You've got less than 24 hours to enter for your chance to win some free music! Friday afternoon I'm coming with the random number generator and will announce the winner.
* * *
Awhile back, agent Nathan Bransford asked about our "gap books": in his words, "those books that everyone in the world has read and talks about all the time and look we are really meaning to read them but we're all very busy and there are a lot of books to read and no one could possibly be expected to read them all and why do I have to defend myself aha;sldkjf;aj"
(For me: Moby Dick, anything by Kafka, The Grapes of Wrath, Wuthering Heights, Anna Karenina, The Lord of the Flies... okay, hopefully I've embarrassed myself enough now. I don't like depressing stuff--does that show?)
I reference this owing to a question in yesterday's comments that I couldn't resist making into a blog post; the answer attempted to become a full-fledged essay as I typed in the combox. It's the best question I've been asked all week. Here it is: "For someone who has never read Jane Austen, where do you recommend starting?"
To George (who generally puts me to shame in the reading department): I'm so glad these are your gap books, because now I get to answer this question!
Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, and Emma are--in my opinion--Austen's strongest works, and I recommend beginning with one of those three. Persuasion is probably the easiest and most relatable read for a modern American, although if said American has read other English classics, this might not matter. It meanders less, clearly values intelligence and integrity over rank, celebrates some degree of informality, and combines vivid portrayals of setting and character with a strong pensive mood.
On the other hand, Pride and Prejudice is the most popular; for several good reasons, I think. It includes lifelike characters who undergo excellent personal and relational growth, loads of the sly social mockery for which Austen is renowned, and brilliant voice and wit. It makes me laugh every time I read it, sometimes at things I'd never noticed before. I started with this one, and I've got no regrets over that.
Emma is a solid, well-plotted tale with exquisite character development and a true hero. It's also one of J. K. Rowling's favorite books; according to Rowling, "The best twist ever in literature is in Jane Austen's Emma. To me she is the target of perfection at which we shoot in vain."
My suggestion, then, for George and anyone else meeting Jane for the first time, is to pick whichever of those three appeals most to you from the outside and start there. Afterward, however, if you decide you like Austen, I highly recommend Mansfield Park and Sense and Sensibility as well. The former moves slower than the others, but has a very pure-minded heroine, and with its strong themes of faith and virtue, I find it a refreshing read. The latter, with sisters Elinor and Marianne Dashwood as personifications of the title attributes, is a fascinating character study and moving tale, despite rambling a little (it was Austen's first published novel, after all.)
I liked Northanger Abbey, but its heroine is on the childish side and therefore not quite as relatable.
The short epistolary story Lady Susan portrays a truly awful woman, which is interesting, but I found it less engaging than any of the others and have read it only once.
I hope that helps! If any of you reading this have suggestions of your own, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I can talk Austen like Harry Potter--the fandom just isn't as well organized. (Maybe I should write some Austen-themed songs? A little pianoforte accompaniment would do, if only I would give myself the trouble of practicing...)
Showing posts with label good books I've read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good books I've read. Show all posts
6.17.2010
12.09.2009
Austenian Morality
Lou told me the other night that I would definitely want to read this article about Jane Austen and modern sensibility. I read it, and he was right. As someone who enjoys Austen's books in part because morals get mixed in with the romance and humor, I loved the piece.
"Austen lived on the cusp of the 18th-century Augustan and 19th-century Romantic ages. In our own time, nearly every song, advertisement and movie is based on Romantic principles. No matter how much we may enjoy the "felicities of domestic life," as Austen put it in "Persuasion," we still feel the enormous Romantic pull to do something more heroic and intense. Rather than digesting a good dinner while conversing with friends, we should be out forging the consciousness of our race in the smithy of our soul, or some damn thing. I don't really want to forge the consciousness of my race, but at the same time I don't want to miss out on all that Romanticism offers. This is where Austen comes in, for she is an Augustan familiar with Romanticism, which makes her more useful than a modern writer in helping us face the Romantic challenge. Only she can so credibly show us that it is possible to have moderation and deep feeling, good dinners and good poetry."Enjoy.
6.04.2009
Love in Fiction
I'm not much of a genre reader. Any sort of plot works for me, as long as it's interesting, not too disgusting or tragic, and the character development is good. I do stay away from the romance genre most of the time unless I know the book is clean, because if these characters with whom I've begun to bond turn out to be immoral, I'll be disappointed in them.
Good stories of any genre may have romances that are compelling and beautiful and sweet. The Book Examiner posted, some time back, on "The 5 Most Annoying Literary Romances ... and the 5 Most Romantic Ones." With judgment reserved on Sayers' pair, whose stories I haven't read but will happily search the library for, her picks for both seem just about right to me. Does anyone really like Tess of the d'Urbervilles? I hated that book.
I still haven't brought myself to read Wuthering Heights either, though in the name of being well-read it may need to be gritted through eventually. Maybe someday I'll put myself in a padded cell for a couple of weeks and read that book and select works of Kafka, Steinbeck and Hemingway. Then I'll have paid my debt to tragic literature, though it might take electro-shock therapy to cleanse my mind enough to live a normal life thereafter.
I have a couple nominations of my own for the next two Most Romantic Couples:
Ender Wiggin and Novinha from Orson Scott Card's Speaker for the Dead. "For he loved her, as you can only love someone who is an echo of yourself at your time of deepest sorrow." That pretty much says it all. That book is so beautiful it makes me cry.
Miri Larendaughter and Peder Doterson from Shannon Hale's Princess Academy. I read the spring holiday scene a couple of nights ago and it made me feel absolutely gooey. Princess Academy is a middle-reader book and the young couple don't even kiss on the lips, but it is ever so sweet.
