[For the Rules, click here.]
You know, God, that I have never wanted anything but to love You alone. I long for no other glory.... Love attracts love and mine soars up to you, eager to fill the abyss of Your love, but it is not even a drop of dew lost in the ocean. To love You as You love me, I must borrow Your love--only then can I have peace. O Jesus, it seems to me that You cannot give a soul more love than You have bestowed on me, and that is why I dare ask You to love those You have given me "even as You have loved me." ... I cannot imagine any greater love than that You have given me without any merit of my own.
Author: St. Therese of Lisieux (translated by John Beevers)
Synopsis: When Therese Martin was fifteen years old, she threw herself at the feet of the Pope and begged him to convince her spiritual advisors to let her enter the Carmelite convent early. She did enter quite young, and devoted her short life--she died in her early twenties--to loving Jesus and praying for the souls of others. Her story of faith, which her superiors in the convent asked her to write, was published shortly after her death and became very well-known and very well-beloved.
* * *
I wish I had the firm, wholehearted devotion she speaks of. I can only struggle with my wandering mind and stubborn nature and pray for greater ability to love than I have now. But "Therese of the Child Jesus" comes to her God as His child, as a 'little one', His 'little flower' among the great saints. And I, despite my thirty-one years and my almost six feet of height, can wholly sympathize.
The book is a challenging if short read and not one I pore over regularly, but its meaning stays with me. May Therese, who is now with her Jesus, pray for another flower who struggles against the shadows of doubt and self-will and longs for the sun.
7.29.2009
7.28.2009
#34. The Mitford Years
[For the Rules, click here.]
"Edith Mallory's lookin' to give you th' big whang-do," said Emma.
Until this inappropriate remark, there had been a resonant peace in the small office. The windows were open to morning air embroidered with birdsong. His sermon notes were going at a pace. And the familiar comfort of his old swivel chair was sheer bliss.
"And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"
His part-time church secretary glanced up from her ledger. "It means she's going to cook your goose."
Author: Jan Karon
Synopsis: Anglican priest Father Tim is single and over sixty, happy preaching and gardening and reading deep theological work in his small-town parish. A pretty neighbor, a giant dog, an abused boy and many other stories are about to mix up his simple life for good.
* * *
Lazy, rambling, summery tales--I love the Mitford books. Jan Karon has a unique writing voice and a talent for creating vivid comic characters. Father Tim and Cynthia are particularly lifelike.
When I want a relaxing read, free from mind-games or frustration, I'm as likely to pull these off the shelf as anything else.
"Edith Mallory's lookin' to give you th' big whang-do," said Emma.
Until this inappropriate remark, there had been a resonant peace in the small office. The windows were open to morning air embroidered with birdsong. His sermon notes were going at a pace. And the familiar comfort of his old swivel chair was sheer bliss.
"And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"
His part-time church secretary glanced up from her ledger. "It means she's going to cook your goose."
Author: Jan Karon
Synopsis: Anglican priest Father Tim is single and over sixty, happy preaching and gardening and reading deep theological work in his small-town parish. A pretty neighbor, a giant dog, an abused boy and many other stories are about to mix up his simple life for good.
* * *
Lazy, rambling, summery tales--I love the Mitford books. Jan Karon has a unique writing voice and a talent for creating vivid comic characters. Father Tim and Cynthia are particularly lifelike.
When I want a relaxing read, free from mind-games or frustration, I'm as likely to pull these off the shelf as anything else.
7.27.2009
Review: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince movie
Fifty Favorite Books will return tomorrow ... I promise.
My husband took me to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince last night. It wasn't the most exciting event on the planet for him, so I felt bad (he gave a far more positive review of the Twilight movie.) "I hate making people put up with my whims," I told him. He said that I don't have many whims, for which I affirmed his husband skills. He might be right about that after all, though; I just have a few really strong whims, one of which is watching a movie just so I can hate on it with the other Potter fans (although Travis liked it, so maybe it won't get so much ragging this trip around.)
Planning to go see the movie? Spoilers follow, so beware.
Rather than sit down in the theater armed with my encyclopedic knowledge of the book, ready to Reducto the movie's every scene, I decided to watch it as a movie in its own right. I found this difficult, of course, because in know-it-all-Hermione fashion, my knowledge likes to jump up and down with its hand in the air. But I didn't want to drink the Haterade too quickly. (Katdish used that phrase in a comment on Stuff Christians Like the other day, and I've wanted to use it ever since. "Drink the Haterade." That's hilarious.)
I found a few things to hate on. I went into this movie knowing--and it feels like I've known this forever--that an attack on the Burrow was invented for whatever reason. Not only was that not in the book, it was rather pointless as to the movie, with no leadup before or fallout afterward. Also, never in his entire existence does Dumbledore say something as fallibly human as "This is beyond anything I ever guessed!" Let me explain something, Warner boys: When a character is, as they say, "larger than life", you don't mess with his lines. You just don't. And where was Snape? Wasn't this movie called "Half-Blood Prince"?
Beyond those things and similar others, I did find a lot to like about the movie. First, the artistry was downright splendid. It was beautifully filmed and reminded me that big-budget movies tend to recognize true art even when the rest of culture forgets. The music was likewise lovely; better to do as they did then try to produce Fawkes' phoenix song as such. The phoenix song always gets me in the book, and it was Fawkes that finally brought tears to my eyes in the movie, though Ginny holding Harry, kneeling at Dumbledore's side after the fall from the tower, came awfully close.
Other parts of the movie were really funny, even though I'd seen several of them online beforehand. Some of the acting was very good, notably Jim Broadbent as Slughorn, and ... whether due to being prepared for the worst by my long happy years of being horrified at Michael Gambon's Dumbledore performances, or due to an honest improvement, I didn't hate it this time. I tend to like understated acting, which is presumably why I have never really liked David Thewlis's Lupin, and the main criticism of Gambon's current performance is that it's too deadpan. Better deadpan than collaring and shaking Harry or rolling eyes in apparent helplessness.
As to the details, here's my review.
Yes:
Beautiful, beautiful architectural shots. I'll repeat myself: the cinematography was just lovely.
Ginny seeing Hedwig and searching for Harry just before he arrives at the Burrow made for a lighthearted, really likeable scene and brought her character forward.
The Pensieve: Not like I pictured it, but quality. Young Tom Riddle was thoroughly creepy.
The scene with Slughorn at Aragog's funeral and afterward in Hagrid's cabin: Hilarious, poignant, beautifully done.
Ron's encounter with love potion was absolutely hysterical. I'd seen it before, but still got a kick out of it. "All right, you love her! Have you ever even met her?"
Felix Felicis. Nicely done, although Harry clearly had some left over after the Slughorn event and I thought he'd divide it between his friends as he did in the book.
Ginny everywhere. Cheers! They gave her some lines. Bonnie Wright pulled them off with emotion and grace.
Quidditch. In the first movie, the famous ball-game-on-broomsticks had the graphics of a video game. This time, the Quidditch action was fabulous. I loved Luna's lion hat, too, though it would have been fun to see it roar.
Snape's AK. Knowing "the rest of the story", as it were, I thought Alan Rickman pulled off Snape's emotion fabulously.
Ending the movie with Fawkes' departure into the sky. I'm not sure anyone only watching the movies would have gotten that he was Dumbledore's pet phoenix, but for book-formed Potterheads, the Resurrection bird is a powerful and important symbol. Just thinking about it makes my eyes well up.
Maybe:
The scene with the waitress at the beginning of the movie. It worked okay, but I liked Dumbledore's scolding the Dursleys in the book much better, and it doesn't seem necessary to portray Harry as a "normal teenager" interested in "going out" when in the books he's honestly distracted. It detracted a little from the onset of Harry's interest in Ginny, I thought.
It makes sense, I suppose, to play Bellatrix up and Narcissa down in the movie version of the "Spinner's End" scene, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
They at least tried to make Natalia Tena look like the book description of Tonks. And I liked it that she called Lupin "sweetheart", though I of course missed the depiction of their difficult move into romance.
Harry's comfort of Hermione after Ron kisses Lavender is a little too open, a little too unlike the masculine reticence of the Harry we know, but it made for an enjoyable scene and a good explanation of both Harry's and Hermione's romantic turmoil.
I had expected Hermione's flock of birds to attack Ron's face and arms, like they did in the book, but their kamikaze run into the door was tolerably effective.
Harry and Ginny's kiss was sweet, but not really the victorious experience from the book. A mildly seductive initiation by Ginny just doesn't compare to Harry's making the move "without thinking, without planning it, without worrying that fifty people were watching" when she runs into his arms after the Quidditch win.
Harry and Draco's battle in the bathroom. Tom Felton's fantastic acting helped. What I didn't like was that we didn't hear Draco attempt to use an Unforgivable, which made Harry's use of Sectumsempra a little less forgivable. Snape never questioned it, either, which was odd.
The Inferi were never explained, and I expected them to be more like the Dead Marshes in Lord of the Rings, but they served their purpose. I managed to watch them without nightmares, so the scariness factor could have been worse.
Snape's explanation to Harry that he was the Half-Blood Prince was moving, but I did miss the almost-demented "Don't call me coward!"
No:
Tonks' "The first night of the cycle is always the hardest" makes it sound like Lupin's about to change into a werewolf then and there. Followed immediately by Bellatrix and Greyback's attack, it makes no sense. Greyback is a werewolf too (which is never explained) and this just doesn't compute.
David Yates gives a good explanation of his reasons for adding the Burrow attack, noting that JKR herself affirmed it, but I still think there might have been a better way to accomplish the sense of jeopardy. It just felt too out of place with the story.
How did Harry know to use a bezoar to save Ron from the poison? What's a bezoar? We know this from the books, but it came out of nowhere in the movie.
The only pointer to Harry and Ginny's breakup is that she's not in the final scene where Harry, Ron and Hermione discuss the fake Horcrux and watch Fawkes fly away. Not only that, there's no confirmation that Ginny and Dean actually broke it off before Ginny and Harry's big kiss. Actually, there's never even any explanation that Harry and Ginny are officially dating; they just kiss briefly in the Room of Requirement.
Speaking of the Room of Requirement, if Ginny hides the book and Harry has his eyes closed, how will he remember the tiara-on-a-bust when he needs to in Deathly Hallows?
Did Hagrid get Fang out of the burning hut? I suppose, if you'd never read the book, you might not have thought of them as being trapped in the building Bellatrix sets afire.
Gambon's "Severus, please ..." didn't sound like pleading to me. I thought it came across that he was asking Snape to do what he did, which was important but perhaps a little too obvious.
When McGonagall raised her wand and sent a light up into the Dark Mark in the sky, starting to dissolve it, I thought that was sweet. When everyone else raised their wands, I thought they meant to do the same, and since the Mark did fade, perhaps it was intended that way--but it did come across as rock-concerty. Amy Sturgis said that someone in the theater with her actually whispered "Free Bird!" at that point.
* * *
What have I missed? I've just jotted down things as I recall them, so certainly there will be something.
My husband took me to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince last night. It wasn't the most exciting event on the planet for him, so I felt bad (he gave a far more positive review of the Twilight movie.) "I hate making people put up with my whims," I told him. He said that I don't have many whims, for which I affirmed his husband skills. He might be right about that after all, though; I just have a few really strong whims, one of which is watching a movie just so I can hate on it with the other Potter fans (although Travis liked it, so maybe it won't get so much ragging this trip around.)
Planning to go see the movie? Spoilers follow, so beware.
Rather than sit down in the theater armed with my encyclopedic knowledge of the book, ready to Reducto the movie's every scene, I decided to watch it as a movie in its own right. I found this difficult, of course, because in know-it-all-Hermione fashion, my knowledge likes to jump up and down with its hand in the air. But I didn't want to drink the Haterade too quickly. (Katdish used that phrase in a comment on Stuff Christians Like the other day, and I've wanted to use it ever since. "Drink the Haterade." That's hilarious.)
I found a few things to hate on. I went into this movie knowing--and it feels like I've known this forever--that an attack on the Burrow was invented for whatever reason. Not only was that not in the book, it was rather pointless as to the movie, with no leadup before or fallout afterward. Also, never in his entire existence does Dumbledore say something as fallibly human as "This is beyond anything I ever guessed!" Let me explain something, Warner boys: When a character is, as they say, "larger than life", you don't mess with his lines. You just don't. And where was Snape? Wasn't this movie called "Half-Blood Prince"?
Beyond those things and similar others, I did find a lot to like about the movie. First, the artistry was downright splendid. It was beautifully filmed and reminded me that big-budget movies tend to recognize true art even when the rest of culture forgets. The music was likewise lovely; better to do as they did then try to produce Fawkes' phoenix song as such. The phoenix song always gets me in the book, and it was Fawkes that finally brought tears to my eyes in the movie, though Ginny holding Harry, kneeling at Dumbledore's side after the fall from the tower, came awfully close.
Other parts of the movie were really funny, even though I'd seen several of them online beforehand. Some of the acting was very good, notably Jim Broadbent as Slughorn, and ... whether due to being prepared for the worst by my long happy years of being horrified at Michael Gambon's Dumbledore performances, or due to an honest improvement, I didn't hate it this time. I tend to like understated acting, which is presumably why I have never really liked David Thewlis's Lupin, and the main criticism of Gambon's current performance is that it's too deadpan. Better deadpan than collaring and shaking Harry or rolling eyes in apparent helplessness.
As to the details, here's my review.
Yes:
Beautiful, beautiful architectural shots. I'll repeat myself: the cinematography was just lovely.
Ginny seeing Hedwig and searching for Harry just before he arrives at the Burrow made for a lighthearted, really likeable scene and brought her character forward.
The Pensieve: Not like I pictured it, but quality. Young Tom Riddle was thoroughly creepy.
The scene with Slughorn at Aragog's funeral and afterward in Hagrid's cabin: Hilarious, poignant, beautifully done.
Ron's encounter with love potion was absolutely hysterical. I'd seen it before, but still got a kick out of it. "All right, you love her! Have you ever even met her?"
Felix Felicis. Nicely done, although Harry clearly had some left over after the Slughorn event and I thought he'd divide it between his friends as he did in the book.
Ginny everywhere. Cheers! They gave her some lines. Bonnie Wright pulled them off with emotion and grace.
Quidditch. In the first movie, the famous ball-game-on-broomsticks had the graphics of a video game. This time, the Quidditch action was fabulous. I loved Luna's lion hat, too, though it would have been fun to see it roar.
Snape's AK. Knowing "the rest of the story", as it were, I thought Alan Rickman pulled off Snape's emotion fabulously.
Ending the movie with Fawkes' departure into the sky. I'm not sure anyone only watching the movies would have gotten that he was Dumbledore's pet phoenix, but for book-formed Potterheads, the Resurrection bird is a powerful and important symbol. Just thinking about it makes my eyes well up.
