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Tragic Shores: A Memoir of Dark Travel
'I have come to thank dark places for the light they bring to life.'
Thomas Cook has always been drawn to dark places, for the powerful emotions they evoke and for what we can learn from them. These lessons are often unexpected and sometimes profoundly intimate, but they are never straightforward.
With his wife and daughter, Cook travels across the globe in search of darkness - from Lourdes to Ghana, from San Francisco to Verdun, from the monumental, mechanised horror of Auschwitz to the intimate personal grief of a shrine to dead infants in Kamukura, Japan. Along the way he reflects on what these sites may teach us, not only about human history, but about our own personal histories.
During the course of a lifetime of traveling to some of earth's most tragic shores, from the leper colony on Molokai to ground zero at Hiroshima, he finds not darkness alone, but a light that can illuminate the darkness within each of us. Written in vivid prose, this is at once a personal memoir of exploration (both external and internal), and a strangely heartening look at the radiance that may be found at the very heart of darkness.
Thomas Cook has always been drawn to dark places, for the powerful emotions they evoke and for what we can learn from them. These lessons are often unexpected and sometimes profoundly intimate, but they are never straightforward.
With his wife and daughter, Cook travels across the globe in search of darkness - from Lourdes to Ghana, from San Francisco to Verdun, from the monumental, mechanised horror of Auschwitz to the intimate personal grief of a shrine to dead infants in Kamukura, Japan. Along the way he reflects on what these sites may teach us, not only about human history, but about our own personal histories.
During the course of a lifetime of traveling to some of earth's most tragic shores, from the leper colony on Molokai to ground zero at Hiroshima, he finds not darkness alone, but a light that can illuminate the darkness within each of us. Written in vivid prose, this is at once a personal memoir of exploration (both external and internal), and a strangely heartening look at the radiance that may be found at the very heart of darkness.
384 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2017
25 people are currently reading
526 people want to read
About the author
Thomas H. Cook
96 books353 followersThere is more than one author with this name on Goodreads.
Thomas H. Cook has been praised by critics for his attention to psychology and the lyrical nature of his prose. He is the author of more than 30 critically-acclaimed fiction books, including works of true crime. Cook published his first novel, Blood Innocents, in 1980. Cook published steadily through the 1980s, penning such works as the Frank Clemons trilogy, a series of mysteries starring a jaded cop.
He found breakout success with The Chatham School Affair (1996), which won an Edgar Award for best novel. Besides mysteries, Cook has written two true-crime books including the Edgar-nominated Blood Echoes (1993). He lives and works in New York City.
Awards
Edgar Allan Poe – Best Novel – The Chatham School Affair
Barry Award – Best Novel – Red Leaves
Martin Beck Award of the Swedish Academy of Detection – The Chatham School Affair
Martin Beck Award of the Swedish Academy of Detection – Red Leaves
Herodotus Prize – Fatherhood
Thomas H. Cook has been praised by critics for his attention to psychology and the lyrical nature of his prose. He is the author of more than 30 critically-acclaimed fiction books, including works of true crime. Cook published his first novel, Blood Innocents, in 1980. Cook published steadily through the 1980s, penning such works as the Frank Clemons trilogy, a series of mysteries starring a jaded cop.
He found breakout success with The Chatham School Affair (1996), which won an Edgar Award for best novel. Besides mysteries, Cook has written two true-crime books including the Edgar-nominated Blood Echoes (1993). He lives and works in New York City.
Awards
Edgar Allan Poe – Best Novel – The Chatham School Affair
Barry Award – Best Novel – Red Leaves
Martin Beck Award of the Swedish Academy of Detection – The Chatham School Affair
Martin Beck Award of the Swedish Academy of Detection – Red Leaves
Herodotus Prize – Fatherhood
Ratings & Reviews
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
February 6, 2020
Thomas H. Cook, a crime writer from Fort Payne, Alabama, now lives in Los Angeles. His 30+ previous books are fiction, but in this out-of-the-ordinary travel memoir he blends personal experience and history to tell of the ‘dark places’ he’s drawn to visiting. He traces his interest in sites of historical tragedy back to his childhood, when his father, a Second World War veteran, took him to see drowned corpses and the aftermath of a natural disaster. Growing up in the segregated South also made him particularly sensitive to ethnic violence: “one should suffer for having done something, not for having been born something,” he feels.