Whom would you nominate?
Good stories of any genre may have romances that are compelling and beautiful and sweet. The Book Examiner posted, some time back, on "The 5 Most Annoying Literary Romances ... and the 5 Most Romantic Ones." With judgment reserved on Sayers' pair, whose stories I haven't read but will happily search the library for, her picks for both seem just about right to me. Does anyone really like Tess of the d'Urbervilles? I hated that book.
I still haven't brought myself to read Wuthering Heights either, though in the name of being well-read it may need to be gritted through eventually. Maybe someday I'll put myself in a padded cell for a couple of weeks and read that book and select works of Kafka, Steinbeck and Hemingway. Then I'll have paid my debt to tragic literature, though it might take electro-shock therapy to cleanse my mind enough to live a normal life thereafter.
I have a couple nominations of my own for the next two Most Romantic Couples:
Ender Wiggin and Novinha from Orson Scott Card's Speaker for the Dead. "For he loved her, as you can only love someone who is an echo of yourself at your time of deepest sorrow." That pretty much says it all. That book is so beautiful it makes me cry.
Miri Larendaughter and Peder Doterson from Shannon Hale's Princess Academy. I read the spring holiday scene a couple of nights ago and it made me feel absolutely gooey. Princess Academy is a middle-reader book and the young couple don't even kiss on the lips, but it is ever so sweet.
Whom would you nominate?
6.02.2009
Top of the Mountain
"I've been stuck in Purgatory for a long time" is a joke that never seems to get old.
With four cantos to go of the middle installment of The Divine Comedy, I have at last made it through the final fire, out of Purgatory proper, into Paradise. The griffin-drawn chariot has just stopped before Dante, and the last few cantos have been absolutely lovely.
Once I figured out that reading the lines as if they were prose--losing the strict rhythm and line breaks--made it easier, I've been able to understand and remember more. And Anthony Esolen's translation (2003, Random House Inc.) gives as close a sense and feel of the original as can be absorbed, I think, by anyone who (like me) cannot read Italian.
From Canto 28:
"My feet stopped, but my eyes went wandering over
the far side of the river, marveling
at all the fresh and various blooms of May.
When there appeared, as now and then some thing
will suddenly appear and lead astray
anything else you might be thinking of,
A lady all alone who went her way,
singing and culling flowers in the grove,
for at her feet the dappled blossoms lay."
I thought Dr. Esolen's first notes on this simply beautiful:
"A flower's use exceeds the reproduction of the plant, as the use of the gaudy chest of the male bunting exceeds the reproduction of buntings. Or perhaps it does not: it depends upon what we mean by "use." If usefulness forgoes the parading of beauty for its own sake, or play that is other than preparatory for wars foreign and domestic, or praise poured out from a grateful heart, then a beautiful woman singing while she picks flowers in a meadow is as useless a creature as can be conceived. Interesting that she should be the first being we meet in Earthly Paradise."
Most women need such a reminder now and then--that loveliness of whatever sort they have is of value for its own sake, and that rest is a worthwhile part of life, not merely a concession to bodily necessity.
Suzy Q Homemaker here felt a bit useless herself this morning, having fallen asleep on the couch with a ponytail in her hair. But the laundry is getting washed and dried, albeit somewhat later than usual, and a hairbrush is accessible, and the rest was oh, so good.
With four cantos to go of the middle installment of The Divine Comedy, I have at last made it through the final fire, out of Purgatory proper, into Paradise. The griffin-drawn chariot has just stopped before Dante, and the last few cantos have been absolutely lovely.
Once I figured out that reading the lines as if they were prose--losing the strict rhythm and line breaks--made it easier, I've been able to understand and remember more. And Anthony Esolen's translation (2003, Random House Inc.) gives as close a sense and feel of the original as can be absorbed, I think, by anyone who (like me) cannot read Italian.
From Canto 28:
"My feet stopped, but my eyes went wandering over
the far side of the river, marveling
at all the fresh and various blooms of May.
When there appeared, as now and then some thing
will suddenly appear and lead astray
anything else you might be thinking of,
A lady all alone who went her way,
singing and culling flowers in the grove,
for at her feet the dappled blossoms lay."
I thought Dr. Esolen's first notes on this simply beautiful:
"A flower's use exceeds the reproduction of the plant, as the use of the gaudy chest of the male bunting exceeds the reproduction of buntings. Or perhaps it does not: it depends upon what we mean by "use." If usefulness forgoes the parading of beauty for its own sake, or play that is other than preparatory for wars foreign and domestic, or praise poured out from a grateful heart, then a beautiful woman singing while she picks flowers in a meadow is as useless a creature as can be conceived. Interesting that she should be the first being we meet in Earthly Paradise."
Most women need such a reminder now and then--that loveliness of whatever sort they have is of value for its own sake, and that rest is a worthwhile part of life, not merely a concession to bodily necessity.
Suzy Q Homemaker here felt a bit useless herself this morning, having fallen asleep on the couch with a ponytail in her hair. But the laundry is getting washed and dried, albeit somewhat later than usual, and a hairbrush is accessible, and the rest was oh, so good.
4.27.2009
A Lion in Love with a Lamb
Thoughts on Twilight
"From causes, which this is not the place to investigate, no models of past times, however perfect, can have the same vivid effect on the youthful mind, as the productions of contemporary genius.... The great works of past ages seem to a young man things of another race, in respect to which his faculties must remain passive and submiss, even as to the stars and mountains. But the writings of a contemporary, perhaps not many years older than himself, surrounded by the same circumstances, and disciplined by the same manners, possess a reality for him, and inspire an actual friendship as of a man for a man."--Samuel Taylor Coleridge
It is hard, after spending much time reading a good story, to immediately go out and pick up another book. A good story requires time to process, to settle the effects over one's imagination and philosophy. I experienced this very thing after my latest trip straight through the Twilight Saga, some days ago; as I set down Breaking Dawn again and wondered where to go next, I knew that the immediate answer was "Nowhere." Edward and Bella's story had touched me, and I couldn't just go jump into someone else's.
