaching “BimamnWood” and though he sees anShakespearean fool in his onlynfriend in the Camp—^the Jewishnlover of a homosexual Germannofficer—he never achieves thentranscendent vision essential tonany tragic hero, even a murderousnone like Macbeth. Hidingnfrom the Israelis in a corrupt andnimderdeveloped Latin Americanncountry, Langhoff broods end­nnnlessly on the atrocities in whichnhe took part, never embracingnthe easy excuses that solace hisncompanion in hiding, Dr. Ludtz.nIn his pessimistic antiromanticism,nLanghoff is totally blind tonthe possibility of himian virtue,njustice, or selflessness anywhere;nfrom his perspective, Ufe indeednlooks like a furious, empty “talentold by an idiot.” And unformnately,nthough Mr. Cook is manffestlyna writer of talent, hisnphilosophic blinders seem tonobscure almost as much as LanghofFs.nThe background on whichnhe paints the doctor’s dark reflectionsnis itseff wholly black.nNowhere does Cook depict thenheroism of a Macduff or the purgingnof “black scruples” within anMalcolm; instead, he peoples hisnLatin Republic with priests, peasants,nsoldiers, and politiciansnwho are so superstitious, corrupt,nor avaricious that they often degenerateninto caricatures, trivializingnthe moral issues of Langhoffsnmeditation. In the end,nwhen Langhoff finally grows sonweary of his life that he saysn”Enough” (as Macbeth neverndoes) and deliberately seeksndeath at the hands of El Presidente’snguards, the effect is onenof pathos, not of tragedy. Thenworld of tragic possibilities, tonborrow a line from Hamlet, includesnmore things in heavennand earth than are dreamt of innCook’s philosophy. (BC) DnBang-BangnJoseph Wambaugh: The DeltanStar; WilUam Morrow; New York.nSam Koperwas: Easy Money;nWilliam Morrow; New York,nOrdinarily, people don’t fUngndirty epithets at writers whflenthey are doing their jobs, nor donthey shoot at them. It is, ofncourse, a different story fornpolice officers. Joseph Wambaugh,na former detective withn^mmmUnJane 1983n