The life of James Cameron evokes the period when the life of a foreign correspondent was essentially one of adventure if not danger. Asked to traverse the globe with a wad of cash, a map and a rucksack full of initiative, the scrapes and escapades of one of the great practitioners of the craft is nothing less than absorbing. His encounters with Churchill, Onasis and a myriad of generals fighting what he sees as pointless wars in lands generally foreign to themselves is full of fascinating detail, as he paints a picture of a world where you could still get hopelessly lost and have no means of communication with the wider world.
The only quibble you might have is that Cameron is a man of his generation and makes scant mention of the 'real' world - his internal world and his family. Even when travelling with one of the world's most famous photographers, Bert Hardy, Hardy barely gets a mention from his travelling companion, which illustrates, in my opinion, something of a large ego.
This criticism aside, the description of Cameron turning up at the hospital as a young husband and walking into the delivery room anticipating to see the birth of his first child only to watch as his wife expires, is one of the most devastating passages I have ever read in a book. I had to put it down for five minutes, such was the heart-wrenching impact of the writing. For me, it merely illustrated that Cameron, like so many people of his generation, had an internal life that would never see the light of day. Luckily, his external life will more than entrance you.