Stephenie Meyer's vampire series has created a fan following both large and loyal enough to raise comparisons, however reaching, to Harry Potter. It must be admitted that J.K. Rowling's achievements were higher both in symbolic strength and worldwide appeal; still, Meyer's story ought not be written off as harlequin fluff meant only for the titillation of the silliest members of society. It is generally thought that the attraction of her books is due to the weakness of womankind for romance. This is true in part, but not necessarily in the sense in which the epithet is meant.
Meyer's books do, of course, have some things in common with Harry Potter. Besides both being genre-blended fantasy-based stories enjoying great popularity, both deal with ultimate questions without coming across as issue-driven. There are also multiple layers to both stories, and Meyer is getting what Rowling got several years ago: the praise and dismissal of a culture that reads, enjoys, and criticizes almost entirely on the surface level. As much as I value literacy, it is hard to avoid questioning the merit of pushing all of our children to read, read, read without teaching them how to comprehend the meaning of the literary art. The problems that young people inevitably run into when reading layered fiction are exacerbated by a ruling literary class that appears to concern itself almost exclusively with sex, tragedy, and irony.
Starting with the top level: Where were five- and seven-hundred-page novels when I was in my teens? They're absolutely heaven for a bookworm. Others disagree, but I didn't find the length at all burdensome. The Twilight Saga is a mix of impressively painful suspense that kept me up nights reading and a few odd pacing weaknesses that make for something of an uneven reading experience. Its prose is generally graceful, though the descriptions are repetitive, and the editor missed some obvious mistakes such as an occasional mid-sentence change of tense. Actual horror is generally avoided and the books don't read as "dark", but there are certainly a few grotesqueries. The stories are chaste in the sense that the main characters wait till their marriage to consummate their romance, but very sensual in the telling from the first-person narrative voice of a high-school girl.
It concerns me that pre- and early-teen girls are reading these books. People generally take only what they want to from their reading, and girls that age (some don't outgrow this) are naturally prone to silliness about boys and to thinking and fantasizing obsessively about romance. If that is all, or even primarily, what they take from Twilight, then the books are dangerous for them. Even the most clear direction of the books, which is chastity and self-control, is probably beyond the grasp of a girl whose longing to be desired has outpaced her ability to prioritize virtue or character. If a girl's primary response to the books/movie is likely to be "Robert Pattinson!" or "Taylor Lautner!" or even "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob", she is probably not ready for the read.
But for those ready to retrieve more from a story, there is more to be found, and it is the deeper things that took me through all four books three times in three months--why I'm still re-reading. Perhaps the simplest way to start understanding the deeper meaning is to begin loosely with two very common ciphers: read the vampire parts as symbolic of sexuality, and the romantic parts as symbolic of the relationship between human and divine. Stephenie Meyer is a committed, devout Mormon and a student of literature; both of the above ciphers can be reasonably assumed. Her symbolism is not plain allegory, meant for direct representation (Edward, for instance, is hardly a perfect deity). Rather, her stories offer powerful images of human life and love.
As a story of self-denial and the worth of such practice, Twilight and its sequels have a lot to say to our culture. We are so used to granting ourselves whatever we want and sulking if it proves beyond our reach; we have much to learn from Edward, whose twofold desire for his beloved (for her body and her blood) is kept under rigid control. Edward is a member of a vampire coven that abstains from human blood, living off of animals. When confronted with Bella, he resists at first only barely, running away from the temptation to kill her and her classmates in order to satisfy his vampire thirst. Later he loves her, and his love protects her life from his own need and desire. "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb ..." (Twilight, p. 274) He has grave sins on his conscience from his past, but the one law he has not broken has been that of chastity; he, the male, "protects her virtue" and his own and asks her to marry him. True, he eventually caves on that--fortunately just in time for her to finally understand and make the choice for purity herself.
It is true that Edward and Bella set a lot of bad examples. Despite powerful self-control, unmarried couples staying all night together is a bad idea even when fully clothed. The strength of the books is not always in the strength of the characters, however. Stephenie Meyer didn't go to much trouble to hide the point of her story; the entire series might be summed up in the words of Garrett, a new "convert" to the lifestyle chosen by Edward and his family:
"I have witnessed the bonds within this family--I say family and not coven. These strange golden-eyed ones deny their very natures. But in return have they found something worth even more, perhaps, than mere gratification of desire? ... it seems to me that intrinsic to this intense family binding--that which makes them possible at all--is the peaceful character of this life of sacrifice."1
Meyer's claim--without dropping a syllable about her religion--is that of morality: Self-denial is necessary to family life, and the gains far outweigh the price; its direction is toward peace and harmony and deep bonds. Further, the stories express the ultimately self-sacrificial nature of love through Bella's offering up her life for someone she loves in every one of the four books.
"My stories are about life, not death," says Meyer; they're about "love, not lust."2 Her intentions came through clearly, I believe. And I think that the primary reason Twilight is so immensely popular among women (not just young girls; TwilightMoms.com, for instance, includes a very active forum) is because of that last point. A girl of any age knows the difference between being loved and being used. She may not be able to express it or to see the failure of the males in her own life; she may be so jaded that she almost prefers usage herself; but she is drawn to Edward because Edward passes the one test that proves the difference. Edward's love protects Bella's life and purity from his own desires. A man like that is almost as rare a creature as a vampire in today's culture.