In 28 chapters that jump around in chronological order, Cook chronicles journeys he’s made to places associated with war, massacres, doomed lovers, suicides and other evidence of human suffering. Some are well known – Lourdes, Auschwitz, Verdun and Ground Zero – while others, like a Hawaiian leper colony and the hideaway of a fifteenth-century serial killer, require a bit more background. In Buenos Aires he sees the Plaza de Mayo, where the mothers of the disappeared still keep vigil; in Vietnam and Cambodia he marvels at the scale of politically driven atrocities. Again and again he is struck by “humanity as a vast tableau of woundedness and need” on one hand and “the utterly fiendish ways in which [suffering] was inflicted” on the other; the active capacity for evil versus the weight of passive anguish.
Although it considers more familiar historical incidents, the chapter on Okinawa and Hiroshima is among the book’s highlights. Cook’s excellent descriptions of the mass suicide rooms where the Japanese retreated as the Americans approached and the atomic bomb was dropped bring history to vibrant life. For him, the simplicity of Hiroshima’s Peace Museum and memorial park “convey the grim bedazzlement of both the event itself, how confusion must have reigned in the immediate aftermath of unprecedented horror, and the astonishing capacity of human beings to deal with whatever befalls them.”
But the most memorable chapter of all is one in which suffering comes home to the author in a personal way. He opens it with a visit to Martha’s Vineyard, where the last heath hen was seen in 1932. The species was the subject of one of America’s earliest conservation efforts, but fires, domestic cats and cars were formidable foes for this ground-nesting bird. Cook made this particular trip alone because his wife and usual travel partner, Susan Terner, was experiencing some back pain. They soon learned that this was due to the metastatic recurrence of her breast cancer; she would die at age 62 in December 2014. “Like that fabled bird, Susan was gone,” he writes. “She had been one of a kind. And now she was extinct.”
This personal bereavement caused him to temporarily question the cathartic benefit of visiting dark places “when you have reached the tragic shore within you.” Ultimately, though, he argues that there is value in remembering what happened at these sites, for by doing so we “drain triviality” from our travelling and from the lives that were lost. Perhaps inevitably, the book feels a little scattered: there are so many different places, so many different tragic chapters of history. It can be a challenge to see how they all fit together.
What Cook finally seems to land on, though, is what Samuel Beckett wrote in The Unnamable: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.” In other words, suffering is essential to human nature and experience, and acknowledging that means acknowledging what we all share. This is by no means your average travel book and it won’t suit those who seek high adventure and/or tropical escapism from their reading. Instead, it’s a meditative and often melancholy picture of humanity at its best and worst.
In 28 chapters that jump around in chronological order, Cook chronicles journeys he’s made to places associated with war, massacres, doomed lovers, suicides and other evidence of human suffering. Some are well known – Lourdes, Auschwitz, Verdun and Ground Zero – while others, like a Hawaiian leper colony and the hideaway of a fifteenth-century serial killer, require a bit more background. In Buenos Aires he sees the Plaza de Mayo, where the mothers of the disappeared still keep vigil; in Vietnam and Cambodia he marvels at the scale of politically driven atrocities. Again and again he is struck by “humanity as a vast tableau of woundedness and need” on one hand and “the utterly fiendish ways in which [suffering] was inflicted” on the other; the active capacity for evil versus the weight of passive anguish.
Although it considers more familiar historical incidents, the chapter on Okinawa and Hiroshima is among the book’s highlights. Cook’s excellent descriptions of the mass suicide rooms where the Japanese retreated as the Americans approached and the atomic bomb was dropped bring history to vibrant life. For him, the simplicity of Hiroshima’s Peace Museum and memorial park “convey the grim bedazzlement of both the event itself, how confusion must have reigned in the immediate aftermath of unprecedented horror, and the astonishing capacity of human beings to deal with whatever befalls them.”
But the most memorable chapter of all is one in which suffering comes home to the author in a personal way. He opens it with a visit to Martha’s Vineyard, where the last heath hen was seen in 1932. The species was the subject of one of America’s earliest conservation efforts, but fires, domestic cats and cars were formidable foes for this ground-nesting bird. Cook made this particular trip alone because his wife and usual travel partner, Susan Terner, was experiencing some back pain. They soon learned that this was due to the metastatic recurrence of her breast cancer; she would die at age 62 in December 2014. “Like that fabled bird, Susan was gone,” he writes. “She had been one of a kind. And now she was extinct.”
