I hover between giving this two or three stars. I think I have to drop lower rather than higher, here, however, mainly for how unpolished this book felt. I really wanted to like this book. Like Fleischman, I too practise Vipassana meditation, and I also greatly admire some of the people he examines in the book. The idea of the book is wonderful, to provide a detailed study of peace and of those who have dedicated their lives to seeking it out. I was glad that he provided such a diverse array of subjects, showing the multiplicity of ways that peace can be realised and achieved in a human life. I appreciate Fleischman's emphasis that peace is something that must be worked towards (and worked towards continuously with all of one's effort), as well as the attempt to define various core elements and aspects of the search.
However, I cannot stomach Fleischman's writing. Attempting to avoid something scholarly or analytical, he unfortunately swings much too hard in the opposite direction, adopting a poetic style that feels severely unrefined, and thoroughly contrived. Like a freshman English student, Fleischman piles adjective upon adjective, thinking it will add richness to his prose. Instead, the effect is a total muddying. Reading this book feels like joining a highway at low speed, and just as I start to gain some momentum, I come across roadworks and have to slow down again. Exiting them, I increase my speed, only to find another blockage, a new detour, again having to slow down. I wasn't able to achieve any sustained sense of flow through reading the entire three hundred pages of this book, except through the passages of quotations from other more practised writers. I am not sure Fleischman understands that good poets and writers know how to practise restraint, with much of their language remaining deceptively ordinary. In contrast, his language feels awkward and inaccessible.
To reiterate, there are some genuinely valuable ideas here, and I have learned something from this book. Above all, I probably most appreciated Fleischman's sense of courage - it felt that he was making a great claim for the necessity of peace, so valuable in a time when arguing for such a necessity is "seen as naïve by cynics". One must remember that it is all too easy to be smug and to be cynical, but so difficult to be earnest in our era of sarcasm: earnestly wishing and striving towards a life of honesty, peace, uprightness and compassion. These are commonly sneered at by the crowd as a form of weakness, but many of the strongest people I have ever met are those who have set the cultivation of these attitudes and dispositions as their central goal.
So please don't take this review as a rejection of the content (although I do balk somewhat at the facile humanism that Fleischman invokes throughout), but mainly a plea that in future, the publishers have somewhat higher standards and better copy editors. This book could have been genuinely fantastic, with a little more restraint.
N.B. Perhaps this is more evidence for my theory that nearly no good books have ever been published by an author who signs the front cover with their academic credentials (e.g. Paul R. Fleischman, M.D.) - does any good writer need extra credentials beyond the quality of their work?