The weakness of womanhood for that kind of romance is such that only the very jaded can toss such a story aside and imagine themselves unaffected.
As a reader and writer, I return to Meyer's books for the understanding of her expression of "life, not death" and "love, not lust". I find something of a writing-hero in her for that. My husband and I have had a quiet weekend at home; I've read Chesterton and L'Engle, Meyer and Dante. And to great historical works like the Commedia, I must 'remain passive and submiss'. To the work of Chesterton I kneel as an apprentice to her master, and I look to L'Engle for the wisdom of a teacher. Stephenie Meyer is also my teacher. But I feel as if I could sit across a couch from her, once I got through being starstruck, and talk over meanings and morals and influences and favorite works and the joy of storytelling.
Till she has time for that, I'll make do with reading her books, discovering the connections to the various great works on which she based her books (Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, among others), tracing the Garden of Eden retelling that John Granger has noted, and trying to settle the question of whether she intentionally used literary alchemy as a structural device or whether certain references, such as color use, are merely coincidental. She may have written her books simply, but she certainly left detective work enough for the serious reader.
1 Meyer, Breaking Dawn. Little, Brown and Company: New York, 2008, 717-718.
2 Horng, "Will New Bestseller 'Eclipse' Harry Potter?" http://www.abcnews.go.com/WN/story?id=3499052, accessed April 23, 2009.
"From causes, which this is not the place to investigate, no models of past times, however perfect, can have the same vivid effect on the youthful mind, as the productions of contemporary genius.... The great works of past ages seem to a young man things of another race, in respect to which his faculties must remain passive and submiss, even as to the stars and mountains. But the writings of a contemporary, perhaps not many years older than himself, surrounded by the same circumstances, and disciplined by the same manners, possess a reality for him, and inspire an actual friendship as of a man for a man."--Samuel Taylor Coleridge
It is hard, after spending much time reading a good story, to immediately go out and pick up another book. A good story requires time to process, to settle the effects over one's imagination and philosophy. I experienced this very thing after my latest trip straight through the Twilight Saga, some days ago; as I set down Breaking Dawn again and wondered where to go next, I knew that the immediate answer was "Nowhere." Edward and Bella's story had touched me, and I couldn't just go jump into someone else's.
Stephenie Meyer's vampire series has created a fan following both large and loyal enough to raise comparisons, however reaching, to Harry Potter. It must be admitted that J.K. Rowling's achievements were higher both in symbolic strength and worldwide appeal; still, Meyer's story ought not be written off as harlequin fluff meant only for the titillation of the silliest members of society. It is generally thought that the attraction of her books is due to the weakness of womankind for romance. This is true in part, but not necessarily in the sense in which the epithet is meant.
Meyer's books do, of course, have some things in common with Harry Potter. Besides both being genre-blended fantasy-based stories enjoying great popularity, both deal with ultimate questions without coming across as issue-driven. There are also multiple layers to both stories, and Meyer is getting what Rowling got several years ago: the praise and dismissal of a culture that reads, enjoys, and criticizes almost entirely on the surface level. As much as I value literacy, it is hard to avoid questioning the merit of pushing all of our children to read, read, read without teaching them how to comprehend the meaning of the literary art. The problems that young people inevitably run into when reading layered fiction are exacerbated by a ruling literary class that appears to concern itself almost exclusively with sex, tragedy, and irony.
Starting with the top level: Where were five- and seven-hundred-page novels when I was in my teens? They're absolutely heaven for a bookworm. Others disagree, but I didn't find the length at all burdensome. The Twilight Saga is a mix of impressively painful suspense that kept me up nights reading and a few odd pacing weaknesses that make for something of an uneven reading experience. Its prose is generally graceful, though the descriptions are repetitive, and the editor missed some obvious mistakes such as an occasional mid-sentence change of tense. Actual horror is generally avoided and the books don't read as "dark", but there are certainly a few grotesqueries. The stories are chaste in the sense that the main characters wait till their marriage to consummate their romance, but very sensual in the telling from the first-person narrative voice of a high-school girl.
It concerns me that pre- and early-teen girls are reading these books. People generally take only what they want to from their reading, and girls that age (some don't outgrow this) are naturally prone to silliness about boys and to thinking and fantasizing obsessively about romance. If that is all, or even primarily, what they take from Twilight, then the books are dangerous for them. Even the most clear direction of the books, which is chastity and self-control, is probably beyond the grasp of a girl whose longing to be desired has outpaced her ability to prioritize virtue or character. If a girl's primary response to the books/movie is likely to be "Robert Pattinson!" or "Taylor Lautner!" or even "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob", she is probably not ready for the read.
But for those ready to retrieve more from a story, there is more to be found, and it is the deeper things that took me through all four books three times in three months--why I'm still re-reading. Perhaps the simplest way to start understanding the deeper meaning is to begin loosely with two very common ciphers: read the vampire parts as symbolic of sexuality, and the romantic parts as symbolic of the relationship between human and divine. Stephenie Meyer is a committed, devout Mormon and a student of literature; both of the above ciphers can be reasonably assumed. Her symbolism is not plain allegory, meant for direct representation (Edward, for instance, is hardly a perfect deity). Rather, her stories offer powerful images of human life and love.