This personal bereavement caused him to temporarily question the cathartic benefit of visiting dark places “when you have reached the tragic shore within you.” Ultimately, though, he argues that there is value in remembering what happened at these sites, for by doing so we “drain triviality” from our travelling and from the lives that were lost. Perhaps inevitably, the book feels a little scattered: there are so many different places, so many different tragic chapters of history. It can be a challenge to see how they all fit together.
What Cook finally seems to land on, though, is what Samuel Beckett wrote in The Unnamable: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.” In other words, suffering is essential to human nature and experience, and acknowledging that means acknowledging what we all share. This is by no means your average travel book and it won’t suit those who seek high adventure and/or tropical escapism from their reading. Instead, it’s a meditative and often melancholy picture of humanity at its best and worst.
September 22, 2019
Thomas Cook, a novelist, and his wife and daughter loved to travel to dark places in the world. Over the years, Cook visited some of the darkest places on the planet, places where war killed many, places where groups of people were put to death, places where freedoms were taken away, places where great destruction took places. Some of the places Cook visited include Auschwitz, Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, the suicide forest in Japan, Saigon, Londonderry, Hiroshima, and Ground Zero in NYC.
It sounds like this would be a book that would be deeply sad, but I was surprised to find that Cook was able to find goodness in the dark places, even redemption sometimes, and that is a hopeful thing. It’s the ways that Cook finds the good even in the worst of the worst that this book can be helpful, I think.
It sounds like this would be a book that would be deeply sad, but I was surprised to find that Cook was able to find goodness in the dark places, even redemption sometimes, and that is a hopeful thing. It’s the ways that Cook finds the good even in the worst of the worst that this book can be helpful, I think.
August 12, 2017
Really enjoyed this memoir, and loved hearing the authors perspective and reactions to visiting such dark places, some of which I've been to myself. The historical details and background info on each place is also well done, and combined with Cook's personal thoughts gives you a really good feel of each location. I also liked that each chapter focused on a different place and didn't jump around like some memoirs I've read. Would definitely recommend to anyone interested in memoirs, history, and/or travel
June 4, 2019
What a wonderful book - a trip around the world. So well written with such heartfelt passion, I couldn’t help but feel all his emotions as he visited some very traumatic landmarks. In spite of the sadness and horror, Mr Cook could always put a positive spin on the place he had selected to write about.
I am pretty well traveled, Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Caribbean, Mexico, Canada, Hawaii and most of the United States. I, also have do what Tom and Susan did, study before the trip, learn all the history and then find the out of the way un-touristy places to visit. I still do that exploring in my adopted home of Florida, from Key West to Pensacola!! My itinerary is never “dark”, but I understand the road he was traveling.
I am pretty well traveled, Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Caribbean, Mexico, Canada, Hawaii and most of the United States. I, also have do what Tom and Susan did, study before the trip, learn all the history and then find the out of the way un-touristy places to visit. I still do that exploring in my adopted home of Florida, from Key West to Pensacola!! My itinerary is never “dark”, but I understand the road he was traveling.
June 2, 2019
This book is not exactly what one would expect from its title. The writer sometimes finds nothing but darkness in the places he sees and what light he finds is so dim and small that it is close to no light at all. He starts out with awful tales about how his father dragged him from one disaster to another, just to stare at death, destruction and ruin. It is hard to fathom what that kind of upbringing might do to a child.
The writer seems to realize that it was not healthy and yet, as he does later in life and throughout his travels, he finds slivers of meaning in each place and each terrible scene. He often finds places where the hope promised on the cover of the book never materializes.
I didn't like his writing style when the book started... He is a crime fiction writer and no philosopher or theologian and he and his dad and his family of disaster tourists were initially repellent characters.
But after awhile, letting go of expectation, this book can become a meditation on meaning if not hope and certainly a descriptive guide to places most of us will never see, with interesting backstory and history for each.
The book is not what the reader expects or hopes for but like the places it visits, can be a source of introspection. The little historical vignettes are interesting and informative. Deserves a read but go in knowing that sometimes the darkness does not sing. Sometimes it can do nothing at all and we can only try to accustom our eyes to lack of light and move forward the best we can.
The writer seems to realize that it was not healthy and yet, as he does later in life and throughout his travels, he finds slivers of meaning in each place and each terrible scene. He often finds places where the hope promised on the cover of the book never materializes.
I didn't like his writing style when the book started... He is a crime fiction writer and no philosopher or theologian and he and his dad and his family of disaster tourists were initially repellent characters.