Maybe:
The scene with the waitress at the beginning of the movie. It worked okay, but I liked Dumbledore's scolding the Dursleys in the book much better, and it doesn't seem necessary to portray Harry as a "normal teenager" interested in "going out" when in the books he's honestly distracted. It detracted a little from the onset of Harry's interest in Ginny, I thought.
It makes sense, I suppose, to play Bellatrix up and Narcissa down in the movie version of the "Spinner's End" scene, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
They at least tried to make Natalia Tena look like the book description of Tonks. And I liked it that she called Lupin "sweetheart", though I of course missed the depiction of their difficult move into romance.
Harry's comfort of Hermione after Ron kisses Lavender is a little too open, a little too unlike the masculine reticence of the Harry we know, but it made for an enjoyable scene and a good explanation of both Harry's and Hermione's romantic turmoil.
I had expected Hermione's flock of birds to attack Ron's face and arms, like they did in the book, but their kamikaze run into the door was tolerably effective.
Harry and Ginny's kiss was sweet, but not really the victorious experience from the book. A mildly seductive initiation by Ginny just doesn't compare to Harry's making the move "without thinking, without planning it, without worrying that fifty people were watching" when she runs into his arms after the Quidditch win.
Harry and Draco's battle in the bathroom. Tom Felton's fantastic acting helped. What I didn't like was that we didn't hear Draco attempt to use an Unforgivable, which made Harry's use of Sectumsempra a little less forgivable. Snape never questioned it, either, which was odd.
The Inferi were never explained, and I expected them to be more like the Dead Marshes in Lord of the Rings, but they served their purpose. I managed to watch them without nightmares, so the scariness factor could have been worse.
Snape's explanation to Harry that he was the Half-Blood Prince was moving, but I did miss the almost-demented "Don't call me coward!"
No:
Tonks' "The first night of the cycle is always the hardest" makes it sound like Lupin's about to change into a werewolf then and there. Followed immediately by Bellatrix and Greyback's attack, it makes no sense. Greyback is a werewolf too (which is never explained) and this just doesn't compute.
David Yates gives a good explanation of his reasons for adding the Burrow attack, noting that JKR herself affirmed it, but I still think there might have been a better way to accomplish the sense of jeopardy. It just felt too out of place with the story.
How did Harry know to use a bezoar to save Ron from the poison? What's a bezoar? We know this from the books, but it came out of nowhere in the movie.
The only pointer to Harry and Ginny's breakup is that she's not in the final scene where Harry, Ron and Hermione discuss the fake Horcrux and watch Fawkes fly away. Not only that, there's no confirmation that Ginny and Dean actually broke it off before Ginny and Harry's big kiss. Actually, there's never even any explanation that Harry and Ginny are officially dating; they just kiss briefly in the Room of Requirement.
Speaking of the Room of Requirement, if Ginny hides the book and Harry has his eyes closed, how will he remember the tiara-on-a-bust when he needs to in Deathly Hallows?
Did Hagrid get Fang out of the burning hut? I suppose, if you'd never read the book, you might not have thought of them as being trapped in the building Bellatrix sets afire.
Gambon's "Severus, please ..." didn't sound like pleading to me. I thought it came across that he was asking Snape to do what he did, which was important but perhaps a little too obvious.
When McGonagall raised her wand and sent a light up into the Dark Mark in the sky, starting to dissolve it, I thought that was sweet. When everyone else raised their wands, I thought they meant to do the same, and since the Mark did fade, perhaps it was intended that way--but it did come across as rock-concerty. Amy Sturgis said that someone in the theater with her actually whispered "Free Bird!" at that point.
* * *
What have I missed? I've just jotted down things as I recall them, so certainly there will be something.
7.24.2009
NaNoWriMo
November. Over 100,000 people. From scratch to 50,000 words apiece.
I just signed up for National Novel Writing Month.
Here's what drew me to the program. Quoting directly from the email the site sends the newly-joined:
"Do not edit as you go. Editing is for December. Think of November as an experiment in pure output. Even if it's hard at first, leave ugly prose and poorly written passages on the page to be cleaned up later. Your inner editor will be very grumpy about this, but your inner editor is a nitpicky jerk who foolishly believes that it is possible to write a brilliant first draft if you write it slowly enough. It isn't."
Wow. They know my inner editor really well.
This means laying my current work aside for that month, since previously written prose on a NaNo novel is, according to the site, punishable by death. But the temporary break into a different story and a full-speed, haphazard writing style should be freeing; I can give over the worries about bad sentences and imperfect voice and incorrect symbolism for awhile, and just see what happens.
Besides, I smell challenge--the sort of challenge I cannot resist.
I am so excited.
What will I write? I have a couple of ideas and may come up with more. The next three months should give me some time for sketching out plot summaries. We'll see what intrigues me most on October 31.
Want to join me? I could use some writing buddies for the event. :D
I just signed up for National Novel Writing Month.
Here's what drew me to the program. Quoting directly from the email the site sends the newly-joined:
"Do not edit as you go. Editing is for December. Think of November as an experiment in pure output. Even if it's hard at first, leave ugly prose and poorly written passages on the page to be cleaned up later. Your inner editor will be very grumpy about this, but your inner editor is a nitpicky jerk who foolishly believes that it is possible to write a brilliant first draft if you write it slowly enough. It isn't."
Wow. They know my inner editor really well.
This means laying my current work aside for that month, since previously written prose on a NaNo novel is, according to the site, punishable by death. But the temporary break into a different story and a full-speed, haphazard writing style should be freeing; I can give over the worries about bad sentences and imperfect voice and incorrect symbolism for awhile, and just see what happens.
Besides, I smell challenge--the sort of challenge I cannot resist.
I am so excited.
What will I write? I have a couple of ideas and may come up with more. The next three months should give me some time for sketching out plot summaries. We'll see what intrigues me most on October 31.
Want to join me? I could use some writing buddies for the event. :D
7.23.2009
#35. Summer's Song
[For the Rules, click here.]
"My name is Bethany Prudence Worthington Taylor, which is more than enough name for any 17-year-old."
Author: Linda Massey Weddle
Synopsis: Beth Taylor takes a summer job as a crew member at family camp, where she meets three interesting guys: Kip, handsome and popular; Russ, loon aficionado and secret informer; and Luke, a lonely child who looks to Beth for friendship and faith. Ice-maiden Erin tests her patience and crew rebellion tests her integrity, but it is Luke who asks her for an act of bravery that means living up to her grandmother's name.
* * *
My sister Beth brought this book home from Clydehurst, a summer camp we attended in junior high and high school, where the author and her husband had been speakers. As far as I know, the book was either self-published or put out by a very small company, although Mrs. Weddle has since published nationally. I will have to track this book down eventually, as Beth and I read the copy we had to pieces over ten years ago.
I don't recall the tale as being particularly deep or layered--not that I would have recognized such back then--but as a simple, sweet story this was one of the rare gems of the Christian fiction genre.
"My name is Bethany Prudence Worthington Taylor, which is more than enough name for any 17-year-old."
Author: Linda Massey Weddle
Synopsis: Beth Taylor takes a summer job as a crew member at family camp, where she meets three interesting guys: Kip, handsome and popular; Russ, loon aficionado and secret informer; and Luke, a lonely child who looks to Beth for friendship and faith. Ice-maiden Erin tests her patience and crew rebellion tests her integrity, but it is Luke who asks her for an act of bravery that means living up to her grandmother's name.
* * *
My sister Beth brought this book home from Clydehurst, a summer camp we attended in junior high and high school, where the author and her husband had been speakers. As far as I know, the book was either self-published or put out by a very small company, although Mrs. Weddle has since published nationally. I will have to track this book down eventually, as Beth and I read the copy we had to pieces over ten years ago.
I don't recall the tale as being particularly deep or layered--not that I would have recognized such back then--but as a simple, sweet story this was one of the rare gems of the Christian fiction genre.
7.22.2009
#36. David Copperfield
[For the Rules, click here.]
"So you have left Mr. Dick behind, aunt?" said I. "I am sorry for that. Ah, Janet, how do you do?"
As Janet curtsied, hoping I was well, I observed my aunt's visage lengthen very much.
"I am sorry for it, too," said my aunt, rubbing her nose. "I have had no peace of mind, Trot, since I have been here."
Before I could ask why, she told me.
"I am convinced," said my aunt, laying her hand with melancholy firmness on the table, "that Dick's character is not a character to keep the donkeys off. I am confident he wants strength of purpose. I ought to have left Janet at home, instead, and then my mind might perhaps have been at ease. If ever there was a donkey trespassing on my green," said my aunt, with emphasis, "there was one this afternoon at four o'clock. A cold feeling came over me from head to foot, and I know it was a donkey!"
Author: Charles Dickens
Synopsis: David narrates his life story from his early suffering at the hands of a severe stepfather through going off to school, taking refuge with his aunt, learning his trade, making many friends, and falling twice in love.
* * *
This is another book that I've read only once cover-to-cover; yet it has remained my second-favorite of Dickens' work. When I picked it up the other day to go quote-hunting, I found myself reading long stretches that I had forgotten or vaguely remembered, and hunting for others that I remembered loving the first time. It would take another trip through to reacquaint myself with some of the characters and side stories, but as time goes on I am sure I will pick it up for another full read.
Maybe I like the story because David is such a slow-moving, introspective character, more inclined to daydreaming and thinking through past events than to raw achievement. He's a lot like me. God made us cloud-headed snail-wits for one distinctive purpose, as far as I can tell: turning our extensive thought-processing into polished words. Hopefully those words prove useful for the encouragement or assistance or at least entertainment of others.
"So you have left Mr. Dick behind, aunt?" said I. "I am sorry for that. Ah, Janet, how do you do?"
As Janet curtsied, hoping I was well, I observed my aunt's visage lengthen very much.
"I am sorry for it, too," said my aunt, rubbing her nose. "I have had no peace of mind, Trot, since I have been here."
Before I could ask why, she told me.
"I am convinced," said my aunt, laying her hand with melancholy firmness on the table, "that Dick's character is not a character to keep the donkeys off. I am confident he wants strength of purpose. I ought to have left Janet at home, instead, and then my mind might perhaps have been at ease. If ever there was a donkey trespassing on my green," said my aunt, with emphasis, "there was one this afternoon at four o'clock. A cold feeling came over me from head to foot, and I know it was a donkey!"
Author: Charles Dickens
Synopsis: David narrates his life story from his early suffering at the hands of a severe stepfather through going off to school, taking refuge with his aunt, learning his trade, making many friends, and falling twice in love.
* * *
This is another book that I've read only once cover-to-cover; yet it has remained my second-favorite of Dickens' work. When I picked it up the other day to go quote-hunting, I found myself reading long stretches that I had forgotten or vaguely remembered, and hunting for others that I remembered loving the first time. It would take another trip through to reacquaint myself with some of the characters and side stories, but as time goes on I am sure I will pick it up for another full read.
Maybe I like the story because David is such a slow-moving, introspective character, more inclined to daydreaming and thinking through past events than to raw achievement. He's a lot like me. God made us cloud-headed snail-wits for one distinctive purpose, as far as I can tell: turning our extensive thought-processing into polished words. Hopefully those words prove useful for the encouragement or assistance or at least entertainment of others.
7.21.2009
#37. The Scarlet Pimpernel
[For the Rules, click here.]
"Do you think that Blakeney would leave Calais without having accomplished what he set out to do?"
"You mean ...?"
"There's the old Comte de Tournay ..."
"The Comte ...?" she murmured.
"And St. Just ... and others ..."
"My brother!" she said with a heart-broken sob of anguish. "Heaven help me, but I fear I had forgotten."
"Fugitives as they are, these men at this moment await with perfect confidence and unshaken faith the arrival of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who has pledged his honour to take them safely across the Channel."
Indeed, she had forgotten! With the sublime selfishness of a woman who loves with her whole heart, she had in the last twenty-four hours had no thought save for him. His precious, noble life, his danger--he, the loved one, the brave hero, he alone dwelt in her mind.
Author: Baroness Orczy
Synopsis: A young French actress has married an English baronet who is a mystery to her--the more so after he discovers she denounced an aristocratic family, unwittingly sending them to the Revolution's guillotine. A member of Robespierre's henchmen uses the jeopardy of her brother's life to blackmail her into spying for France. Her task is to help discover the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, a daring young man who with several assistants is smuggling members of the French aristocracy into England.
* * *
My family saw several times, and owns, the Anthony Andrews/Jane Seymour movie based on this book and another Orczy novel (Eldorado). Jane Seymour's hair in this movie is beyond belief, but the story is lighthearted and fun. It was my favorite movie for awhile.
The book is likeable, an easy read, heroic and romantic and clean--and honestly a little over-the-top, but who cares? I've read it several times and can never put it down once I get going.
"Do you think that Blakeney would leave Calais without having accomplished what he set out to do?"
"You mean ...?"
"There's the old Comte de Tournay ..."
"The Comte ...?" she murmured.
"And St. Just ... and others ..."
"My brother!" she said with a heart-broken sob of anguish. "Heaven help me, but I fear I had forgotten."
"Fugitives as they are, these men at this moment await with perfect confidence and unshaken faith the arrival of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who has pledged his honour to take them safely across the Channel."
Indeed, she had forgotten! With the sublime selfishness of a woman who loves with her whole heart, she had in the last twenty-four hours had no thought save for him. His precious, noble life, his danger--he, the loved one, the brave hero, he alone dwelt in her mind.
Author: Baroness Orczy
Synopsis: A young French actress has married an English baronet who is a mystery to her--the more so after he discovers she denounced an aristocratic family, unwittingly sending them to the Revolution's guillotine. A member of Robespierre's henchmen uses the jeopardy of her brother's life to blackmail her into spying for France. Her task is to help discover the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, a daring young man who with several assistants is smuggling members of the French aristocracy into England.
* * *
My family saw several times, and owns, the Anthony Andrews/Jane Seymour movie based on this book and another Orczy novel (Eldorado). Jane Seymour's hair in this movie is beyond belief, but the story is lighthearted and fun. It was my favorite movie for awhile.
The book is likeable, an easy read, heroic and romantic and clean--and honestly a little over-the-top, but who cares? I've read it several times and can never put it down once I get going.
7.20.2009
25 Things About Me
The members of my writing group have pledged to each write "from a prompt" and post it to our blogs by this Wednesday. This popular Facebook prompt was mentioned as an option, and since several people tagged me with it months ago and I loved reading theirs, I'll do mine now (here, because I don't get around to Facebooking much).
Technically I'm supposed to tag 25 people; for me, that's pretty much all of my Facebook and blogging friends. Tag! You're It.
Here are 25 things about me, randomly chosen for your reading pleasure:
1. To my very great surprise, I am not awful at decorating a house.
2. I adore houseplants. I put them everywhere.
3. Someday I want a bird feeder in my yard. Maybe a couple of bird houses, too. Birds fascinate me; I find them charming and cheery and delightful and hopeful.
4. Trees give me encouragement and comfort; I'm getting to know the ones in our neighborhood as friends. Looking up at blue sky through the leaves of a tall old tree is one of my greatest pleasures.