As a story of self-denial and the worth of such practice, Twilight and its sequels have a lot to say to our culture. We are so used to granting ourselves whatever we want and sulking if it proves beyond our reach; we have much to learn from Edward, whose twofold desire for his beloved (for her body and her blood) is kept under rigid control. Edward is a member of a vampire coven that abstains from human blood, living off of animals. When confronted with Bella, he resists at first only barely, running away from the temptation to kill her and her classmates in order to satisfy his vampire thirst. Later he loves her, and his love protects her life from his own need and desire. "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb ..." (Twilight, p. 274) He has grave sins on his conscience from his past, but the one law he has not broken has been that of chastity; he, the male, "protects her virtue" and his own and asks her to marry him. True, he eventually caves on that--fortunately just in time for her to finally understand and make the choice for purity herself.
It is true that Edward and Bella set a lot of bad examples. Despite powerful self-control, unmarried couples staying all night together is a bad idea even when fully clothed. The strength of the books is not always in the strength of the characters, however. Stephenie Meyer didn't go to much trouble to hide the point of her story; the entire series might be summed up in the words of Garrett, a new "convert" to the lifestyle chosen by Edward and his family:
"I have witnessed the bonds within this family--I say family and not coven. These strange golden-eyed ones deny their very natures. But in return have they found something worth even more, perhaps, than mere gratification of desire? ... it seems to me that intrinsic to this intense family binding--that which makes them possible at all--is the peaceful character of this life of sacrifice."1
Meyer's claim--without dropping a syllable about her religion--is that of morality: Self-denial is necessary to family life, and the gains far outweigh the price; its direction is toward peace and harmony and deep bonds. Further, the stories express the ultimately self-sacrificial nature of love through Bella's offering up her life for someone she loves in every one of the four books.
"My stories are about life, not death," says Meyer; they're about "love, not lust."2 Her intentions came through clearly, I believe. And I think that the primary reason Twilight is so immensely popular among women (not just young girls; TwilightMoms.com, for instance, includes a very active forum) is because of that last point. A girl of any age knows the difference between being loved and being used. She may not be able to express it or to see the failure of the males in her own life; she may be so jaded that she almost prefers usage herself; but she is drawn to Edward because Edward passes the one test that proves the difference. Edward's love protects Bella's life and purity from his own desires. A man like that is almost as rare a creature as a vampire in today's culture.
The weakness of womanhood for that kind of romance is such that only the very jaded can toss such a story aside and imagine themselves unaffected.
As a reader and writer, I return to Meyer's books for the understanding of her expression of "life, not death" and "love, not lust". I find something of a writing-hero in her for that. My husband and I have had a quiet weekend at home; I've read Chesterton and L'Engle, Meyer and Dante. And to great historical works like the Commedia, I must 'remain passive and submiss'. To the work of Chesterton I kneel as an apprentice to her master, and I look to L'Engle for the wisdom of a teacher. Stephenie Meyer is also my teacher. But I feel as if I could sit across a couch from her, once I got through being starstruck, and talk over meanings and morals and influences and favorite works and the joy of storytelling.
Till she has time for that, I'll make do with reading her books, discovering the connections to the various great works on which she based her books (Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, among others), tracing the Garden of Eden retelling that John Granger has noted, and trying to settle the question of whether she intentionally used literary alchemy as a structural device or whether certain references, such as color use, are merely coincidental. She may have written her books simply, but she certainly left detective work enough for the serious reader.
1 Meyer, Breaking Dawn. Little, Brown and Company: New York, 2008, 717-718.
2 Horng, "Will New Bestseller 'Eclipse' Harry Potter?" http://www.abcnews.go.com/WN/story?id=3499052, accessed April 23, 2009.
12.23.2008
New Article
I've got a new article up on Silhouette today! This one's about one of my favorite, favorite pastimes: re-reading. And in case you want to know which of the books mentioned at the end made it off the shelf first, it was Austen's Persuasion. I finished it again tonight, and couldn't even guess at the number of times I've read it through.
11.01.2008
Reading and Commentary
If any one reading this hasn't read the following article by a Harvard student, I highly recommend it:
"Don't Ask, Don't Tell" ... or, as the Creative Minority Report (my source) titled their reference to it, "Conservative is the New Gay".
This student writes with an appreciable empathy toward the conservatives who find that, as she puts it, "Life is hard in the closet. It’s dark, and there are never enough hangers." As a member of the online Harry Potter fandom, which is dominated by groups like The Harry Potter Alliance—which does a lot of good, on the one hand, and then weighs against that by pushing a radical liberal agenda in the name of all things Potter—I know what it is to find myself wondering when, or whether, to push my way out of the wardrobe and let myself be known for a Daughter of Eve.
... weird it may be, but I'm probably one of the few conservatives who might actually be comforted by a rainbow blanket and Elton John music quietly playing. I love bright colors and sappy Disney-type love songs. It's not my fault if they've been reappropriated. "Caaaaaaaaaaan you feeeeeeeeeeeeel the loooooooooooooooooove toniiiiiiiiiiiight …"
* * *
Many thanks to The Hog's Head for the link to this article regarding Richard Dawkins' plan to write a book about 'science thinking contrasted with mythical thinking.'
Of course Dawkins loves Pullman. Pullman was writing against the Church and says so bluntly. But what would Dawkins do with Harry Potter?
What would he do with Harry 'dying' a figurative death in each of the first six books in the presence of a Christ-symbol? (Harry's out cold for three days the first time—even Lewis only put Aslan under overnight.)
What would he do with the scene where Harry approaches a pool of water, wearing, around his neck, a locket containing a great evil? Harry sees a "cross-shaped object" lying at the bottom of the pool, a silver sword which can destroy the evil he's wearing; he jumps into the pool to get the sword, is nearly strangled and drowned by the evil, and has to be rescued by his best friend, who jumps into the pool with him, gets the sword, breaks the evil chain, and saves his life. Doesn't that sound too much like baptism for the atheist mind to tolerate?