But after awhile, letting go of expectation, this book can become a meditation on meaning if not hope and certainly a descriptive guide to places most of us will never see, with interesting backstory and history for each.
The book is not what the reader expects or hopes for but like the places it visits, can be a source of introspection. The little historical vignettes are interesting and informative. Deserves a read but go in knowing that sometimes the darkness does not sing. Sometimes it can do nothing at all and we can only try to accustom our eyes to lack of light and move forward the best we can.
February 15, 2018
Generally, I’m not a big reader of travel writing, but come Christmas 2017 my beloved wife scoured the shelves of a Melbourne book store in search of a gift and found a title that - knowing my proclivities which she variously describes as morbid, or at other times in a more generous light as “heavy” - she thought I might find interesting.
She was not wrong.
I often had this fleeting thought of one day journeying to some of the locations on this planet that have been scarred indelibly by human anguish and horror, with a view to writing about the atmosphere I found, and what wisdom that atmosphere might provide on the human condition. I might say that Thomas Cook has beaten me to the punch, but the truth of the matter is that I’m not nearly as intrepid as he, so any aspirations I might have had would have likely succumbed to inertia anyway.
In Tragic Shores, Cook travels all over the globe to a variety of locations with haunted histories. Some locations are expected: such as Verdun, Auschwitz and the killing fields of Cambodia. Yet Cook’s scope is not restricted to atrocity by quantity or familiarity, as he ventures to other locales that have captured various other elements of human sorrow.
But it would be unfair to classify this book as simply the tourism of tragedy or the voyeurism of violence, as Cook’s premise in journeying to such places is more about what we, in an existential quest, can learn about our own place in the world from immersing ourselves in these locations and exploring the depths of their history.
As such, Cook attempts to find a silver lining of sorts - not always successfully - under every dark cloud in which he places himself.
At Verdun he is confronted not just by the immensity of that unforgiving battlefield, but by a common annoyance of many in having to share his excursion there with a class of school children -- for whom the sanctity of such a location is lost amid their youthful exuberance. It is in this however that Cook catches onto something, as he ponders the staggering amount of young lives cut short in that meat grinder during the First World War.
As solemn as this knowledge is, Cook comes to the touching realisation that the flower of French and German youth that was snuffed out at Verdun, would likely not begrudge the frolicking young masses their trespasses whilst enjoying a youth that was cruelly denied to them.
On the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, which holds the tragic second spot on a list of the world’s most common suicide locations, Cook ventures across the span of that impressive landmark in the early hours of a fashionably foggy San Francisco morning -- unburdened by the usual teeming masses who head to this tourist hotspot on any given day.
Employing imagination and empathy he attempts to trace, or at least come to some understanding, with the anguish that may have overwhelmed all of those who made the same journey with no intention of returning. On this walk he is greeted by an early morning cyclist travelling in the opposite direction, showing a look of concern given the time that Cook had chosen for his amble, making him an unlikely tourist.
It is when their paths cross once more, the cyclist having apparently circled back, that Cook is presented with that light in the darkness:
To my surprise, he slowed again, and as he drew closer, an extraordinarily sweet smile lit his face. ‘Glad you made it,’ he said gently and with great sincerity. There was kindness in his face, relief in his eyes, and in his voice, for that instant, I heard a music as beautiful as any I had ever heard.
It is these moments of random kindness from strangers, that in the individualism and competitiveness of modernity might seem increasingly uncommon, that can have such a profound impact on those who find themselves more isolated than others. The profundity of such moments might escape many who can take such interactions for granted, but Cook makes the observation that such moments have undoubtedly changed - and saved - the lives of many.
I will refrain from expanding on too much more, lest I ruin the journey for those who are yet to turn the pages of this book.
I will finish by saying that there is a touching personal narrative woven into Tragic Shores, which comes to fruition in the final chapters. Overall, it is an enlightening read which could also be considered cathartic in its own way, which it evidently was for the author.
She was not wrong.
I often had this fleeting thought of one day journeying to some of the locations on this planet that have been scarred indelibly by human anguish and horror, with a view to writing about the atmosphere I found, and what wisdom that atmosphere might provide on the human condition. I might say that Thomas Cook has beaten me to the punch, but the truth of the matter is that I’m not nearly as intrepid as he, so any aspirations I might have had would have likely succumbed to inertia anyway.