5. For a couple of years I tried very hard to be interesting and unafraid; I learned to climb rocks and got certified as a whitewater guide. I could not stop being afraid. Hopefully I have also not stopped being interesting.
6. Debate and conflict terrify me even more than whitewater rafting. Anything that resembles an impending serious argument can make me cry and shake till my whole body vibrates. I am not exaggerating.
7. When I was in sixth grade, I was the third tallest in my class. I was a year younger than my classmates.
8. I have a love-hate relationship with being tall. It's nice to be able to reach things on the top shelf, and it's nice when your girlfriends tell you that you look like a model. It feels weird to tower over half of all men, however, and with my enormous wingspan I am sometimes afraid to move for fear I'll hurt someone (or myself--I punched a low ceiling the other day). Also, I occasionally see cute little petite girls cower a bit when they get near me. I want to tell them that I'm harmless, but it seems awkward.
9. Until I was 28, no eligible--or even young--man ever told me I was beautiful. But I felt beautiful once: when my swing teacher used me as his dance partner while teaching swing dancing at Jade's wedding. Doug was a professional dancer and I knew just enough to follow. A male dancer can, by good leadership, make a girl feel all starry and graceful. I know.
10. Sometimes I do actually feel beautiful, and enjoy looking at myself in the mirror. It generally requires full makeup.
11. My husband will tell me I'm beautiful when I know perfectly well that no other person in the world would make it past the acne scars and the ponytail and the gangly arms poking out of an ancient t-shirt. It took me awhile, but I've come to the conclusion that he means it.
12. I honestly love being a girl and wouldn't trade it, despite the pain and mood swings and inconveniences, for the triumphs and tribulations and freedoms of manhood.
13. I am so grateful to have a husband--and so awed that he loves me in spite of my weaknesses--that I feel horrified when I say the slightest grouchy thing to him.
14. Writing forms such a thoroughly integral part of my life that imagining life without it is like imagining nonexistence.
15. The curse upon my writing is the tendency to overuse ellipses.
16. Part of what keeps me in the Christian faith is the tough moral teaching that everybody rails against. Call it what you will, but it seems necessary to the health of humanity.
17. Of all the things I've given away in my life, I regret my first doll, Mark, the most.
18. Most of the time I prefer silence to music.
19. I detest coarse language and the vulgar freedoms of modern conversation. When a girl says she "has to pee", or a couple says they're "trying for a baby", I recoil. Ew. Please. Do not make me picture that.
20. One of the highlights of my week is listening to John Derbyshire's Radio Derb on Friday nights with Lou. Seriously, if you're going to tell me the world is coming to an end, make it funny.
21. I live for sunshine, perhaps because I try to fill myself with light and warmth the way folks of the Goth persuasion fill themselves with severity and darkness.
22. I never thought I'd fall in love with a man who willingly wore slacks and ties and buzzed his hair. Now I find myself rather proud of my handsome, neatly-dressed husband.
23. Despite being shy, I am in danger of giving away too much information whenever I open my mouth.
24. The appeal of Christianity to my imagination is at least as strong, and possibly as important, as its appeal to my reason.
25. Many years ago--after reading George MacDonald's "There and Back", I think--I decided to hang onto childlike wonder all my life. Cynicism and depressive moments get the better of me at times, but for the most part I think I've kept it up so far.
Technically I'm supposed to tag 25 people; for me, that's pretty much all of my Facebook and blogging friends. Tag! You're It.
Here are 25 things about me, randomly chosen for your reading pleasure:
1. To my very great surprise, I am not awful at decorating a house.
2. I adore houseplants. I put them everywhere.
3. Someday I want a bird feeder in my yard. Maybe a couple of bird houses, too. Birds fascinate me; I find them charming and cheery and delightful and hopeful.
4. Trees give me encouragement and comfort; I'm getting to know the ones in our neighborhood as friends. Looking up at blue sky through the leaves of a tall old tree is one of my greatest pleasures.
5. For a couple of years I tried very hard to be interesting and unafraid; I learned to climb rocks and got certified as a whitewater guide. I could not stop being afraid. Hopefully I have also not stopped being interesting.
6. Debate and conflict terrify me even more than whitewater rafting. Anything that resembles an impending serious argument can make me cry and shake till my whole body vibrates. I am not exaggerating.
7. When I was in sixth grade, I was the third tallest in my class. I was a year younger than my classmates.
8. I have a love-hate relationship with being tall. It's nice to be able to reach things on the top shelf, and it's nice when your girlfriends tell you that you look like a model. It feels weird to tower over half of all men, however, and with my enormous wingspan I am sometimes afraid to move for fear I'll hurt someone (or myself--I punched a low ceiling the other day). Also, I occasionally see cute little petite girls cower a bit when they get near me. I want to tell them that I'm harmless, but it seems awkward.
9. Until I was 28, no eligible--or even young--man ever told me I was beautiful. But I felt beautiful once: when my swing teacher used me as his dance partner while teaching swing dancing at Jade's wedding. Doug was a professional dancer and I knew just enough to follow. A male dancer can, by good leadership, make a girl feel all starry and graceful. I know.
10. Sometimes I do actually feel beautiful, and enjoy looking at myself in the mirror. It generally requires full makeup.
11. My husband will tell me I'm beautiful when I know perfectly well that no other person in the world would make it past the acne scars and the ponytail and the gangly arms poking out of an ancient t-shirt. It took me awhile, but I've come to the conclusion that he means it.
12. I honestly love being a girl and wouldn't trade it, despite the pain and mood swings and inconveniences, for the triumphs and tribulations and freedoms of manhood.
13. I am so grateful to have a husband--and so awed that he loves me in spite of my weaknesses--that I feel horrified when I say the slightest grouchy thing to him.
14. Writing forms such a thoroughly integral part of my life that imagining life without it is like imagining nonexistence.
15. The curse upon my writing is the tendency to overuse ellipses.
16. Part of what keeps me in the Christian faith is the tough moral teaching that everybody rails against. Call it what you will, but it seems necessary to the health of humanity.
17. Of all the things I've given away in my life, I regret my first doll, Mark, the most.
18. Most of the time I prefer silence to music.
19. I detest coarse language and the vulgar freedoms of modern conversation. When a girl says she "has to pee", or a couple says they're "trying for a baby", I recoil. Ew. Please. Do not make me picture that.
20. One of the highlights of my week is listening to John Derbyshire's Radio Derb on Friday nights with Lou. Seriously, if you're going to tell me the world is coming to an end, make it funny.
21. I live for sunshine, perhaps because I try to fill myself with light and warmth the way folks of the Goth persuasion fill themselves with severity and darkness.
22. I never thought I'd fall in love with a man who willingly wore slacks and ties and buzzed his hair. Now I find myself rather proud of my handsome, neatly-dressed husband.
23. Despite being shy, I am in danger of giving away too much information whenever I open my mouth.
24. The appeal of Christianity to my imagination is at least as strong, and possibly as important, as its appeal to my reason.
25. Many years ago--after reading George MacDonald's "There and Back", I think--I decided to hang onto childlike wonder all my life. Cynicism and depressive moments get the better of me at times, but for the most part I think I've kept it up so far.
7.17.2009
#38. Pollyanna
[For the Rules, click here.]
"Please, Aunt Polly, you didn't tell me which of my things you wanted to--to give away."
Aunt Polly emitted a tired sigh--a sigh that ascended straight to Pollyanna's ears.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Pollyanna. Timothy will drive us into town at half-past one this afternoon. Not one of your garments is fit for my niece to wear. Certainly I should be very far from doing my duty by you if I should let you appear out in any one of them."
Pollyanna sighed now--she believed she was going to hate that word--duty.
"Aunt Polly, please," she called wistfully, "isn't there any way you can be glad about all that--duty business?"
Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Synopsis: An orphaned girl goes to live with her strict and angry aunt, bringing the game her father taught her. Aunt Polly is not interested in finding things to be glad about, but many a member of the town learns to play. One of them has the secret to softening Aunt Polly's heart.
* * *
Reading this book reminds me to be cheerful. It also reminds me that doing my duty is only half the battle; being glad about it is the other half.
Yes, I'm serious. Nowadays with everyone wanting to do just as they please and still managing to be unhappy, the story of someone who did much that they did not wish to and found a way to be happy about it is worth reading. But more than that--I like the story. I like the simple sweetness of it. I like the characters and the setting and the happy ending.
Tonight my duty is sleeping at my parents' temporary house to care for Grandma while Mom and Dad defend their new house from its previous tenant, who broke into it last night. I'm glad my husband is willing to come with me, and that it's not far from our place. And that I had a place to park, which is always something to be glad about in Bellingham.
"Please, Aunt Polly, you didn't tell me which of my things you wanted to--to give away."
Aunt Polly emitted a tired sigh--a sigh that ascended straight to Pollyanna's ears.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Pollyanna. Timothy will drive us into town at half-past one this afternoon. Not one of your garments is fit for my niece to wear. Certainly I should be very far from doing my duty by you if I should let you appear out in any one of them."
Pollyanna sighed now--she believed she was going to hate that word--duty.
"Aunt Polly, please," she called wistfully, "isn't there any way you can be glad about all that--duty business?"
Author: Eleanor H. Porter
Synopsis: An orphaned girl goes to live with her strict and angry aunt, bringing the game her father taught her. Aunt Polly is not interested in finding things to be glad about, but many a member of the town learns to play. One of them has the secret to softening Aunt Polly's heart.
* * *
Reading this book reminds me to be cheerful. It also reminds me that doing my duty is only half the battle; being glad about it is the other half.
Yes, I'm serious. Nowadays with everyone wanting to do just as they please and still managing to be unhappy, the story of someone who did much that they did not wish to and found a way to be happy about it is worth reading. But more than that--I like the story. I like the simple sweetness of it. I like the characters and the setting and the happy ending.
Tonight my duty is sleeping at my parents' temporary house to care for Grandma while Mom and Dad defend their new house from its previous tenant, who broke into it last night. I'm glad my husband is willing to come with me, and that it's not far from our place. And that I had a place to park, which is always something to be glad about in Bellingham.
7.16.2009
#39. Summer of the Monkeys
[For the Rules, click here.]
If I had kept this monkey trouble to myself, I don't think it would have amounted to much; but I got my grandpa mixed up in it. I felt pretty bad about that because Grandpa was my pal, and all he was trying to do was help me.
Author: Wilson Rawls
Synopsis: Fourteen-year-old Jay Berry Lee, roaming his parents' farm in the Ozark mountains, comes across a troop of monkeys that have run away from a wrecked circus train. When Jay Berry learns that a large reward is offered for the monkeys, he decides to capture them and return them to the circus so he can make enough money to buy a pony and gun. The monkeys are more interested in taunting Jay Berry than being caught, however, and then Jay Berry has to decide whether to pursue his dream or whether something else might be more important.
* * *
My family read books aloud in the evenings when my sisters and I were young, and this was one. After that, I read it several more times. I'm not sure where the family copy went, but will likely find it and read it again someday.
Wilson Rawls is perhaps better known for Where the Red Fern Grows, but Summer of the Monkeys is a likewise touching story with more humor and a happier ending.
If I had kept this monkey trouble to myself, I don't think it would have amounted to much; but I got my grandpa mixed up in it. I felt pretty bad about that because Grandpa was my pal, and all he was trying to do was help me.
Author: Wilson Rawls
Synopsis: Fourteen-year-old Jay Berry Lee, roaming his parents' farm in the Ozark mountains, comes across a troop of monkeys that have run away from a wrecked circus train. When Jay Berry learns that a large reward is offered for the monkeys, he decides to capture them and return them to the circus so he can make enough money to buy a pony and gun. The monkeys are more interested in taunting Jay Berry than being caught, however, and then Jay Berry has to decide whether to pursue his dream or whether something else might be more important.
* * *
My family read books aloud in the evenings when my sisters and I were young, and this was one. After that, I read it several more times. I'm not sure where the family copy went, but will likely find it and read it again someday.
Wilson Rawls is perhaps better known for Where the Red Fern Grows, but Summer of the Monkeys is a likewise touching story with more humor and a happier ending.
7.15.2009
#40. The Wild at Heart Books
[For the Rules, click here.]
No, we have not been poisoned by fairy tales and they are not merely "myths." Far from it. The truth is, we have not taken them seriously enough. As Roland Hein says, "Myths are stories which confront us with something transcendent and eternal." In the case of our fair maiden, we have overlooked two very crucial aspects to that myth. On the one hand, none of us ever really believed the sorcerer was real. We thought we could have the maiden without a fight. Honestly, most of us guys thought our biggest battle was asking her out. And second, we have not understood the tower and its relation to her wound; the damsel is in distress. If masculinity has come under assault, femininity has been brutalized. Eve is the crown of creation, remember? She embodies the exquisite beauty and the exotic mystery of God in a way that nothing else in all creation even comes close to. And so she is the special target of the Evil One; he turns his most vicious malice against her. If he can destroy her or keep her captive, he can ruin the story.
Author: John Eldredge (Captivating with Stasi Eldredge; The Sacred Romance with Brent Curtis)
Synopsis: Wild at Heart talks about what men most desire: a battle to fight, an adventure to live, and a beauty to rescue. Captivating discusses a woman's three great wishes: to be romanced, to be an irreplaceable part of an adventure, to have beauty to unveil. The Sacred Romance and Journey of Desire speak of God's love for us and our adventure in learning to love Him.
* * *
Oddly enough, after reading Wild at Heart, I came away thoroughly fascinated by what women desire--and not exactly as the Eldredges put it. Captivating didn't quite live up to the emotive writing of Wild at Heart, and I thought it didn't look closely enough at a woman's desire to nurture; I would have added that as a full fourth desire. Sure, it messes up the neat "three" thing, but it's important.
Between the two books, I have visions of womanhood that encompass everything from the tender-eyed soft-hearted ladylike girl to wood-queens with swords and long wild hair and fierceness in their eyes. For all my resentment toward certain aspects of feminism, I can't dissociate myself from the movement entirely when I read a book about men and come away having learned more about the fair sex.
No, we have not been poisoned by fairy tales and they are not merely "myths." Far from it. The truth is, we have not taken them seriously enough. As Roland Hein says, "Myths are stories which confront us with something transcendent and eternal." In the case of our fair maiden, we have overlooked two very crucial aspects to that myth. On the one hand, none of us ever really believed the sorcerer was real. We thought we could have the maiden without a fight. Honestly, most of us guys thought our biggest battle was asking her out. And second, we have not understood the tower and its relation to her wound; the damsel is in distress. If masculinity has come under assault, femininity has been brutalized. Eve is the crown of creation, remember? She embodies the exquisite beauty and the exotic mystery of God in a way that nothing else in all creation even comes close to. And so she is the special target of the Evil One; he turns his most vicious malice against her. If he can destroy her or keep her captive, he can ruin the story.