What would Dawkins do with the poignant scene in the seventh book where Harry walks into the forest to lay down his life willingly for the lives of his friends?
What would Richard Dawkins do with Harry Potter? Pardon me while I go roll around on the floor laughing ...
But what in the world is he on about, thinking that fairy tales about frogs and princes have an 'insidious effect on rationality'? My mother 'established herself as a truth-telling thing', as G.K. Chesterton says, and she said the many novels I read were 'pretend' and I believed her. When I read Narnia at age 7, I knew it was not a 'true' story in the sense of following actual historical events. Of course, later I grew to understand the senses in which Narnia was and is a true story, and perhaps that is the very thing a man like Dawkins finds so dangerous.
I'll have to disagree, sir. I think it's our best hope for sanity.
* * *
The Internet Monk's (no, he's not Catholic) Annual Halloween Rant
I loved Halloween growing up, even though technically we didn't celebrate it. My family would shut off all the lights in the house and take a pan of warm brownies and some milk to a back room, where we'd play a game (yes, we'd light a lamp if necessary) or watch a movie during the trick-or-treating hours. What kid wouldn't love that? We loved it so much that we often did similar things throughout the year.
When Lou and I have children, should God grant us that blessed gift, I plan on doing the family-night thing at least once a month. Maybe once a week! Perhaps I'll take them trick-or-treating on Halloween. It seems important to me that children learn to face fears, and Halloween—depending on the kid—might be a safe environment in which to learn that our fears are often ugly masks that come at us in the dark, with little or no substance behind. We'll see. I certainly respect the opinion of those who choose not to participate in the Halloween festivities, but likewise I respect the iMonk's position. He's a good man and a good writer. This post of his, on trusting God as father, is also well worth a read, as are his everyday blogging efforts.
Lou and I ran out of candy by 8:00 PM last night, having manifestly underestimated the number of children who would pass by our house. They came in groups of five, seven, ten at times. Apparently, little toddling ones, stumping about on our front porch holding up tiny hands and staring with giant hopeful eyes, make me cry.
* * *
Other things also make me cry, like Alessandro Manzoni's The Betrothed.
Lou bought that book on our honeymoon—we went into a bookshop in Victoria and got souvenirs of the best sort: books. (He got me Elizabeth Goudge's Little White Horse, which is now one of my favorite novels.) He finished Manzoni's book a couple of weeks ago and obligingly told me it had a happy ending, though warning me it was rough getting there.
Crying over a book is not necessarily a bad thing. Tears come to my eyes every time I read the ending of Little White Horse. But my poor blessed husband had to clean me up big-time after The Betrothed. There were scenes of deep and desperate sadness throughout the book, especially toward the end, one of which really got at my heart. Then there came [spoiler alert] a word from a very Godly priest, full of a very holy truth which pierces the soul of anyone who loves, who happens to think on such things:
"And you, Renzo... remember this: If the Church now gives you back this companion in life" [the young man's bride had to be freed from an obligation under which she'd placed herself] "she does not do so to provide you with a temporal and earthly happiness, which, even if perfect in its kind and without any admixture of bitterness, must still furnish a great sorrow when the time comes for you to leave each other; she does so to set you both on the road to that happiness which has no end. Love each other as fellow-travelers on that road, remembering that you must part someday, and hoping to be reunited later for all time."
I told Lou he's not allowed to die any time soon. He promised. God grant it may be so! But of course I can't boss God around and no earthly happiness is guaranteed. All we can do is live as Father Cristoforo advised Renzo and Lucia. And now I am going to do my part and make my own dear man some dinner.
"Don't Ask, Don't Tell" ... or, as the Creative Minority Report (my source) titled their reference to it, "Conservative is the New Gay".
This student writes with an appreciable empathy toward the conservatives who find that, as she puts it, "Life is hard in the closet. It’s dark, and there are never enough hangers." As a member of the online Harry Potter fandom, which is dominated by groups like The Harry Potter Alliance—which does a lot of good, on the one hand, and then weighs against that by pushing a radical liberal agenda in the name of all things Potter—I know what it is to find myself wondering when, or whether, to push my way out of the wardrobe and let myself be known for a Daughter of Eve.
... weird it may be, but I'm probably one of the few conservatives who might actually be comforted by a rainbow blanket and Elton John music quietly playing. I love bright colors and sappy Disney-type love songs. It's not my fault if they've been reappropriated. "Caaaaaaaaaaan you feeeeeeeeeeeeel the loooooooooooooooooove toniiiiiiiiiiiight …"
* * *
Many thanks to The Hog's Head for the link to this article regarding Richard Dawkins' plan to write a book about 'science thinking contrasted with mythical thinking.'
Of course Dawkins loves Pullman. Pullman was writing against the Church and says so bluntly. But what would Dawkins do with Harry Potter?
What would he do with Harry 'dying' a figurative death in each of the first six books in the presence of a Christ-symbol? (Harry's out cold for three days the first time—even Lewis only put Aslan under overnight.)
What would he do with the scene where Harry approaches a pool of water, wearing, around his neck, a locket containing a great evil? Harry sees a "cross-shaped object" lying at the bottom of the pool, a silver sword which can destroy the evil he's wearing; he jumps into the pool to get the sword, is nearly strangled and drowned by the evil, and has to be rescued by his best friend, who jumps into the pool with him, gets the sword, breaks the evil chain, and saves his life. Doesn't that sound too much like baptism for the atheist mind to tolerate?
What would Dawkins do with the poignant scene in the seventh book where Harry walks into the forest to lay down his life willingly for the lives of his friends?