In Tragic Shores, Cook travels all over the globe to a variety of locations with haunted histories. Some locations are expected: such as Verdun, Auschwitz and the killing fields of Cambodia. Yet Cook’s scope is not restricted to atrocity by quantity or familiarity, as he ventures to other locales that have captured various other elements of human sorrow.
But it would be unfair to classify this book as simply the tourism of tragedy or the voyeurism of violence, as Cook’s premise in journeying to such places is more about what we, in an existential quest, can learn about our own place in the world from immersing ourselves in these locations and exploring the depths of their history.
As such, Cook attempts to find a silver lining of sorts - not always successfully - under every dark cloud in which he places himself.
At Verdun he is confronted not just by the immensity of that unforgiving battlefield, but by a common annoyance of many in having to share his excursion there with a class of school children -- for whom the sanctity of such a location is lost amid their youthful exuberance. It is in this however that Cook catches onto something, as he ponders the staggering amount of young lives cut short in that meat grinder during the First World War.
As solemn as this knowledge is, Cook comes to the touching realisation that the flower of French and German youth that was snuffed out at Verdun, would likely not begrudge the frolicking young masses their trespasses whilst enjoying a youth that was cruelly denied to them.
On the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, which holds the tragic second spot on a list of the world’s most common suicide locations, Cook ventures across the span of that impressive landmark in the early hours of a fashionably foggy San Francisco morning -- unburdened by the usual teeming masses who head to this tourist hotspot on any given day.
Employing imagination and empathy he attempts to trace, or at least come to some understanding, with the anguish that may have overwhelmed all of those who made the same journey with no intention of returning. On this walk he is greeted by an early morning cyclist travelling in the opposite direction, showing a look of concern given the time that Cook had chosen for his amble, making him an unlikely tourist.
It is when their paths cross once more, the cyclist having apparently circled back, that Cook is presented with that light in the darkness:
To my surprise, he slowed again, and as he drew closer, an extraordinarily sweet smile lit his face. ‘Glad you made it,’ he said gently and with great sincerity. There was kindness in his face, relief in his eyes, and in his voice, for that instant, I heard a music as beautiful as any I had ever heard.
It is these moments of random kindness from strangers, that in the individualism and competitiveness of modernity might seem increasingly uncommon, that can have such a profound impact on those who find themselves more isolated than others. The profundity of such moments might escape many who can take such interactions for granted, but Cook makes the observation that such moments have undoubtedly changed - and saved - the lives of many.
I will refrain from expanding on too much more, lest I ruin the journey for those who are yet to turn the pages of this book.
I will finish by saying that there is a touching personal narrative woven into Tragic Shores, which comes to fruition in the final chapters. Overall, it is an enlightening read which could also be considered cathartic in its own way, which it evidently was for the author.
August 2, 2019
Frankly, 365 pages flatness was killing me except touched chapter The Forest and the Bridge detailing suicideness.
"In the forest, the suicide seems to say: I am to blame for this. On the bridge, the message is: Everything outside me is to blame. The forest admits a failure. The bridge proclaims a martyrdom."
"People who've had happy childhood are more free than people like me. They don't use up any spac in their braind thinking about how shitty things were when they growing up. They take happiness for granted, and from there, they move on."
Short story I read this on summer day during Community Service Program from my campus whereas lived humbly in one of rural area. Though this wasn't my first time, my vigor was lacked on the first week. Tragic Shores helped me to boost by energy, again, accidentally focusing on Susan's to Tom "You can have a nice room, Tom, but the chances are, you won't have an experience."
For those who'd love to seek to visit sadness and grieves places, this book is utterly good.
"In the forest, the suicide seems to say: I am to blame for this. On the bridge, the message is: Everything outside me is to blame. The forest admits a failure. The bridge proclaims a martyrdom."
"People who've had happy childhood are more free than people like me. They don't use up any spac in their braind thinking about how shitty things were when they growing up. They take happiness for granted, and from there, they move on."
Short story I read this on summer day during Community Service Program from my campus whereas lived humbly in one of rural area. Though this wasn't my first time, my vigor was lacked on the first week. Tragic Shores helped me to boost by energy, again, accidentally focusing on Susan's to Tom "You can have a nice room, Tom, but the chances are, you won't have an experience."
For those who'd love to seek to visit sadness and grieves places, this book is utterly good.