Author: John Eldredge (Captivating with Stasi Eldredge; The Sacred Romance with Brent Curtis)
Synopsis: Wild at Heart talks about what men most desire: a battle to fight, an adventure to live, and a beauty to rescue. Captivating discusses a woman's three great wishes: to be romanced, to be an irreplaceable part of an adventure, to have beauty to unveil. The Sacred Romance and Journey of Desire speak of God's love for us and our adventure in learning to love Him.
* * *
Oddly enough, after reading Wild at Heart, I came away thoroughly fascinated by what women desire--and not exactly as the Eldredges put it. Captivating didn't quite live up to the emotive writing of Wild at Heart, and I thought it didn't look closely enough at a woman's desire to nurture; I would have added that as a full fourth desire. Sure, it messes up the neat "three" thing, but it's important.
Between the two books, I have visions of womanhood that encompass everything from the tender-eyed soft-hearted ladylike girl to wood-queens with swords and long wild hair and fierceness in their eyes. For all my resentment toward certain aspects of feminism, I can't dissociate myself from the movement entirely when I read a book about men and come away having learned more about the fair sex.
7.14.2009
#41. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
[Pardon my missed post yesterday. I'm an auntie again, to a gorgeous little five-pound nine-ounce niece. :)]
For the Rules of the Fifty Favorite Books, click here.
* * *
"A person who pulls himself up from a low environment via the boot-strap route has two choices. Having risen above his environment, he can forget it; or, he can rise above it and never forget it and keep compassion in his heart for those has left behind him in the cruel up climb."
Author: Betty Smith
Synopsis: The early years and coming-of-age of Francie Nolan, child of poor immigrant parents, are chronicled in this tale.
* * *
I read this book once, years ago, and perhaps the time has come to pull it off the library shelf again. I remember it as stunningly well-written, vivid, a beautifully human description of life in poverty without--as far as I recall--romanticizing such a life or trying the reader's patience by a preachy attitude about social justice. (I'm not saying that social justice is unimportant ... just that nothing makes it harder to care than a self-righteous mouth-off thinly disguised as entertainment and/or "speaking out".)
Having only read the book once, I don't have a lot more to say about it. It left quite an impression that first time, though; certain characters and scenes stand out strongly in my mind even after all these years. I also have to give it an extra star for having one of the greater titles that I've ever come across.
For the Rules of the Fifty Favorite Books, click here.
* * *
"A person who pulls himself up from a low environment via the boot-strap route has two choices. Having risen above his environment, he can forget it; or, he can rise above it and never forget it and keep compassion in his heart for those has left behind him in the cruel up climb."
Author: Betty Smith
Synopsis: The early years and coming-of-age of Francie Nolan, child of poor immigrant parents, are chronicled in this tale.
* * *
I read this book once, years ago, and perhaps the time has come to pull it off the library shelf again. I remember it as stunningly well-written, vivid, a beautifully human description of life in poverty without--as far as I recall--romanticizing such a life or trying the reader's patience by a preachy attitude about social justice. (I'm not saying that social justice is unimportant ... just that nothing makes it harder to care than a self-righteous mouth-off thinly disguised as entertainment and/or "speaking out".)
Having only read the book once, I don't have a lot more to say about it. It left quite an impression that first time, though; certain characters and scenes stand out strongly in my mind even after all these years. I also have to give it an extra star for having one of the greater titles that I've ever come across.
7.10.2009
#42. The Hiding Place
[For the Rules, click here.]
"All watches are safe."
Author: Corrie ten Boom
Synopsis: Corrie ten Boom details her family's experience hiding Jews in Holland during Nazi occupation, and the subsequent time Corrie and her sister Betsie spent in a concentration camp.
* * *
I love the tale Corrie told (in another book, Tramp for the Lord) about meeting, years after her release from the concentration camp, a former Nazi guard who had tormented her and her sister. He had become a Christian in the intervening years and begged her forgiveness, offering his hand in friendship. She had only seconds to overcome the hate Betsie had always protested against and shake the man's hand. By the grace of God, she succeeded.
The Hiding Place is a painful read, but a powerful one. Her recounting of her family's work helping Jews escape and the price they all paid for that work is thoroughly moving. It is a beautiful story of work against evil, of love and superhuman forgiveness. Most great stories involve something of those concepts. Hers is true.
RRR: The Diary of Anne Frank, of course. I always feel guilty reading that because I would never, ever want my own diaries published, but stories hardly get more human-interest than hers.
"All watches are safe."
Author: Corrie ten Boom
Synopsis: Corrie ten Boom details her family's experience hiding Jews in Holland during Nazi occupation, and the subsequent time Corrie and her sister Betsie spent in a concentration camp.
* * *
I love the tale Corrie told (in another book, Tramp for the Lord) about meeting, years after her release from the concentration camp, a former Nazi guard who had tormented her and her sister. He had become a Christian in the intervening years and begged her forgiveness, offering his hand in friendship. She had only seconds to overcome the hate Betsie had always protested against and shake the man's hand. By the grace of God, she succeeded.
The Hiding Place is a painful read, but a powerful one. Her recounting of her family's work helping Jews escape and the price they all paid for that work is thoroughly moving. It is a beautiful story of work against evil, of love and superhuman forgiveness. Most great stories involve something of those concepts. Hers is true.
RRR: The Diary of Anne Frank, of course. I always feel guilty reading that because I would never, ever want my own diaries published, but stories hardly get more human-interest than hers.
7.09.2009
#43. No Flying in the House
[For the Rules, click here.]
"Can you kiss your elbow?"
Author: Betty Brock
Synopsis: A fairy princess married a mortal man, and her father the Fairy King was so angry that he exiled both indefinitely, willing to restore them to favor only if their first child became mortal by the it turned seven. No Flying in the House is the story of that first child and the tiny dog who helps her.
* * *
I read this innumerable times in fourth grade; unfortunately, never since. Someday I'll stick this and 101 Dalmatians on an Amazon order to benefit from the free-shipping-over-$25 promotion.
Though I attempted Belinda's trick for flying several times, I don't think I really expected to get off the ground. It would've been fun, though. As I recall, Annabel floated around the living room ceiling eating a cookie. Of course, her benefactor wasn't incredibly excited about her dropping crumbs on the carpet.
"Can you kiss your elbow?"
Author: Betty Brock
Synopsis: A fairy princess married a mortal man, and her father the Fairy King was so angry that he exiled both indefinitely, willing to restore them to favor only if their first child became mortal by the it turned seven. No Flying in the House is the story of that first child and the tiny dog who helps her.
* * *
I read this innumerable times in fourth grade; unfortunately, never since. Someday I'll stick this and 101 Dalmatians on an Amazon order to benefit from the free-shipping-over-$25 promotion.
Though I attempted Belinda's trick for flying several times, I don't think I really expected to get off the ground. It would've been fun, though. As I recall, Annabel floated around the living room ceiling eating a cookie. Of course, her benefactor wasn't incredibly excited about her dropping crumbs on the carpet.
7.08.2009
Christmas in July
My poinsettia, which is at least five years old, is blooming for the first time since I got it:
Poinsettias are notoriously difficult to bring to bloom, usually requiring rather harsh treatment--that is, they want to be locked in a basement or closet every night for two months. They like filtered but direct light in the day. I have mine in a sheer-curtained south window, but didn't give it any extra darkness at night.
Poinsettias are notoriously difficult to bring to bloom, usually requiring rather harsh treatment--that is, they want to be locked in a basement or closet every night for two months. They like filtered but direct light in the day. I have mine in a sheer-curtained south window, but didn't give it any extra darkness at night.
7.07.2009
#44. 101 Dalmatians
[For the Rules, click here.]
Not long ago, there lived in London a young married couple of Dalmatian dogs named Pongo and Missis Pongo. (Missis had added Pongo's name to her own on their marriage, but was still called Missis by most people.) They were lucky enough to own a young married couple of humans named Mr. and Mrs. Dearly, who were gentle, obedient, and unusually intelligent--almost canine at times.
Author: Dodie Smith
Synopsis: When their fifteen puppies are stolen by Cruella de Vil and henchmen, Pongo and Missis go to the rescue with the help of many dogs and their "pets" along the way.
* * *
First things first: This is not the little Disney book, which messes dramatically with the characters; nor is it the movie based thereon. This, as I recall, is an honest-to-goodness novella, written by a talented author capable of appealing to all five senses, who makes her characters and scenes dimensional and believable.
I haven't read this since about sixth grade (thank goodness for the first page on Amazon, which provided the above quote), but in that year I read it over and over for several months. Certain scenes from the story still come up very visually in my mind, especially the old dog sharing his hot buttered toast with the travelers by the fireside.
It makes me hungry. Hmm. I think I have some leftover biscuits ...
Not long ago, there lived in London a young married couple of Dalmatian dogs named Pongo and Missis Pongo. (Missis had added Pongo's name to her own on their marriage, but was still called Missis by most people.) They were lucky enough to own a young married couple of humans named Mr. and Mrs. Dearly, who were gentle, obedient, and unusually intelligent--almost canine at times.
Author: Dodie Smith
Synopsis: When their fifteen puppies are stolen by Cruella de Vil and henchmen, Pongo and Missis go to the rescue with the help of many dogs and their "pets" along the way.
* * *
First things first: This is not the little Disney book, which messes dramatically with the characters; nor is it the movie based thereon. This, as I recall, is an honest-to-goodness novella, written by a talented author capable of appealing to all five senses, who makes her characters and scenes dimensional and believable.
I haven't read this since about sixth grade (thank goodness for the first page on Amazon, which provided the above quote), but in that year I read it over and over for several months. Certain scenes from the story still come up very visually in my mind, especially the old dog sharing his hot buttered toast with the travelers by the fireside.
It makes me hungry. Hmm. I think I have some leftover biscuits ...
7.06.2009
#45. Sense and Sensibility
[For the Rules, click here.]
"I am convinced," said Edward, "that you really feel all the delight in a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight and flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug farm-house than a watch-tower--and a troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world."
Author: Jane Austen
Synopsis: Two sisters, with decidedly different principles for facing life and love, watch each other's ideals tested as they struggle side-by-side through passions and heartbreaks and into marriages.
* * *
We've reached the first Austen book in the countdown. I considered making Austen and Lewis their own special rules because they've both written so many good books, but in the end decided to let the titles stand on their own. Lewis, by the way, is known for saying about Austen that her books had two faults, both of which were "damnable: They are too few and too short".1
Of all her novels, this is the only one that feels even remotely rambly to me. I loved the Emma Thompson/Hugh Grant/Alan Rickman/Kate Winslet movie, which is artistically made and well-acted and concise enough, decently capturing the spirit of the story.
There's a scene in the movie where Marianne rushes crying into one room, her mother rushes crying into another, and Margaret hands Elinor the cup of tea she'd brought for Marianne and disappears crying into a third room. Elinor looks at the closed doors and listens silently to the muffled weeping; then she sits on the stairs and takes a sip from the tea.
My family has laughed and laughed at that scene. Everyone says I take after Elinor, and I do sympathize with her.
More and more through life, though, I tend to be impressed by Elinor and think myself unlike her. "Do you compare your conduct with his?" Elinor asks Marianne, speaking of a former beau who turned out to be a rascal. "No," says Marianne. "I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with yours."
Elinor's wisdom and self-controlled conduct cannot protect her from suffering, but it can protect her from making an idiot of herself in the process. That sounds like something to me ... what could it be? Ah yes: Reality.
I'm working on that.
1 The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis Vol. 2, Hooper, p. 977; quoted from "Unlocking Harry Potter: Five Keys for the Serious Reader", John Granger, p. 35
"I am convinced," said Edward, "that you really feel all the delight in a fine prospect which you profess to feel. But, in return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles. I do not like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if they are tall, straight and flourishing. I do not like ruined, tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles, or thistles, or heath blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug farm-house than a watch-tower--and a troop of tidy, happy villagers please me better than the finest banditti in the world."
Author: Jane Austen
Synopsis: Two sisters, with decidedly different principles for facing life and love, watch each other's ideals tested as they struggle side-by-side through passions and heartbreaks and into marriages.
* * *
We've reached the first Austen book in the countdown. I considered making Austen and Lewis their own special rules because they've both written so many good books, but in the end decided to let the titles stand on their own. Lewis, by the way, is known for saying about Austen that her books had two faults, both of which were "damnable: They are too few and too short".1
Of all her novels, this is the only one that feels even remotely rambly to me. I loved the Emma Thompson/Hugh Grant/Alan Rickman/Kate Winslet movie, which is artistically made and well-acted and concise enough, decently capturing the spirit of the story.
There's a scene in the movie where Marianne rushes crying into one room, her mother rushes crying into another, and Margaret hands Elinor the cup of tea she'd brought for Marianne and disappears crying into a third room. Elinor looks at the closed doors and listens silently to the muffled weeping; then she sits on the stairs and takes a sip from the tea.
My family has laughed and laughed at that scene. Everyone says I take after Elinor, and I do sympathize with her.
More and more through life, though, I tend to be impressed by Elinor and think myself unlike her. "Do you compare your conduct with his?" Elinor asks Marianne, speaking of a former beau who turned out to be a rascal. "No," says Marianne. "I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with yours."
Elinor's wisdom and self-controlled conduct cannot protect her from suffering, but it can protect her from making an idiot of herself in the process. That sounds like something to me ... what could it be? Ah yes: Reality.
I'm working on that.
1 The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis Vol. 2, Hooper, p. 977; quoted from "Unlocking Harry Potter: Five Keys for the Serious Reader", John Granger, p. 35
7.04.2009
Happy Independence Day, America
A few minutes ago, a truck drove down our street, tapped its horn, and blared the Star Spangled Banner.
Hurrah!
Here's the song in its full glory, thanks to Wikipedia:
O! say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: 'In God is our trust.'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Hurrah!
Here's the song in its full glory, thanks to Wikipedia:
O! say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: 'In God is our trust.'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
7.03.2009
#46. The Trumpet of the Swan
[For the Rules, click here.]
After awhile, Mr. Brickle rose to his feet and addressed the boys and the counselors.
"I call your attention," he said, "to a new camper in our midst--Louis the Swan. He is a Trumpeter Swan, a rare bird. We are lucky to have him. I have employed him at the same salary I pay my junior counselors: one hundred dollars for the season. He is gentle and has a speech defect. He came here from Montana with Sam Beaver. Louis is a musician. Like most musicians, he is in need of money."
Author: E.B. White
Synopsis: Louis the Swan cannot make the long ko-hoh sound that the other trumpeter swans make. His father steals a trumpet from a music store and Louis learns to play--but he must repay the store for the trumpet. After consulting with his friend Sam Beaver, a boy he met as a cygnet, he finds work to pay for the trumpet and wins the love of beautiful Serena.
* * *
Just before Lou and I got married last year, Lou had a busy Saturday and I took my car downtown for an oil change. While the car was in the lube place, I walked over to Henderson's Books (the coolest used bookstore ever--you can get lost in there) and made my way to the children's section. Pulling The Trumpet of the Swan off the shelf, I remembered having loved it as a child. But when I opened the book and saw that the hero was named Louis, well--I had to buy it. I started reading it while waiting for my car and finished it not long thereafter.
Children's books, which are usually free from the pretentious depression common to adult fiction, make me happy. The hard-working, intelligent Louis, the cheerful, wondering Sam Beaver, and the many characters they meet on their adventures can fascinate and charm me just as they would have twenty-odd years ago.
After awhile, Mr. Brickle rose to his feet and addressed the boys and the counselors.
"I call your attention," he said, "to a new camper in our midst--Louis the Swan. He is a Trumpeter Swan, a rare bird. We are lucky to have him. I have employed him at the same salary I pay my junior counselors: one hundred dollars for the season. He is gentle and has a speech defect. He came here from Montana with Sam Beaver. Louis is a musician. Like most musicians, he is in need of money."
Author: E.B. White
Synopsis: Louis the Swan cannot make the long ko-hoh sound that the other trumpeter swans make. His father steals a trumpet from a music store and Louis learns to play--but he must repay the store for the trumpet. After consulting with his friend Sam Beaver, a boy he met as a cygnet, he finds work to pay for the trumpet and wins the love of beautiful Serena.
* * *
Just before Lou and I got married last year, Lou had a busy Saturday and I took my car downtown for an oil change. While the car was in the lube place, I walked over to Henderson's Books (the coolest used bookstore ever--you can get lost in there) and made my way to the children's section. Pulling The Trumpet of the Swan off the shelf, I remembered having loved it as a child. But when I opened the book and saw that the hero was named Louis, well--I had to buy it. I started reading it while waiting for my car and finished it not long thereafter.
Children's books, which are usually free from the pretentious depression common to adult fiction, make me happy. The hard-working, intelligent Louis, the cheerful, wondering Sam Beaver, and the many characters they meet on their adventures can fascinate and charm me just as they would have twenty-odd years ago.
7.02.2009
The Hogwarts Professor Came to Bellingham
... and I wrote all about it and sent the write-up over to John so he could post it on his site. You can read it here.
7.01.2009
#47. Girl of the Limberlost
[For the Rules, click here.]
"As for managing a social career for him, he never mentioned that he desired such a thing. What he asked of me was that I should be his wife. I understood that to mean that he desired me to keep him a clean house, serve him digestible food, mother his children, and give him loving sympathy and tenderness."
"Shameless!"
"To which of us do you intend that adjective to apply? I never was less ashamed in all my life."
Author: Gene Stratton Porter
Synopsis: Elnora Comstock's mother has never forgiven her for being born at the wrong time: when Katharine needed to save the life of Elnora's father. Unwanted but unafraid to pursue a better life, Elnora works to fund her way through high school and discovers a gift inherited from her father. Her work as a naturalist captures the attention of fever-weakened Philip Ammon, a city boy interested in moths and engaged to a beautiful socialite. All of Elnora's courage and wisdom are required to unravel the tangle of hearts that follows.
* * *
Philip Ammon has always annoyed me--is there really anything romantic about getting brain-fever just because you can't find your girl? He seems pushy and thoughtless and a little wimpy to me, and I'll title him "Most Annoying Hero in an Otherwise Good Book."
Elnora Comstock needs no disclaimer before her character. Her naturalist studies are fascinating, her human love and anger and forgiveness endearing, and if she wants Philip, he is at least sympathetic enough to make the reader feel she ought to have him. The side stories of Kate Comstock, Wesley and Margaret and Billy, Edith Carr and Hart Henderson also make for an enjoyable read.
I also just really, really love that quote. Put that with her life and character, and Elnora is my kind of feminist. :)
"As for managing a social career for him, he never mentioned that he desired such a thing. What he asked of me was that I should be his wife. I understood that to mean that he desired me to keep him a clean house, serve him digestible food, mother his children, and give him loving sympathy and tenderness."
"Shameless!"
"To which of us do you intend that adjective to apply? I never was less ashamed in all my life."
Author: Gene Stratton Porter
Synopsis: Elnora Comstock's mother has never forgiven her for being born at the wrong time: when Katharine needed to save the life of Elnora's father. Unwanted but unafraid to pursue a better life, Elnora works to fund her way through high school and discovers a gift inherited from her father. Her work as a naturalist captures the attention of fever-weakened Philip Ammon, a city boy interested in moths and engaged to a beautiful socialite. All of Elnora's courage and wisdom are required to unravel the tangle of hearts that follows.
* * *
Philip Ammon has always annoyed me--is there really anything romantic about getting brain-fever just because you can't find your girl? He seems pushy and thoughtless and a little wimpy to me, and I'll title him "Most Annoying Hero in an Otherwise Good Book."
Elnora Comstock needs no disclaimer before her character. Her naturalist studies are fascinating, her human love and anger and forgiveness endearing, and if she wants Philip, he is at least sympathetic enough to make the reader feel she ought to have him. The side stories of Kate Comstock, Wesley and Margaret and Billy, Edith Carr and Hart Henderson also make for an enjoyable read.
I also just really, really love that quote. Put that with her life and character, and Elnora is my kind of feminist. :)
6.30.2009
#48. Christy
[For the Rules, click here.]
"You a feminist already, Miss Huddleston?"
"I don't think so. Because there's always the danger that the extreme feminist will end up quite unfulfilled as a girl."
Author: Catherine Marshall
Synopsis: A young city girl goes as a missionary to a small community in Appalachia. It takes all of her courage and faith to deal with wretched poverty among the families, stubborn parents, cruel children and vulnerable ones, and the two very different men who compete for her.
* * *
My copy of this book is rather battered. I found parts of the story quite powerful, and the ending almost never fails to bring tears to my eyes--in a good way, of course.
The TV series never did the novel justice, though Kellie Martin did a good job in her role as the title character. Tyne Daly turned Miss Alice from queenly and gentle to stern and bossy, which didn't sit well with me at all. There were also some nonsensical storylines in some of the episodes--Fairlight's son falling for Christy, etc. All that, and the series ended on a cliffhanger. Which, as shown, was also not in the book.
Most "Christian fiction" bothers me a bit. It usually follows a set pattern: Take a basically secular paperback storyline, and either a) make the main character have a conversion experience, or b) make the main character a Christian and have him/her convert someone else. It gets annoying after awhile.
Christy is a story of deepening faith and living for others, and is told without didactic writing or cliche. It's also just well-written and moving.
Recommended Related Reading (RRR): Julie, Catherine Marshall's other novel. I liked that too.
"You a feminist already, Miss Huddleston?"
"I don't think so. Because there's always the danger that the extreme feminist will end up quite unfulfilled as a girl."
Author: Catherine Marshall
Synopsis: A young city girl goes as a missionary to a small community in Appalachia. It takes all of her courage and faith to deal with wretched poverty among the families, stubborn parents, cruel children and vulnerable ones, and the two very different men who compete for her.
* * *
My copy of this book is rather battered. I found parts of the story quite powerful, and the ending almost never fails to bring tears to my eyes--in a good way, of course.
The TV series never did the novel justice, though Kellie Martin did a good job in her role as the title character. Tyne Daly turned Miss Alice from queenly and gentle to stern and bossy, which didn't sit well with me at all. There were also some nonsensical storylines in some of the episodes--Fairlight's son falling for Christy, etc. All that, and the series ended on a cliffhanger. Which, as shown, was also not in the book.
Most "Christian fiction" bothers me a bit. It usually follows a set pattern: Take a basically secular paperback storyline, and either a) make the main character have a conversion experience, or b) make the main character a Christian and have him/her convert someone else. It gets annoying after awhile.
Christy is a story of deepening faith and living for others, and is told without didactic writing or cliche. It's also just well-written and moving.
Recommended Related Reading (RRR): Julie, Catherine Marshall's other novel. I liked that too.
6.29.2009
#49. The Little House Books
Suddenly, deep down in the water, something grabbed her foot.
The thing jerked, and down she went into the deep water. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see. She grabbed and could not get hold of anything. Water filled her ears and her eyes and her mouth.
Then her head came out of the water close to Pa's head. Pa was holding her.
"Well, young lady," Pa said, "you went out too far, and how did you like it?"
Laura could not speak; she had to breathe.
"You heard Ma tell you to stay close to the bank," said Pa. "Why didn't you obey her? You deserved a ducking, and I ducked you. Next time, you'll do as you're told."
"Y-yes, Pa!" Laura spluttered. "Oh, Pa, p-please do it again!"
Author: Laura Ingalls Wilder
Synopsis: The series begins with "Little House in the Big Woods" and ends with "The First Four Years", taking the reader from Laura's early childhood in a pioneer family through the first years of her marriage to farmer Almanzo Wilder. "Farmer Boy" tells stories from Almanzo's youth.
* * *
I started reading these when I was very young and went through two sets of them. My second set is currently falling apart and I'm not sure where "The First Four Years" went, but I can get lost in the story now as much as ever. When I went looking for a quote, I wound up reading half of On the Banks of Plum Creek.
The father-daughter friendship is probably the main reason I love these books so much. Laura always seemed to feel about her "Pa" much like I feel about my dad. There's no substitute in the world for having a good man for a father.
These probably deserve to be a little higher up the list, but if I keep rearranging the numbers I'll never get the whole fifty posted.
Random Associated Memory: I used to watch the television show faithfully, though it diverged wildly from the books. At the end of one episode--I think it might have been Mary's wedding (see, I told you it wasn't like the books)--a little boy kisses Carrie and the words "To Be Continued in Fifteen Years" show up on the screen. I waited fifteen years for the continuation. It never came.
The thing jerked, and down she went into the deep water. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see. She grabbed and could not get hold of anything. Water filled her ears and her eyes and her mouth.
Then her head came out of the water close to Pa's head. Pa was holding her.
"Well, young lady," Pa said, "you went out too far, and how did you like it?"
Laura could not speak; she had to breathe.
"You heard Ma tell you to stay close to the bank," said Pa. "Why didn't you obey her? You deserved a ducking, and I ducked you. Next time, you'll do as you're told."
"Y-yes, Pa!" Laura spluttered. "Oh, Pa, p-please do it again!"
Author: Laura Ingalls Wilder
Synopsis: The series begins with "Little House in the Big Woods" and ends with "The First Four Years", taking the reader from Laura's early childhood in a pioneer family through the first years of her marriage to farmer Almanzo Wilder. "Farmer Boy" tells stories from Almanzo's youth.
* * *
I started reading these when I was very young and went through two sets of them. My second set is currently falling apart and I'm not sure where "The First Four Years" went, but I can get lost in the story now as much as ever. When I went looking for a quote, I wound up reading half of On the Banks of Plum Creek.
The father-daughter friendship is probably the main reason I love these books so much. Laura always seemed to feel about her "Pa" much like I feel about my dad. There's no substitute in the world for having a good man for a father.
These probably deserve to be a little higher up the list, but if I keep rearranging the numbers I'll never get the whole fifty posted.
Random Associated Memory: I used to watch the television show faithfully, though it diverged wildly from the books. At the end of one episode--I think it might have been Mary's wedding (see, I told you it wasn't like the books)--a little boy kisses Carrie and the words "To Be Continued in Fifteen Years" show up on the screen. I waited fifteen years for the continuation. It never came.
6.26.2009
#50. Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
"Would you go back?" asked Mr. Cobb curiously.
She flashed him an intrepid look and then said proudly, "I'd never go back--I might be frightened, but I'd be ashamed to run. Going to Aunt Mirandy's is like going down the cellar in the dark. There might be ogres and giants under the stairs, but as I tell Hannah, there might be elves and fairies and enchanted frogs!"
Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin
Synopsis: Rebecca Rowena Randall, second daughter of a struggling family, goes to live with her two aunts in a small town, where even her humble history and her grim Aunt Miranda cannot keep her from the spotlight.
* * *
Rebecca gave me a complex if ever a fictional character did; what child can live up to her infinite magnetism? In spite of that, I loved her story. She made me laugh, and I sympathized with her a lot despite her superior powers of fascination.
The characters are well-drawn and interesting, which is the first thing I ask from a novel, though I sometimes find myself frustrated by the repeated characterization of the less charismatic as dull, narrow and unenlightened. The primary purpose of almost every person in Riverboro appears to be the setting off of Rebecca's starry personality. "Mr. Aladdin", though, as well as Aunt Jane and "Uncle" Jerry and Miss Maxwell, etc., are enjoyable characters in their own right, and antagonists such as Aunt Miranda and Huldah Meserve are believable and assist both plot and character development well.
Rebecca's many escapades--the Simpson lamp, the inviting home of a missionary family without her aunts' permission, the pink umbrella down the well, and so on--are more interesting to me, I confess, than a lot of wild exploits. I'm very fond of getting to know a character's mind and heart, and without that, action doesn't interest me at all.
Now I want to read it again. That's the problem with listing my favorite books; my re-read list is sure to get much longer very quickly.
By the bye, I'm pretty sure the Shirley Temple movie had absolutely nothing to do with the book.
She flashed him an intrepid look and then said proudly, "I'd never go back--I might be frightened, but I'd be ashamed to run. Going to Aunt Mirandy's is like going down the cellar in the dark. There might be ogres and giants under the stairs, but as I tell Hannah, there might be elves and fairies and enchanted frogs!"
Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin
Synopsis: Rebecca Rowena Randall, second daughter of a struggling family, goes to live with her two aunts in a small town, where even her humble history and her grim Aunt Miranda cannot keep her from the spotlight.
* * *
Rebecca gave me a complex if ever a fictional character did; what child can live up to her infinite magnetism? In spite of that, I loved her story. She made me laugh, and I sympathized with her a lot despite her superior powers of fascination.
The characters are well-drawn and interesting, which is the first thing I ask from a novel, though I sometimes find myself frustrated by the repeated characterization of the less charismatic as dull, narrow and unenlightened. The primary purpose of almost every person in Riverboro appears to be the setting off of Rebecca's starry personality. "Mr. Aladdin", though, as well as Aunt Jane and "Uncle" Jerry and Miss Maxwell, etc., are enjoyable characters in their own right, and antagonists such as Aunt Miranda and Huldah Meserve are believable and assist both plot and character development well.
Rebecca's many escapades--the Simpson lamp, the inviting home of a missionary family without her aunts' permission, the pink umbrella down the well, and so on--are more interesting to me, I confess, than a lot of wild exploits. I'm very fond of getting to know a character's mind and heart, and without that, action doesn't interest me at all.
Now I want to read it again. That's the problem with listing my favorite books; my re-read list is sure to get much longer very quickly.
By the bye, I'm pretty sure the Shirley Temple movie had absolutely nothing to do with the book.
6.25.2009
Fifty Favorite Books
The idea came to me the other day that there might be fun in listing my top 50 favorite books. Of course, the list immediately began to compile in my head. A list of fifty anything makes for sketchy reading, though, so I thought there might be even more fun in posting the book titles one at a time with quotes, synopses, and information on why I like each book.
The fun begins tomorrow, then, unless something random happens to prevent me accessing my computer. I will likely blog about other things between these posts, but plan to have the list complete by the end of summer. To make the posts easily accessible, I'll give them their own label: "Fifty Favorite Books".
Here are my Rules for the List:
- This list is "not counting sacred texts" so I don't have to go all Sunday-school and put the Bible, catechism, breviary, etc. at the top. Those may be assumed; believe me, if I got stuck on a desert island, I'd want them along.
- This is a list of my favorite books, not "The Best Books I've Ever Read". I didn't want to feel pressured to leave out any of the most fun books just because Dostoyevsky can write better.
- Stories in series form are included as a group and placed according to the installment I liked best. This keeps the several great multi-volume sagas I've loved from taking up almost the entire top 50 by themselves.
- Books may be fiction or non-fiction, but they must be free-standing, single-unit books (or series). This excludes:
- Plays. My apologies to Shakespeare and Pope John Paul II.
- Compilations of essays, short stories, etc. My apologies to C.S. Lewis, Patrick Madrid, and Patrick McManus.
- Books about books. If I liked a book about one of my favorite books, I'll try to remember to mention it. (Key: RRR = "Recommended Related Reading".)
Take the order of this list as rather general. Books with close numbers ... say, within ten or fifteen of each other ... might well be equal in my mind. Or they might not. I've changed the list around every day I've looked at it; something so subjective can hardly be expected to be absolutely accurate.
It should, at least, be fun. Happy reading!
6.24.2009
The Purpose of English Class
The Book Examiner has a sensible take on the Campbell High School (Litchfield, NH) removal of certain books from the English curriculum. An excerpt:
"The only portion of this story that will be bandied about the newspapers (the few remaining ones, that is), the talk shows, and the literary blogs and websites will be whether or not parents should have the right to have literature that does not line up with their personal belief systems banned from high school classes.She goes on to talk about the fact that an English class pushing a social science agenda is failing its purpose, which is to teach kids to read and write correctly. The piece is well worth reading. It's nice to see someone take a reasonable position on a story like this instead of just having a panic attack about book banning.
However, it seems to me that wasting time arguing this point (which should be fairly obvious -- of course: parents, on either side of the policial spectrum, should have that right. Huzzah to these ones for paying attention: most wouldn't know if their child was reading The Joy of Sex in class. And some wouldn't care) diverts the spotlight away from the real issue -- what is the purpose of high school English classes? And are the works chosen for those classes even remotely accomplishing that "stated" purpose? Or are they actually pursuing some other purpose?"
6.23.2009
Twilight Fans
Check out John Granger's new site diving into the deep literary meanings of the Twilight saga: the Forks High School Professor blog.
Enjoy. I know I do.
Enjoy. I know I do.
6.22.2009
A Reason to Read Fiction
One of my book clubs is reading Ender's Game, so I picked my copy off the shelf last night. Orson Scott Card wrote the following in his introduction to the book, and I loved it:
"Why else do we read fiction, anyway? Not to be impressed by somebody's dazzling language--or at least I hope that's not our reason. I think that most of us, anyway, read these stories that we know are not "true" because we're hungry for another kind of truth: The mythic truth about human nature in general, the particular truth about those life-communities that define our own identity, and the most specific truth of all: our own self-story. Fiction, because it is not about somebody who actually lived in the real world, always has the possibility of being about ourself."
"Why else do we read fiction, anyway? Not to be impressed by somebody's dazzling language--or at least I hope that's not our reason. I think that most of us, anyway, read these stories that we know are not "true" because we're hungry for another kind of truth: The mythic truth about human nature in general, the particular truth about those life-communities that define our own identity, and the most specific truth of all: our own self-story. Fiction, because it is not about somebody who actually lived in the real world, always has the possibility of being about ourself."
6.19.2009
Dolma Recipe
Months have passed since the last time I saw my friend from Hungary, so my visit with her this morning was long overdue. She served me homemade tiramisu and we walked around her gardens and greenhouse, picked cherries and grape leaves and a cucumber, and talked over all manner of things.
She taught me how to get my tomato and pepper plants to produce more and gave me bamboo dowels to stake the tomatoes. I came home and applied all her suggestions, and my plants look much better now. That made me happy.
She also explained to me the making of dolma, stuffed grape leaves. I couldn't remember everything she said, but I remembered enough and mixed in a little help from various online recipes and some personal creativity. Here's what I did, in case anyone wants to try (I have no idea where to get grape leaves, but they've got to be available someplace ... the Greek restaurants get them):
Update: I just added a step that I'd forgotten ... if you don't pour some hot water over the stuffed leaves before baking, the rice will be awfully hard when you take it out of the oven. :P
She taught me how to get my tomato and pepper plants to produce more and gave me bamboo dowels to stake the tomatoes. I came home and applied all her suggestions, and my plants look much better now. That made me happy.
She also explained to me the making of dolma, stuffed grape leaves. I couldn't remember everything she said, but I remembered enough and mixed in a little help from various online recipes and some personal creativity. Here's what I did, in case anyone wants to try (I have no idea where to get grape leaves, but they've got to be available someplace ... the Greek restaurants get them):
- Brown a pound of ground beef with garlic salt, pepper, and savory. I forgot to put the dill in ...
- Make rice with about half the usual amount of water so it's soft but not fully cooked (I used 1 1/2 cups rice and 2 cups water)
- When the rice is boiled dry, throw about a cup of diced onion, a half-stick of butter, and a dash of soy sauce in with it and simmer until the onions are transparent
- Mix the rice and burger together
- Bring salted water to a boil and throw the grape leaves (pick large, young, unsprayed ones; you'll need about 4-6 per person plus some for the bottom of the pan) in for about ten seconds
- Lay a few of the wet grape leaves on the bottom of a 9x13 pan
- Roll spoonfuls of rice-and-burger mixture into the grape leaves like egg rolls or burritos
- Lay the rolled-up leaves into the 9x13 pan
- Pour about two cups of the hot water left from boiling the grape leaves over the rolls
- Bake for an hour at 350°
- Serve with sour cream (I put deviled eggs and fresh cherries on the table as side dishes)
Update: I just added a step that I'd forgotten ... if you don't pour some hot water over the stuffed leaves before baking, the rice will be awfully hard when you take it out of the oven. :P
6.18.2009
Funny Line of the Week
"Oh yeah, and if I wind up going to hell, it will look like Branson, Missouri. That city doesn't know the meaning of the word 'tacky.'"
Matt of 'The Church of No People'
Disclaimer: I've never been to Branson (so I can't concur or dissent) and I usually don't appreciate mockery of the South ... but hey, that was funny.
I found that quote by linking off Jon Acuff's blog (always worthy of mention in humor recommendations), where a guest post by Matt provided another one of the funniest things I've seen all week:
"Contrary to popular belief, Christians aren’t always perfect people. Maybe you have a bumper sticker or a bracelet that says, “W.W.J.D.,” but my bracelet says “W.W.J.L.M.G.A.W.J.T.O.I.I.S.I.W.R.S.A” (What would Jesus let me get away with just this once if I said I was really sorry afterward?) Yes, I have really big wrists."
That last post is hysterically funny and well worth the read. I found it difficult to pick which part to quote. Enjoy.
Matt of 'The Church of No People'
Disclaimer: I've never been to Branson (so I can't concur or dissent) and I usually don't appreciate mockery of the South ... but hey, that was funny.
I found that quote by linking off Jon Acuff's blog (always worthy of mention in humor recommendations), where a guest post by Matt provided another one of the funniest things I've seen all week:
"Contrary to popular belief, Christians aren’t always perfect people. Maybe you have a bumper sticker or a bracelet that says, “W.W.J.D.,” but my bracelet says “W.W.J.L.M.G.A.W.J.T.O.I.I.S.I.W.R.S.A” (What would Jesus let me get away with just this once if I said I was really sorry afterward?) Yes, I have really big wrists."
That last post is hysterically funny and well worth the read. I found it difficult to pick which part to quote. Enjoy.
6.17.2009
A Time to Keep Silent and a Time to Speak
I found myself a prayer in Sirach today, chapter 22:
O that a guard were set over my mouth,
and a seal of prudence upon my lips,
that it may keep me from falling,
so that my tongue may not destroy me!
Hear, hear!
As a writer, the risk of giving offense is always present. It seems to count for little, sometimes, when words are cast out into the anonymity of the internet (at least, judging by the anonymous comments I find on some sites). But my blog is not anonymous, nor will my novels be, nor is my music. I run the risk of offending people I know and love, every time I make available anything I've created. I can never be exactly sure what will bother whom.
I have an overdeveloped postmodern fear of giving offense. The result is that sometimes I find myself simply saying nothing.
Not that I feel the need to speak my opinion into the lives of everyone on the planet. It's just that the restraint is a burden so heavy as to leave me understanding why the societal battle cry "Just be who you are, and screw anyone who disagrees with you" appeals to so many. Of course, that rally comes with a disclaimer: if you agree with the zeitgeist. That's a big if.
I wasn't raised to say "Screw anyone who disagrees with me". My parents taught me to be respectful of other people and their opinions and beliefs. But respectful disagreement can still offend, and in some cases nowadays, it doesn't even seem to matter if you disagree respectfully. You disagree, and that makes you either stupid or a bad person.
These thoughts aren't directed at any person or any idea. I just thought I'd pose the question: Where do you draw the line?
Irony: Lou and I just spent ten minutes debating whether "screw" was an inoffensive enough word to use in this post. I left it in. Hopefully it doesn't offend anyone. :D
O that a guard were set over my mouth,
and a seal of prudence upon my lips,
that it may keep me from falling,
so that my tongue may not destroy me!
Hear, hear!
As a writer, the risk of giving offense is always present. It seems to count for little, sometimes, when words are cast out into the anonymity of the internet (at least, judging by the anonymous comments I find on some sites). But my blog is not anonymous, nor will my novels be, nor is my music. I run the risk of offending people I know and love, every time I make available anything I've created. I can never be exactly sure what will bother whom.
I have an overdeveloped postmodern fear of giving offense. The result is that sometimes I find myself simply saying nothing.
Not that I feel the need to speak my opinion into the lives of everyone on the planet. It's just that the restraint is a burden so heavy as to leave me understanding why the societal battle cry "Just be who you are, and screw anyone who disagrees with you" appeals to so many. Of course, that rally comes with a disclaimer: if you agree with the zeitgeist. That's a big if.
I wasn't raised to say "Screw anyone who disagrees with me". My parents taught me to be respectful of other people and their opinions and beliefs. But respectful disagreement can still offend, and in some cases nowadays, it doesn't even seem to matter if you disagree respectfully. You disagree, and that makes you either stupid or a bad person.
These thoughts aren't directed at any person or any idea. I just thought I'd pose the question: Where do you draw the line?
Irony: Lou and I just spent ten minutes debating whether "screw" was an inoffensive enough word to use in this post. I left it in. Hopefully it doesn't offend anyone. :D
6.16.2009
6.15.2009
New Silhouette Post
After a busy weekend, I'm back online. I made it through both songs on Saturday without crying, hitting any wildly off notes, or fainting, so all is well here.
Though I don't normally write poetry without music, I scratched a poem out a couple months ago after hearing that terza rima (Dante's rhyming scheme used in the Divine Comedy) is supposed to be really difficult to do in English (if you're writing a hundred cantos, it probably is.) The result went up on Silhouette the other day. It's not brilliant, but it was fun to write.
Though I don't normally write poetry without music, I scratched a poem out a couple months ago after hearing that terza rima (Dante's rhyming scheme used in the Divine Comedy) is supposed to be really difficult to do in English (if you're writing a hundred cantos, it probably is.) The result went up on Silhouette the other day. It's not brilliant, but it was fun to write.
6.12.2009
I Think I Can, I Think I Can
I have to sing in front of people tomorrow.
It's nothing new to me--I've sung in public a lot of times, alone and with my sisters, accompanied by a band or just my guitar. Sometimes the function has been sacred, sometimes it has been secular. I've sung as background music in cafes and in front of packed church services.
I get nervous every time.
Regarding tomorrow, for instance, I'm worried that my eyebrows will crease when I'm supposed to look happy, that I'll be stiff and awkward instead of pulling off that Depression-era piece with all the lilt and life it deserves, and that I'll get out of sync with my voice teacher's piano accompaniment. I'm also worried that I won't be able to get enough volume to be heard on the lower notes of the song with the guitar. That last might be especially difficult, as I wrote that song for Lou and I've been known to start crying when singing it, even in practice. It might just be my favorite song I've ever written. It's tough to say.
But in all likelihood things will go fine. It might not be great, but it should be fine. I've practiced (wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles); all I can do now is my best.
It's nothing new to me--I've sung in public a lot of times, alone and with my sisters, accompanied by a band or just my guitar. Sometimes the function has been sacred, sometimes it has been secular. I've sung as background music in cafes and in front of packed church services.
I get nervous every time.
Regarding tomorrow, for instance, I'm worried that my eyebrows will crease when I'm supposed to look happy, that I'll be stiff and awkward instead of pulling off that Depression-era piece with all the lilt and life it deserves, and that I'll get out of sync with my voice teacher's piano accompaniment. I'm also worried that I won't be able to get enough volume to be heard on the lower notes of the song with the guitar. That last might be especially difficult, as I wrote that song for Lou and I've been known to start crying when singing it, even in practice. It might just be my favorite song I've ever written. It's tough to say.
But in all likelihood things will go fine. It might not be great, but it should be fine. I've practiced (wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles); all I can do now is my best.
6.11.2009
Of Making Many Books
Not much time for blogging tonight: Chapter 9 has me absorbed. It's taking longer than the other chapters--or maybe it's just that I keep going back and messing with chapters 2 and 8.
It's been a long time since I sat down seriously to attempt a novel. Over ten years ago I wrote my one-hundred-and-some-page draft of a middle reader story about a figure skating girl, her brother, and her arch-enemy. I can actually watch my writing skills progress as I read that piece. It's amusing.
Now I edit myself ferociously, writing my new story, and wrestle with preserving its inner logic. Just yesterday I realized that the way I had the relationships set up, the last names didn't work. Bah.
It's incredibly hard work, novel-writing. But I'm loving it.
It's been a long time since I sat down seriously to attempt a novel. Over ten years ago I wrote my one-hundred-and-some-page draft of a middle reader story about a figure skating girl, her brother, and her arch-enemy. I can actually watch my writing skills progress as I read that piece. It's amusing.
Now I edit myself ferociously, writing my new story, and wrestle with preserving its inner logic. Just yesterday I realized that the way I had the relationships set up, the last names didn't work. Bah.
It's incredibly hard work, novel-writing. But I'm loving it.
6.10.2009
Childish Things
I shall never be too old to read C.S. Lewis.
"When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up."
On Three Ways of Writing for Children
"When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up."
On Three Ways of Writing for Children
6.09.2009
Things That Come in Eights
Why eight? Why these questions? We may never know. But who said the fun had to be in knowing Why?
I have been tagged by Lindsey, so here are my eights.
8 Things I'm Looking Forward To
I don't watch any! In lieu of a current list, then, here are 8 shows I used to watch:
The game is not complete until I've tagged someone. I'll tag any and all of the bloggers in my writing group that want to play (Brittany? Jana? Sarah? Miles? Did I miss anyone?), and Briana on Facebook.
I have been tagged by Lindsey, so here are my eights.
8 Things I'm Looking Forward To
- Seeing my hubby when he gets off work tonight
- Working up Chapter 9 of my novel and getting more plot wrinkles ironed out
- John Granger speaking at Village Books at the end of June
- My godson's baptism
- Mass on Sunday
- Calling my best friend again
- Getting through singing in front of people this Saturday, hopefully having sung audibly and well
- Seeing Jesus and never being afraid any more
- Slept most of the morning
- Took rubbing alcohol to all three of my fake tattoos (that's how you get them off)
- Took a walk with Lou and stopped by my parents'
- Got mostly caught up on my Google Reader after the weekend (I'm still not all the way caught up)
- Did some reading for my writing group
- Said my prayers and read a chapter in the Bible
- Made dinner for my husband
- Stayed up too late owing to having slept most of the morning
- Make everybody happy
- Be a mommy
- Know what to say when I need to say it and not weeks or months or years later
- Write books that people love and want to read over and over (I'm trying)
- Not get so upset when people disagree with me or dislike me
- Practice music without being afraid that I'll annoy the neighbors or that someone will hear me hit a bad note
- Not feel like if I move about too much, my extraordinarily long limbs will hurt people
- Bring about peace in the Middle East
I don't watch any! In lieu of a current list, then, here are 8 shows I used to watch:
- American Idol. I voted for Anthony Fedorov!
- What Not to Wear. I'm still not good at matching clothes though.
- Lois and Clark. Dean Cain and Teri Hatcher will always be my ideal of Superman and his leading lady.
- Full House. Whatever happened to predictability?
- Home Improvement. "You know what Freud says: There are no accidents." "Well, obviously Freud never saw Tool Time."
- The Dick Van Dyke Show (reruns on Nick at Nite or TVLand.) Funniest show ever.
- The Cosby Show. Impossible not to love.
- Jeopardy. I could always out-answer the contestants on Bible questions; unfortunately, not often on anything else.
The game is not complete until I've tagged someone. I'll tag any and all of the bloggers in my writing group that want to play (Brittany? Jana? Sarah? Miles? Did I miss anyone?), and Briana on Facebook.
6.08.2009
Girls Having Fun
Four of us packed into Donna's CRV and drove over the mountains Friday afternoon in pursuit of fun and good girl time. We made it back Sunday evening, having accomplished the following:
- Long walk up a hill on blacktop in the sun (it felt great to me ... I got so tired of being cold this year)
- Application of multiple fake tattoos--I got a fairy, a star, and a flower
- A long time spent bobbing about on noodles in the pool
- The viewing of three movies (New in Town, The Mighty, and He's Just Not That Into You)
- Dessert after every meal (no joke)
- Long conversations catching up on each girl's life and loves, and solving the world's problems
- Talking late into the night
- Reading for fun
- Walking through the Leavenworth Bavarian village
I got up this morning at 7:30, breakfasted with Lou and saw him off to work, and promptly thereafter fell asleep on the couch. I didn't get up again until after noon.
6.05.2009
Music of the Spheres
I'm going over the mountains for the weekend, so no new posts until Monday unless I'm overburdened with inspiration late Sunday night.
The return of spring has brought an old hymn back to mind, and I've been singing it around the house. I love the vibrant melody and lyric.
This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world! I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father's world! The birds their carols raise
The morning light, the lily white declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world! He shines in all that's fair
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass; He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father's world! O let me never forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world! The battle is not done
Jesus who died shall be satisfied and earth and heaven be won.
Happy weekend, everyone.
The return of spring has brought an old hymn back to mind, and I've been singing it around the house. I love the vibrant melody and lyric.
This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world! I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wrought.
This is my Father's world! The birds their carols raise
The morning light, the lily white declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world! He shines in all that's fair
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass; He speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father's world! O let me never forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world! The battle is not done
Jesus who died shall be satisfied and earth and heaven be won.
Happy weekend, everyone.
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?
6.03.2009
Sun
The sunburn I contracted Sunday is fading now, but it still makes me happy. It means that we've had sun. Stinging skin, red arms, farmer's tan--I'll take it all. For two whole weeks we've had beautiful weather. That's a third to half as long as our entire summer-weather stint last year, and it's only the third of June.
Around here, the weather isn't just something people talk about when they can't think of anything else to say. If the sun comes out, we have glory.
Around here, the weather isn't just something people talk about when they can't think of anything else to say. If the sun comes out, we have glory.
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.
6.01.2009
Post #200: Blog Improvement
For my two hundredth post, I decided to do a major blog overhaul. As much as I loved the look of the old template, it felt too dark ... especially considering the blog title ... and the font size had to be unreasonably large to be readable. My parents' computer still didn't like it, even with the big font.
After several hours of searching today, I found this template, complete with all manner of beautiful things. I really hope it works on everybody's computer, because I love it.
New features include the "Go" search bar and the labels section, allowing for easier finding of old posts (it took me forever to track down the posts I linked last week). No, I did not add labels to all 200 posts, just the most recent and a few special ones. I will probably add them to more of the older posts eventually.
My testing of those functions went splendidly. Let me know if anything behaves with persistent stupidity and I'll have Lou give it an attitude adjustment.
It might be immortal optimism rising, but I'd like to post more often and more cheerfully. An evening last week spent stripping added color from some of my oldest posts reminded me of the original joy of blogging. Politics, thou shalt not wreck my blog! I have created a label for political essays, for the times when I cannot stop myself, but I started this little page to talk over life and love and beautiful things, not that which is wicked and awful.
Here's to happy thoughts and many of them. :)
After several hours of searching today, I found this template, complete with all manner of beautiful things. I really hope it works on everybody's computer, because I love it.
New features include the "Go" search bar and the labels section, allowing for easier finding of old posts (it took me forever to track down the posts I linked last week). No, I did not add labels to all 200 posts, just the most recent and a few special ones. I will probably add them to more of the older posts eventually.
My testing of those functions went splendidly. Let me know if anything behaves with persistent stupidity and I'll have Lou give it an attitude adjustment.
It might be immortal optimism rising, but I'd like to post more often and more cheerfully. An evening last week spent stripping added color from some of my oldest posts reminded me of the original joy of blogging. Politics, thou shalt not wreck my blog! I have created a label for political essays, for the times when I cannot stop myself, but I started this little page to talk over life and love and beautiful things, not that which is wicked and awful.
Here's to happy thoughts and many of them. :)
5.26.2009
Update & Humor Aggregation
In celebration of one month of being a homemaker, I write this post with my hair still wet. Spring having removed the need for the old furnace in the kitchen, and clouds having covered the sun, my only offensive weapon against the water absorbed by eighteen-plus inches of very thick hair was a blow dryer, and I found that a little too daunting for this morning.
I have something of a routine now. I have days for laundry and errands and the normal house scrub-down. Other days get special projects, like the tomato plants I have growing in the living-room windows, and blogging. I get some sleep. Instead of jolting out of bed at 6:45, I get up with Lou at 7:30; then, if I need a nap later, I can take one. It amazes me, now that the workaday adrenaline has mostly worn off, that it is possible to be this tired.
The list of "Things I don't have time for" has changed. I rarely get around to listening to podcasts. I don't listen to music as often. My stack of books to read has gone down a little, though it tends to replenish itself when I'm not looking. The Internet is still my primary temptation to timewasting, and I have to watch the tendency to do things like read antagonistic sites for the purpose of finding out why They hate Us so much (as far as I can tell, the entire business of politics is made up of smear and scoundrels.)
But I do have a limited regular blogroll, and in case anyone hasn't been reading the same stuff I have over the last few weeks, here are a few things that made me laugh out loud:
1. Remember my old posts about transparent angling ferrets and the song about someone who died the other night? Whether you do or not, you may enjoy finding that I'm not the only person in this world who likes to publish their problematic hearing of song lyrics. Check out CMR's examples, starting with "Big Ol' Jed Left A Light On". There are some good ones in the comments, too. I contributed, though I forgot about the Alanis Morrissette song. If I'd remembered that Edwin McCain sounds to me like he says "I'll be flabby when I'm older" instead of "better when I'm older", that would have gone in the comment too.
2. A favorite creative-writing exercise of mine has been coming up with book titles and absurdly appropriate author's names. Among my favorite creations are "The Ways Crime Pays by Rob Banks", "Discrimination and America's Top Universities by Sue Stanford" and "Give Yourself a Pep Talk by Ida Mann". The Internet Monk had some fun this week coming up with some book titles of a different sort. I got a big kick out of them, and comment #7 pretty much made me cry laughing. [Disclaimer: If anyone from Stanford comes by here, I picked on that school unfairly and did so only because the name was alliterative.]
3. Thanks to my friend Jana, I have recently rediscovered Jon Acuff's "Stuff Christians Like", an accruing satirical list of things we Christians enjoy. He puts up funny stuff on a regular basis and sometimes the comments are hilarious too. Among my favorite recent posts are "#521. Judging people that use the Table of Contents in their Bible" and "#515. Taking a sympathy scoop from the dish no one eats at the pot luck".
4. If you've gone through all of those and you can still breathe, there's always Dave Barry. Hat tip to Beth, who instant-messaged me with this one today. Get more out of your toilet.
I have something of a routine now. I have days for laundry and errands and the normal house scrub-down. Other days get special projects, like the tomato plants I have growing in the living-room windows, and blogging. I get some sleep. Instead of jolting out of bed at 6:45, I get up with Lou at 7:30; then, if I need a nap later, I can take one. It amazes me, now that the workaday adrenaline has mostly worn off, that it is possible to be this tired.
The list of "Things I don't have time for" has changed. I rarely get around to listening to podcasts. I don't listen to music as often. My stack of books to read has gone down a little, though it tends to replenish itself when I'm not looking. The Internet is still my primary temptation to timewasting, and I have to watch the tendency to do things like read antagonistic sites for the purpose of finding out why They hate Us so much (as far as I can tell, the entire business of politics is made up of smear and scoundrels.)
But I do have a limited regular blogroll, and in case anyone hasn't been reading the same stuff I have over the last few weeks, here are a few things that made me laugh out loud:
1. Remember my old posts about transparent angling ferrets and the song about someone who died the other night? Whether you do or not, you may enjoy finding that I'm not the only person in this world who likes to publish their problematic hearing of song lyrics. Check out CMR's examples, starting with "Big Ol' Jed Left A Light On". There are some good ones in the comments, too. I contributed, though I forgot about the Alanis Morrissette song. If I'd remembered that Edwin McCain sounds to me like he says "I'll be flabby when I'm older" instead of "better when I'm older", that would have gone in the comment too.
2. A favorite creative-writing exercise of mine has been coming up with book titles and absurdly appropriate author's names. Among my favorite creations are "The Ways Crime Pays by Rob Banks", "Discrimination and America's Top Universities by Sue Stanford" and "Give Yourself a Pep Talk by Ida Mann". The Internet Monk had some fun this week coming up with some book titles of a different sort. I got a big kick out of them, and comment #7 pretty much made me cry laughing. [Disclaimer: If anyone from Stanford comes by here, I picked on that school unfairly and did so only because the name was alliterative.]
3. Thanks to my friend Jana, I have recently rediscovered Jon Acuff's "Stuff Christians Like", an accruing satirical list of things we Christians enjoy. He puts up funny stuff on a regular basis and sometimes the comments are hilarious too. Among my favorite recent posts are "#521. Judging people that use the Table of Contents in their Bible" and "#515. Taking a sympathy scoop from the dish no one eats at the pot luck".
4. If you've gone through all of those and you can still breathe, there's always Dave Barry. Hat tip to Beth, who instant-messaged me with this one today. Get more out of your toilet.
5.19.2009
College: Why I Haven't Gone
Most of the time I don't regret my decision to indefinitely postpone attending college.
Being the sort of person who would do geeky things like attempt to study four languages at once or work through most of a night trying to unravel the secrets of literature, it still surprises me a bit that I never took all that interest in knowledge and understanding to extensive formal schooling. There are times when I've really wished for the experience, especially in the presence of the glorious buildings full of books. I still firmly believe that I made the right choice.
Deciding to wait, with the full expectation that "later" might well mean "never", was not easy. I made that decision for several reasons:
1. I already had a good job.
YD did for me some of what college might have done, in that it took the shy, awkward little homeschooled farm girl and made her get out of herself a bit. I wound up guiding boats full of teenagers through class III-IV whitewater, rappelling off cliffs, and (particularly terrifying) answering telephones. It's hard to imagine assigned community projects making the same difference in my attitude toward life.
2. I wanted an honest understanding of the world, not just a drink of feminism from a firehose.
I don't think it's disputed that universities are overbalanced in a particular political direction. This is a problem because schools teach theory, not just fact, and I want sound theory--and I want it taught as theory when it is. I want a balanced perspective, which means learning from people who are willing to acknowledge and fairly explain both sides of the equation even when they come down strongly on one. Perhaps I'm asking too much of the human person. Or perhaps I just have to do the research myself.
Despite my profound respect for the halls of learning, from my outside perspective it does seem that they might benefit occasionally from closer contact with common sense. The problem is far larger than feminism alone, though I consider some of the presumptions made by most feminists as among the most likely to insulate a mind from simple reason--or a woman from simple happiness.
3. The lack of a B.A. hasn't thus far prevented me from getting good jobs, including managerial roles.
That could happen eventually; it's happened to relatives of mine. As it is, however, I've been a team leader and a supervisor, a bookkeeper to a lawyer and to a cafe and gallery; I've been a customer service professional and an information manager. I've done text development and project management, filled in as church secretary for several weeks when the actual secretary was on leave, and have done substitute teaching in a cooperative academy. I've never yet been fired. At present, I think that if it became necessary I could pursue a degree.
4. My goals of being a wife, mother, and writer were more likely to be generally hindered than helped by a university and its requisite investment of time and money.
Of course, there's always the old joke about girls going to college to get their MRS degree, but since my husband was off in Ohio at a Catholic school I'd never heard of, studying to be a monk, I think a BA would have been my only achievement. :P Seriously, though, I've no reason to regret coming into marriage debt-free. As for writing, an English or English lit major might help an aspiring author, but I think it likely that simply reading and writing helps more. The great works are generally quite accessible, and literary discussion is likewise easy to find.
As much as higher education is necessary for some trades, I get the feeling that we worship it as a society; it bothers me that expensive degrees are required for other fields when talent, home study and experience can get a person just as far or farther, usually with less debt and sometimes less arrogance.
It bothers me, for instance, that the desire for M. Divs in pastors has led to a disproportionate number of trendy young men running evangelical churches. It bothers me that a Bachelor's in music is required to lead the five-piece band in a worship service. (Yes, I'm a Catholic, and yes, I still have opinions about how the Protestants do things. The Catholics aren't entirely guilt-free either.) It bothers me that artistic degrees are required in almost any situation, and it bothers me that people feel it necessary to spend tens of thousands of dollars getting degrees irrelevant to almost every possible occupation just because society pressures them to get something.
All this, however, is certainly not intended as a polemic. I am not anti-college. My husband, my mother, both of my sisters, and my best friend are all graduates of higher education, and all of them made worthwhile choices. All I would advocate is proportionality: let the reason for getting a degree, and the value of the degree in question, be in proportion to the investment required.
Being the sort of person who would do geeky things like attempt to study four languages at once or work through most of a night trying to unravel the secrets of literature, it still surprises me a bit that I never took all that interest in knowledge and understanding to extensive formal schooling. There are times when I've really wished for the experience, especially in the presence of the glorious buildings full of books. I still firmly believe that I made the right choice.
Deciding to wait, with the full expectation that "later" might well mean "never", was not easy. I made that decision for several reasons:
1. I already had a good job.
YD did for me some of what college might have done, in that it took the shy, awkward little homeschooled farm girl and made her get out of herself a bit. I wound up guiding boats full of teenagers through class III-IV whitewater, rappelling off cliffs, and (particularly terrifying) answering telephones. It's hard to imagine assigned community projects making the same difference in my attitude toward life.
2. I wanted an honest understanding of the world, not just a drink of feminism from a firehose.
I don't think it's disputed that universities are overbalanced in a particular political direction. This is a problem because schools teach theory, not just fact, and I want sound theory--and I want it taught as theory when it is. I want a balanced perspective, which means learning from people who are willing to acknowledge and fairly explain both sides of the equation even when they come down strongly on one. Perhaps I'm asking too much of the human person. Or perhaps I just have to do the research myself.
Despite my profound respect for the halls of learning, from my outside perspective it does seem that they might benefit occasionally from closer contact with common sense. The problem is far larger than feminism alone, though I consider some of the presumptions made by most feminists as among the most likely to insulate a mind from simple reason--or a woman from simple happiness.
3. The lack of a B.A. hasn't thus far prevented me from getting good jobs, including managerial roles.
That could happen eventually; it's happened to relatives of mine. As it is, however, I've been a team leader and a supervisor, a bookkeeper to a lawyer and to a cafe and gallery; I've been a customer service professional and an information manager. I've done text development and project management, filled in as church secretary for several weeks when the actual secretary was on leave, and have done substitute teaching in a cooperative academy. I've never yet been fired. At present, I think that if it became necessary I could pursue a degree.
4. My goals of being a wife, mother, and writer were more likely to be generally hindered than helped by a university and its requisite investment of time and money.
Of course, there's always the old joke about girls going to college to get their MRS degree, but since my husband was off in Ohio at a Catholic school I'd never heard of, studying to be a monk, I think a BA would have been my only achievement. :P Seriously, though, I've no reason to regret coming into marriage debt-free. As for writing, an English or English lit major might help an aspiring author, but I think it likely that simply reading and writing helps more. The great works are generally quite accessible, and literary discussion is likewise easy to find.
As much as higher education is necessary for some trades, I get the feeling that we worship it as a society; it bothers me that expensive degrees are required for other fields when talent, home study and experience can get a person just as far or farther, usually with less debt and sometimes less arrogance.
It bothers me, for instance, that the desire for M. Divs in pastors has led to a disproportionate number of trendy young men running evangelical churches. It bothers me that a Bachelor's in music is required to lead the five-piece band in a worship service. (Yes, I'm a Catholic, and yes, I still have opinions about how the Protestants do things. The Catholics aren't entirely guilt-free either.) It bothers me that artistic degrees are required in almost any situation, and it bothers me that people feel it necessary to spend tens of thousands of dollars getting degrees irrelevant to almost every possible occupation just because society pressures them to get something.
All this, however, is certainly not intended as a polemic. I am not anti-college. My husband, my mother, both of my sisters, and my best friend are all graduates of higher education, and all of them made worthwhile choices. All I would advocate is proportionality: let the reason for getting a degree, and the value of the degree in question, be in proportion to the investment required.
5.12.2009
Beauty Happens
At the turning of the seasons, beauty happens everywhere. The weeping birch down the street, the budding of lilac and cherry and apple trees, and the long-lost sunshine are all doing their part to bring me happiness nowadays.
I have memories of moments throughout my life when the beauty around me seemed a sight "beyond the lot of mortals". During a road trip, for instance, Mom and my sisters and I drove right along the beaches south of Crescent City in California. We hit that stretch right at sundown, and there were waves rolling in and breaking into mist on the shore. The setting sun had turned everything fairy colors. It was so beautiful that I'm afraid to go back in case it doesn't live up to my recollection.
Other memories include the morning star over the Bridger mountains at dawn, the glow of street-lights among pine trees and fog on the way into Anacortes one night, and the white angels genuflecting before the Tabernacle in the St. Louis basilica.
This past Sunday night, Lou and I were walking through our neighborhood. It was gray and breezy, but still light enough to show the vibrance of the spring colors. We walked past a cherry-tree with pink blossoms, and just as we passed it the wind picked up and petals swirled all around us--pink petals against the gray sky.
I am anxious to read Dante's Paradiso. Lou says that the great poet portrays heaven as a giant rose, with God at the center and all the holy ones around him. The depiction is literary, not literal, of course, but I'm expecting beauty in heaven. Whenever beauty happens, I feel like the veil has been drawn back for just a moment, giving me a glimpse.
I have memories of moments throughout my life when the beauty around me seemed a sight "beyond the lot of mortals". During a road trip, for instance, Mom and my sisters and I drove right along the beaches south of Crescent City in California. We hit that stretch right at sundown, and there were waves rolling in and breaking into mist on the shore. The setting sun had turned everything fairy colors. It was so beautiful that I'm afraid to go back in case it doesn't live up to my recollection.
Other memories include the morning star over the Bridger mountains at dawn, the glow of street-lights among pine trees and fog on the way into Anacortes one night, and the white angels genuflecting before the Tabernacle in the St. Louis basilica.
This past Sunday night, Lou and I were walking through our neighborhood. It was gray and breezy, but still light enough to show the vibrance of the spring colors. We walked past a cherry-tree with pink blossoms, and just as we passed it the wind picked up and petals swirled all around us--pink petals against the gray sky.
I am anxious to read Dante's Paradiso. Lou says that the great poet portrays heaven as a giant rose, with God at the center and all the holy ones around him. The depiction is literary, not literal, of course, but I'm expecting beauty in heaven. Whenever beauty happens, I feel like the veil has been drawn back for just a moment, giving me a glimpse.
5.04.2009
A Strange and Assorted Lot
Christian pro-life activist Randall Terry has been arrested again, having marched onto the Notre Dame campus with other demonstrators after the school gave him an order to stay off. The demonstrators were pushing strollers carrying dolls covered in fake blood.
[Back story, for anyone who doesn't know: The president of Notre Dame Catholic University has invited President Obama to give the commencement speech this year and awarded him an honorary doctor of laws degree. Since the Catholic Church teaches that abortion is gravely wrong, and Obama teaches that it is a right, a lot of people--including students--are a bit horrified.]
From Erin Manning:
"And I think Obama is hoping that protesters will show up when he comes to speak. I think he's hoping that they'll have unusually bloody and incoherent signs, be dressed like people who think Larry King's castoffs are high fashion, and be just disruptive enough for him to unleash his trademark patient smile, perhaps turning in profile just a little and hoping that the camera lights will form yet another halo around his head. Then he will be able to say, without a word, that pro-life Catholics, faithful Catholics....Catholic Catholics, are the Wrong Sort of Catholics, the people who don't have the sense to know that Notre Dame is not honoring Obama--but Obama is honoring Notre Dame, by deigning to show up and read his teleprompter for them; henceforth Notre Dame shall be sacred ground, because Barack has trod lightly upon its stage."
I'm going to go out on the good old proverbial limb here.
I am thoroughly proud of the pro-life movement for being non-discriminatory.
I've participated in pro-life protests. Personally, I prefer to stand quietly, dressed neatly, and carry a sign that says something like "Women deserve better than abortion" (although there is certainly a place for the graphic signs and in some contexts I wholly support their use.) However, in my quiet and undemonstrative preferences, I am not always standing next to someone who has the slightest concern for public opinion. Occasionally someone looks like they sleep on the street, or doesn't hesitate to return gestures to a drive-by bird-flipper, or has clearly used hair spray long enough that it's gone to their brain.
In the process I've also stood across the street from counter-protests. Granted, not all of them appear diplomatically correct, but the intent is clear if you know where to look. I got this directive to the pro-abortion demonstrators third-hand, but am copying it as received:
"IF asked...this is the statement... 'we are not affiliated with planned parenthood. We are the community and we have come here to support women in receiving affordable health care.'
No references to what kind of health care should be made......we are asked to be on th side walks and fully visable and ...yes we are to be obviously 'the sane ones.' "
(No comment on the spelling and typing. I'd love to comment on their underhanded use of "health care", but that's another post.)
In my experience, when we go to protest we are merely told to be peaceable and prayerful. And the atheists can skip the praying part.
Hyperbole aside, Erin Manning has hit exactly the attitude of those defending the legality of abortion; an attitude drawn from Hollywood and advertising experience, not from reality. It works, unfortunately; people who don't have all the information are generally more than happy to follow, sheeplike, after the person who most looks like they have answers--especially if those answers coincide with what people want to believe.
We pro-lifers are often a ragtag mix and not all of us can manage fashion or write well, but we'll take anyone honestly willing to pick up a symbolic sword--no matter how crusty--and join the battle. If we were trying to sell a product, it would be different, but if the right to life is a fundamental truth and the unborn aren't getting it, then anyone who has been born has an equal right to stand up and protest.
Sure, a demonstration like Randall Terry's latest, especially done in direct defiance of an order, probably doesn't help our case. Cheesily gruesome displays certainly don't, since people supporting the "right to choose" don't actually believe that a "real human" with feelings and everything is dying in the abortion process. The real pictures and stories are necessary for helping people understand that. Mr. Terry meant to make a point. I'm sure President Fr. Jenkins rolled his eyes.
I went to Barack Obama's website before the election and saw him "take the moral high ground" against Gianna Jessen and her publicizing of his vote against the Born Alive Protection Act (as far as I can tell, that part of the site is down now.) His self-defense was carefully and reasonably worded and it would have convinced me beautifully if I didn't believe from the bottom of my heart that it is every bit as wrong to kill a child before it is born as after.
Maybe looking silly on a street corner doesn't help us. But I would rather stand for life and truth with a strange and assorted lot than strike some deadly and carefully-worded compromise with perfectly-made-up elitists to whom the less-seemly members of society are meant to live and vote in secret (or die before birth). Life and truth are not granted only to the attractive and classy. Nor are the healthy and wealthy necessarily the wise.
[Back story, for anyone who doesn't know: The president of Notre Dame Catholic University has invited President Obama to give the commencement speech this year and awarded him an honorary doctor of laws degree. Since the Catholic Church teaches that abortion is gravely wrong, and Obama teaches that it is a right, a lot of people--including students--are a bit horrified.]
From Erin Manning:
"And I think Obama is hoping that protesters will show up when he comes to speak. I think he's hoping that they'll have unusually bloody and incoherent signs, be dressed like people who think Larry King's castoffs are high fashion, and be just disruptive enough for him to unleash his trademark patient smile, perhaps turning in profile just a little and hoping that the camera lights will form yet another halo around his head. Then he will be able to say, without a word, that pro-life Catholics, faithful Catholics....Catholic Catholics, are the Wrong Sort of Catholics, the people who don't have the sense to know that Notre Dame is not honoring Obama--but Obama is honoring Notre Dame, by deigning to show up and read his teleprompter for them; henceforth Notre Dame shall be sacred ground, because Barack has trod lightly upon its stage."
I'm going to go out on the good old proverbial limb here.
I am thoroughly proud of the pro-life movement for being non-discriminatory.
I've participated in pro-life protests. Personally, I prefer to stand quietly, dressed neatly, and carry a sign that says something like "Women deserve better than abortion" (although there is certainly a place for the graphic signs and in some contexts I wholly support their use.) However, in my quiet and undemonstrative preferences, I am not always standing next to someone who has the slightest concern for public opinion. Occasionally someone looks like they sleep on the street, or doesn't hesitate to return gestures to a drive-by bird-flipper, or has clearly used hair spray long enough that it's gone to their brain.
In the process I've also stood across the street from counter-protests. Granted, not all of them appear diplomatically correct, but the intent is clear if you know where to look. I got this directive to the pro-abortion demonstrators third-hand, but am copying it as received:
"IF asked...this is the statement... 'we are not affiliated with planned parenthood. We are the community and we have come here to support women in receiving affordable health care.'
No references to what kind of health care should be made......we are asked to be on th side walks and fully visable and ...yes we are to be obviously 'the sane ones.' "
(No comment on the spelling and typing. I'd love to comment on their underhanded use of "health care", but that's another post.)
In my experience, when we go to protest we are merely told to be peaceable and prayerful. And the atheists can skip the praying part.
Hyperbole aside, Erin Manning has hit exactly the attitude of those defending the legality of abortion; an attitude drawn from Hollywood and advertising experience, not from reality. It works, unfortunately; people who don't have all the information are generally more than happy to follow, sheeplike, after the person who most looks like they have answers--especially if those answers coincide with what people want to believe.
We pro-lifers are often a ragtag mix and not all of us can manage fashion or write well, but we'll take anyone honestly willing to pick up a symbolic sword--no matter how crusty--and join the battle. If we were trying to sell a product, it would be different, but if the right to life is a fundamental truth and the unborn aren't getting it, then anyone who has been born has an equal right to stand up and protest.
Sure, a demonstration like Randall Terry's latest, especially done in direct defiance of an order, probably doesn't help our case. Cheesily gruesome displays certainly don't, since people supporting the "right to choose" don't actually believe that a "real human" with feelings and everything is dying in the abortion process. The real pictures and stories are necessary for helping people understand that. Mr. Terry meant to make a point. I'm sure President Fr. Jenkins rolled his eyes.
I went to Barack Obama's website before the election and saw him "take the moral high ground" against Gianna Jessen and her publicizing of his vote against the Born Alive Protection Act (as far as I can tell, that part of the site is down now.) His self-defense was carefully and reasonably worded and it would have convinced me beautifully if I didn't believe from the bottom of my heart that it is every bit as wrong to kill a child before it is born as after.
Maybe looking silly on a street corner doesn't help us. But I would rather stand for life and truth with a strange and assorted lot than strike some deadly and carefully-worded compromise with perfectly-made-up elitists to whom the less-seemly members of society are meant to live and vote in secret (or die before birth). Life and truth are not granted only to the attractive and classy. Nor are the healthy and wealthy necessarily the wise.
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