What would Richard Dawkins do with Harry Potter? Pardon me while I go roll around on the floor laughing ...
But what in the world is he on about, thinking that fairy tales about frogs and princes have an 'insidious effect on rationality'? My mother 'established herself as a truth-telling thing', as G.K. Chesterton says, and she said the many novels I read were 'pretend' and I believed her. When I read Narnia at age 7, I knew it was not a 'true' story in the sense of following actual historical events. Of course, later I grew to understand the senses in which Narnia was and is a true story, and perhaps that is the very thing a man like Dawkins finds so dangerous.
I'll have to disagree, sir. I think it's our best hope for sanity.
* * *
The Internet Monk's (no, he's not Catholic) Annual Halloween Rant
I loved Halloween growing up, even though technically we didn't celebrate it. My family would shut off all the lights in the house and take a pan of warm brownies and some milk to a back room, where we'd play a game (yes, we'd light a lamp if necessary) or watch a movie during the trick-or-treating hours. What kid wouldn't love that? We loved it so much that we often did similar things throughout the year.
When Lou and I have children, should God grant us that blessed gift, I plan on doing the family-night thing at least once a month. Maybe once a week! Perhaps I'll take them trick-or-treating on Halloween. It seems important to me that children learn to face fears, and Halloween—depending on the kid—might be a safe environment in which to learn that our fears are often ugly masks that come at us in the dark, with little or no substance behind. We'll see. I certainly respect the opinion of those who choose not to participate in the Halloween festivities, but likewise I respect the iMonk's position. He's a good man and a good writer. This post of his, on trusting God as father, is also well worth a read, as are his everyday blogging efforts.
Lou and I ran out of candy by 8:00 PM last night, having manifestly underestimated the number of children who would pass by our house. They came in groups of five, seven, ten at times. Apparently, little toddling ones, stumping about on our front porch holding up tiny hands and staring with giant hopeful eyes, make me cry.
* * *
Other things also make me cry, like Alessandro Manzoni's The Betrothed.
Lou bought that book on our honeymoon—we went into a bookshop in Victoria and got souvenirs of the best sort: books. (He got me Elizabeth Goudge's Little White Horse, which is now one of my favorite novels.) He finished Manzoni's book a couple of weeks ago and obligingly told me it had a happy ending, though warning me it was rough getting there.
Crying over a book is not necessarily a bad thing. Tears come to my eyes every time I read the ending of Little White Horse. But my poor blessed husband had to clean me up big-time after The Betrothed. There were scenes of deep and desperate sadness throughout the book, especially toward the end, one of which really got at my heart. Then there came [spoiler alert] a word from a very Godly priest, full of a very holy truth which pierces the soul of anyone who loves, who happens to think on such things:
"And you, Renzo... remember this: If the Church now gives you back this companion in life" [the young man's bride had to be freed from an obligation under which she'd placed herself] "she does not do so to provide you with a temporal and earthly happiness, which, even if perfect in its kind and without any admixture of bitterness, must still furnish a great sorrow when the time comes for you to leave each other; she does so to set you both on the road to that happiness which has no end. Love each other as fellow-travelers on that road, remembering that you must part someday, and hoping to be reunited later for all time."
I told Lou he's not allowed to die any time soon. He promised. God grant it may be so! But of course I can't boss God around and no earthly happiness is guaranteed. All we can do is live as Father Cristoforo advised Renzo and Lucia. And now I am going to do my part and make my own dear man some dinner.
12.11.2007
Thoughts of the Month
Sometimes the human brain gets so full that it might consider reversing Number Five's cry of "Input, Stephanie, input!" to "Output!" I hit that point about two weeks ago. Too bad it wasn't tonight, as I might have had more mental energy that way.
***
Bella came to town last week and Lou and I saw it. It made me cry. It took me about three hours afterwards to figure out what all was going on, as past and present and future appeared intermittently throughout the story. But it was a good story, and well acted. I really have to compliment the cinematography too--I loved the way they filmed it. As a drama, I found it pretty emotional and one scene was really hard to watch, but I'm glad I saw it. At some point I'll have to watch it again; it seems like the kind of thing that one gets more out of with a second viewing.
***
Dan in Real Life made me snicker, but if I wasn't the only one who caught the Harry Potter reference, then at least no one else snickered aloud. It's in there. I promise--you can look for it. But if you have the choice whether to see Dan or Bella, see Bella, because that's a better movie. I liked Dan in Real Life, especially since it was part of a hang-out afternoon with Dad. But seriously--when did tempestuous, tantrum-throwing, nonsensical teenage infatuation become the standard for romance? I'm not talking about the precocious adult-in-a-teen-body thing that Disney usually tries to pass off as reality. I'm talking about a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old acting like a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old and getting held up as a good example. That just did not seem believable to me.
***
Usually I try to read one book at once and read it through. But lately I've had far too tall a stack to plow through it rhythmically and methodically, one at a time. This might have something to do with joining a book club. Or it might have more to do with the fact that not only did I join a book club, I asked my boss for recommendations, decided that I shouldn't own a Dickens book that I hadn't read, got intrigued while looking over Lou's shoulder at his book, got a book I'd long wanted to read as a gift from him on the anniversary of our first date, ordered two books from Amazon and swallowed them whole (not literally) ... and that doesn't include all the basic stuff that I might pick up just because I want to. The floor of my room now looks like a library exploded.
The Napoleon of Notting Hill, a Chesterton novel, made some hilarious and bizarre--but interesting and accurate--points about humor, passion and Chesterton's favorite target for his satirical efforts: the materialist philosophy. I love the way Chesterton writes. Every time I read him, I think "There goes a man who loves the English language as I do."