December 18, 2023
A really hard read at times. It’s an interesting concept to go to the darkest, saddest sites, mostly due to human cruelty and try to find the humanity and silver lining of them. The author does a good job of not cheapening the site and its tragedy when trying to find the silver linings. Some chapters felt wholesome in his assessment and some left you feeling very heavy despite his best to find the humanity in the place. The book definitely gets harder as it goes, with the last three or four chapters being really dark. If you thought Auschwitz or any of the nazi camps were as dark as human history gets, uff, just wait.
It made me incredibly grateful for the time, place, and family I was born into. But also very fearful of what cruelty i will experience or witness in my lifetime or what cruelty is happening around the world to others that I am either ignorant or indifferent to.
A very good memoir (if we can call it that) with a very good premise that makes you think and feel.
It made me incredibly grateful for the time, place, and family I was born into. But also very fearful of what cruelty i will experience or witness in my lifetime or what cruelty is happening around the world to others that I am either ignorant or indifferent to.
A very good memoir (if we can call it that) with a very good premise that makes you think and feel.
July 1, 2021
This is the only book I have read by Thomas H. Cook and his only non-fiction book. He has written many crime novels, but I have not read any of them. This book was planned and written over many years of travel to places that the author had very tragic histories to them. While the subtitle suggests that he finds hope in all of these places, I would say he only gains lessons. Sometimes they are very tragic places like the two listed in the title; other times, they are places that have made him sad. Sometimes, the trivialization of sad places is what has done it the most. The book could have used a map, but for the most part it is a sad and thoughtful book.
December 24, 2018
This is an unusual and dark book. I read it based on a review from the WSJ. It now makes me question the WSJ reviews. It was an awful book and one whose purpose escapes me. We have enough darkness in the world today why accumulate it, write about it and try to make a lesson of it. And why would he include his family in it? Maybe I don’t understand dark travel any more than I understand the dark web. I believe in the good in people and the good in the world. All the darkness in the world cannot snuff out the light of a candle. I’m on the side of the candle not the side of darkness.
August 30, 2024
What a superficial book written with no empathy or insight. Privileged man visits place with devastating complex history, makes sweeping judgemental assessment, leaves, writes about it, repeat. After several of the trips, he makes overwhelming generalisations about people and cultures. This could have been good, well thought out, insightful and compassionate. It very much was the opposite.
January 6, 2019
Could have been so much better. Really just surface-level “bad things happened here”. Author is incredibly ignorant of other cultures outside of his white catholic Midwest American world. Mumbled “what a f*cktard” many times while reading this. Unnecessarily preachy in all the wrong places.
March 2, 2022
I found this an interesting and engaging read, especially the first half of the book but then it became more of a toil (not because of the subject matter) it just seemed to run out of oomph and the author's opinions took over more.
October 11, 2022
A surprisingly moving book which provokes intelligent thought and reflection. One of those surprising, accidental discoveries - I've read nothing else by this author and doubt that I will - it is one I am sure has something for most readers.
May 23, 2024
The topic of dark travel seems to be becoming more popular these days and more people appear to be visiting unlikely places. It surprised me that a couple of locations were omitted but I don't think someone can visit everywhere. Very interesting to read. The places captivated me.
September 10, 2025
I’m not a big fan of travelogues and this one didn’t change my mind. I found the author sort of insufferable in a I’m-so-well-traveled-let-me-explain-all-my-much-more-sophisticated-thoughts-to-you sort of way. I thought the reflections were contrived and the connections between places forced.
July 1, 2018
Eloquently written, interesting, and enlightening but I prefer Cook's fiction.
March 30, 2020
I cried
Read
May 13, 2020Re-read April 2020
August 14, 2021
The subject matter makes it a very tough read, and at times there's a touch of condescension in the author's attitude, but ultimately it was worthwhile.
January 2, 2022
Many places on this world are filled with dark energies and historical bits that are not for the faint-hearted, sometimes taken out of travel books that center on more glamorous and upbeat vibe. But for writer Thomas Cook and his small family (a wife and a daughter), mapping such places in what he describes as "dark travel" that looks at the history of places that have seen murder, deceit, death, abuses in many forms, and accidents. A few of these locations include: Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires in Argentina, Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland, the suicide forest and Hiroshima in Japan, the mine-filled areas in Saigon, Vietnam, Londonderry in Northern Ireland, and Ground Zero in New York City, USA. Overall, while the premise of his project seem to tread on a more dejected, depressing, or morose note, one actually learns to appreciate how the book came to underscore some already well-known places and some generic facts, but adds the some hidden significance that is on a happier note.
Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews