ould buy into El Padrino's strange brand of witchcraft. It explained the climate of fear that allowed Adolfo to run his cult so successfully for so many years. It explained how he was able to evade capture for as long as he did.

From the Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist comes what Publishers Weekly called the “definitive study” of the grisly mass killings in Matamoros, Mexico.Writing isn’t brain surgery, but it’s rare when someone adept at the latter is also so accomplished at the former. Searching for meaning and purpose in his life, Kalanithi pursued a doctorate in literature and had felt certain that he wouldn’t enter the field of medicine, in which his father and other members of his family excelled. “But I couldn’t let go of the question,” he writes, after realizing that his goals “didn’t quite fit in an English department.” “Where did biology, morality, literature and philosophy intersect?” So he decided to set aside his doctoral dissertation and belatedly prepare for medical school, which “would allow me a chance to find answers that are not in books, to find a different sort of sublime, to forge relationships with the suffering, and to keep following the question of what makes human life meaningful, even in the face of death and decay.” The author’s empathy undoubtedly made him an exceptional doctor, and the precision of his prose—as well as the moral purpose underscoring it—suggests that he could have written a good book on any subject he chose. Part of what makes this book so essential is the fact that it was written under a death sentence following the diagnosis that upended his life, just as he was preparing to end his residency and attract offers at the top of his profession. Kalanithi learned he might have 10 years to live or perhaps five. Should he return to neurosurgery (he could and did), or should he write (he also did)? Should he and his wife have a baby? They did, eight months before he died, which was less than two years after the original diagnosis. “The fact of death is unsettling,” he understates. “Yet there is no other way to live.” Occasionally wonky but overall a good case for how the dismal science can make the world less—well, dismal.

Humes, Edward (2016). Door to Door: The Magnificent, Maddening, Mysterious World of Transportation. New York: Harper. ISBN 978-0062372079.Humes, Edward (2004). School of Dreams: Making the Grade at a Top American High School. Harcourt/Harvest Books. ISBN 0-15-603007-1. Quality of life means more than just consumption”: Two MIT economists urge that a smarter, more politically aware economics be brought to bear on social issues. In the 1980’s, Adolfo Constanzo, devotee of Santería and powerful cult leader opened shop in Mexico City as a fortune-teller. He soon realized that there were greater profits in drug money than the occult, and as his status grew in the drug trade, so too did his legendary brutality. Kidnappings, torture, and murder were three weapons in his arsenal that he used to keep a vice grip on the drug trade. It is extremely well written, and I found the book very dark, but I still could not put this book down until the very end. I still wonder how these people walk among us today and how they can still manipulate people by obedience, subservience, or readiness to accept instruction or direction. Humes explores the intersections of the drug trade and politics in a way that still resonates today, also touching upon the religious elements that play into the iconic status of drug kingpins. After the ritual murder of Mark Kilroy, a student from America, Constanzo died in a shoot-out and many of his followers went to prison. This unflinching, unforgettable story is brought to vivid, terrifying life in “One of the best true-crime tales in recent time.”