The Story of a Soul, autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, brought tears to my eyes about every third page. She was a little, cloistered Carmelite nun who begged the pope to let her enter the convent at a very young age--fifteen or sixteen--and she lived only to the age of 24. The simple pouring out of her heart into a few pages took her posthumously from unknown to international appeal; and reading it, I can see why. Her words continue to come back and convict me of my own selfishness and coldness. She expressed a love for Christ that one rarely sees the likes of in this world.
Dickens' Great Expectations left me with alternating opinions of how much I liked it. I wanted to smack the main character far too often for ease of reading. But he did eventually become the man he ought, and that helped. The "happy ending" that Dickens finally went with was certainly better than the original he penned, but I would have liked a little more of it :-)
***
A few years ago, the understanding of the awful realities of uncertainty and suffering hit me at the very center of my heart. It wasn't a cataclysmic or tragic event, but I remember the day--a cold March or April day, gray and drizzly, floating in an orange raft on the Wenatchee river just above the low-head dam at Dryden. I never went near that dam--we were taught how to stay well away--but I knew the theory of what would happen to anyone or anything trapped in its power, and somehow the knowledge of the dangers of moving water connected in my mind with the fragility of life. It sounds clichéd to say that I have never been the same after that moment, but it is the truth of the matter.
A Dominican priest named Fr. Vincent Serpa, who appears now and then on one of the podcasts I listen to, recently prescribed a few minutes' daily meditation on the crucifix for help in the growing of faith. The thought of the crucifix often comes to mind since then. Yes, we need the empty cross, the knowledge that Jesus is risen. But nothing reminds or inspires me to accept my own suffering like the sight of that wasted, beaten body hanging by nails on wood.
***
It's ten o'clock--time to give my unfortunate wrist a break and go read. Good night.
***
Bella came to town last week and Lou and I saw it. It made me cry. It took me about three hours afterwards to figure out what all was going on, as past and present and future appeared intermittently throughout the story. But it was a good story, and well acted. I really have to compliment the cinematography too--I loved the way they filmed it. As a drama, I found it pretty emotional and one scene was really hard to watch, but I'm glad I saw it. At some point I'll have to watch it again; it seems like the kind of thing that one gets more out of with a second viewing.
***
Dan in Real Life made me snicker, but if I wasn't the only one who caught the Harry Potter reference, then at least no one else snickered aloud. It's in there. I promise--you can look for it. But if you have the choice whether to see Dan or Bella, see Bella, because that's a better movie. I liked Dan in Real Life, especially since it was part of a hang-out afternoon with Dad. But seriously--when did tempestuous, tantrum-throwing, nonsensical teenage infatuation become the standard for romance? I'm not talking about the precocious adult-in-a-teen-body thing that Disney usually tries to pass off as reality. I'm talking about a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old acting like a bratty, rebellious fifteen-year-old and getting held up as a good example. That just did not seem believable to me.
***
Usually I try to read one book at once and read it through. But lately I've had far too tall a stack to plow through it rhythmically and methodically, one at a time. This might have something to do with joining a book club. Or it might have more to do with the fact that not only did I join a book club, I asked my boss for recommendations, decided that I shouldn't own a Dickens book that I hadn't read, got intrigued while looking over Lou's shoulder at his book, got a book I'd long wanted to read as a gift from him on the anniversary of our first date, ordered two books from Amazon and swallowed them whole (not literally) ... and that doesn't include all the basic stuff that I might pick up just because I want to. The floor of my room now looks like a library exploded.
The Napoleon of Notting Hill, a Chesterton novel, made some hilarious and bizarre--but interesting and accurate--points about humor, passion and Chesterton's favorite target for his satirical efforts: the materialist philosophy. I love the way Chesterton writes. Every time I read him, I think "There goes a man who loves the English language as I do."
The Story of a Soul, autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, brought tears to my eyes about every third page. She was a little, cloistered Carmelite nun who begged the pope to let her enter the convent at a very young age--fifteen or sixteen--and she lived only to the age of 24. The simple pouring out of her heart into a few pages took her posthumously from unknown to international appeal; and reading it, I can see why. Her words continue to come back and convict me of my own selfishness and coldness. She expressed a love for Christ that one rarely sees the likes of in this world.
Dickens' Great Expectations left me with alternating opinions of how much I liked it. I wanted to smack the main character far too often for ease of reading. But he did eventually become the man he ought, and that helped. The "happy ending" that Dickens finally went with was certainly better than the original he penned, but I would have liked a little more of it :-)
***
A few years ago, the understanding of the awful realities of uncertainty and suffering hit me at the very center of my heart. It wasn't a cataclysmic or tragic event, but I remember the day--a cold March or April day, gray and drizzly, floating in an orange raft on the Wenatchee river just above the low-head dam at Dryden. I never went near that dam--we were taught how to stay well away--but I knew the theory of what would happen to anyone or anything trapped in its power, and somehow the knowledge of the dangers of moving water connected in my mind with the fragility of life. It sounds clichéd to say that I have never been the same after that moment, but it is the truth of the matter.
A Dominican priest named Fr. Vincent Serpa, who appears now and then on one of the podcasts I listen to, recently prescribed a few minutes' daily meditation on the crucifix for help in the growing of faith. The thought of the crucifix often comes to mind since then. Yes, we need the empty cross, the knowledge that Jesus is risen. But nothing reminds or inspires me to accept my own suffering like the sight of that wasted, beaten body hanging by nails on wood.
***
It's ten o'clock--time to give my unfortunate wrist a break and go read. Good night.
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