![]() ![]() Our Choiceis Al Gore at his best and his worst. There were really about 10 books in there."Īnd one has absolutely no trouble-none, zero, nil-believing him. By the end, he says, "I had a 40-page outline, really encyclopedic. He gathered experts at half a dozen of those solutions summits-unpublicized, invitation-only, and off-the-record-in New York, Nashville, and three other cities beginning in 2007, where he listened to presentations on, among much else, renewable energy, nuclear power, energy efficiency, and the "smart grid." He also "circled back to do in-depth one-on-one interviews" with dozens of scientists and technology experts, picking their brains and getting their latest results. Out on the patio, Gore reminisces about how he wrote. 3 release date.īut Gore, former newspaper reporter that he is, made the deadline. Most books take 12 months to produce from the time the author delivers the manuscript to the publisher Gore, with two research assistants, was still writing in August, imperiling the Nov. There was method in the chaos, but just barely. The pool table was conscripted to hold material for more chapters. "Stacked on the floor all around the walls were these thick notebooks from the solutions summits," he says with a chuckle. Here in the dining room, he says with a wave, he papered the walls with giant 20- by 23-inch Post-its, covered with his notes. all profits to the Alliance for Climate Protection, which he founded in 2006 and to which he donated his 2007 Nobel Peace Prize money). I am there to talk about his latest literary project, and he's ready, launching into a house tour that revolves around his new book, Our Choice: A Plan to Solve the Climate Crisis(printed on 100 percent recycled paper for a savings of 1,513 trees and 126,000 pounds of carbon dioxide all associated CO2 emissions offset through the CarbonNeutral Co. When he travels-as he does about one quarter of the time, often to train volunteers to give the slide show that formed the core of An Inconvenient Truth-it is with no more than one aide, and he pulls his own luggage.ĭespite the grueling pace, Gore is pumped on this warm October afternoon. Nor are the trappings of office, unless you count an electronic gate at the bottom of his circular driveway in the wealthy Nashville neighborhood of Belle Meade. Dressed in blue jeans and a button-down shirt open at the collar, Gore looks younger than his 61 years: the mountain-man beard he grew in the wake of the Florida recount debacle of 2000 is long gone, and the extra weight, which hung on several more years, is nowhere in evidence. Al Gore steps onto the portico of his century-old white colonial, its stately columns framing him and the black Lab mix, Bojangles, that he and his son rescued from a shelter as a birthday present for Tipper.
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