This is great literature

By Grandmother's Sickbed, Michael Ancher, 1879, Wikimedia Commons

I'm currently reading Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It's my first time to read it. I am not finished with it, so no spoilers, please. I'm enjoying having a fairly easy, accessible but engaging Gothic-style mystery to take my mind off our vexing national and world events. I relate to the narrator. She's highly introverted, to the point of getting lost in the twisting, turning hallways of her own home because her new husband is not around to greet some unexpected guests and she is afraid to do it herself. That's one way to discover that your new house may have some secrets. 

Last night in my reading of Rebecca I came across a passage of the sort that, for me, takes a work of literature from the level of "good" to "great." It's a passage that can stand on its own in capturing something that rings universally true about the human condition. It's possible to read this passage out of the context of the entire story and still appreciate it. The language, setting and characters come together in a way that makes the reader say, "Yes, that's just how it is."

See if you agree.

I felt rather exhausted, and wondered, rather shocked at my callous thought, why old people were sometimes such a strain. Worse than young children or puppies because one had to be polite. I sat with my hands in my lap ready to agree with what anybody said. The nurse was thumping the pillows and arranging the shawls.

Maxim's grandmother suffered her in patience. She closed her eyes as though she too were tired. She looked more like Maxim than ever. 

I knew how she must have looked when she was young, tall and handsome, going round to the stables at Manderley with sugar in her pockets, holding her trailing skirt out of the mud. I pictured the  nipped-in- waist, the high collar, I heard her ordering the carriage for two o'clock. That was all finished now for her, all gone. Her husband had been dead for forty years, her son for fifteen. She had to live here in this bright, red-gabled house with the nurse until it was time for her to die. 

I thought how little we know about the feelings of old people. Children we understand, their fears and hopes and make-believe. I was a child yesterday. I had not forgotten. But Maxim's grandmother, sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes, what did she feel, what was she thinking? Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it right, it was a duty, so that when she got home afterwards Beatrice would be able to say, "Well, that clears my conscience for three months."

Did she ever think about Manderley? Did she remember sitting at the dining-room table, where I sat? Did she too have tea under the chestnut tree? Or was it all forgotten and laid aside, and was there nothing left behind that calm, pale face of her but little aches and little strange discomforts, a blurred thankfulness when the sun shone, a tremor when the wind blew cold?

I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with colour in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side, talking as she did about hunting, hounds, and horses. Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head. 

"We've got a treat to-day, you know," said the nurse, "water-cress sandwiches for tea. We love water-cress, don't we?"

"Is it water-cress day?" said Maxim's grandmother, raising her head from the pillows, and looking towards the door. "You did not tell me that. Why does not Norah bring in the tea?"

"I wouldn't have your job, Sister, for a thousand a day," said Beatrice sotto voce to the nurse.

"Oh, I'm used to it, Mrs. Lacy," smiled the nurse, "it's very comfortable here, you know. Of course we have our bad days but they might be a great deal worse. She's very easy, not like some patients. The staff are obliging, too, that's really the main thing. Here comes Norah."

The parlour-maid brought out a little gate-legged table and a snowy cloth.

"What a time you've been, Norah," grumbled the old lady.

"It's only just turned the half-hour, Madam," said Norah in a special voice, bright and cheerful like the nurse. I wondered if Maxim's grandmother realized that people spoke to her in this way. I wondered when they had done so for the first time, and if she had noticed then. Perhaps she had said to herself, "They think I'm getting old, how very ridiculous," and then little by little she had become accustomed to it, and now it was as though they had always done so, it was part of her background. But the young woman with the chestnut hair and the narrow waist who gave sugar to the horses, where was she?

From Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier, Chapter 15

Edited to add: I didn't like the way this book ended. But I still appreciate the writing in many parts of it. 

So Sing the Mockingbirds

Northern Mockingbird/Wikimedia Commons

My son wrote this poem for his English class. The assignment was to write a summary, in verse, of To Kill a Mockingbird. He also set it to music. The English teacher liked it so much he put it on the test.

So Sing the Mockingbirds

by Evan Magness

In Maycomb's nest live many flocks;

Hawks, Blue Jays, Robins, Finches too;

And many more, make here their nest;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Finches, they say, fly from their ways;

Hatchlings, they say, migrate today;

'Tis not to be a Finch they say;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The Mockingbird, He do they mock;

But leave them gifts by tree he does;

And lure him from his nest they try;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The chick they say, must learn this night;

Just how to live her life just right;

Or fall the pit of shame tonight;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The Robin calls to Finch for aid;

Fly to his aid, the Father does;

Oppressed by Hawks are they this day;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Opposed by Hawks, Blue Jays and Wrens;

And Family calls, "Shame us you do!"

"His debt must pay, but still you stand."

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

The father weak, the children think;

His only skills, in pen and ink;

He cannot save the Robin, he;

For weak is he, and frail is he.

Yet from the hound he saves his nest;

His gunmanship, by this he's blessed;

Weak be he not, hound dog he's caught;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Against these winds, the birds still fly;

Against the Hawks, their heads held high;

The Robin save from death, they try;

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

So sing the Mockingbirds this morn.

Hillbilly Elegy

For Christmas I got my husband Hillbilly Elegy by J. D. Vance. He read it in a matter of days and loved it. I finally read it myself. The term "hillbilly" calls to mind a poor, uneducated person living in the hills or mountains, particularly the Appalachians. It is often used pejoratively. But Vance uses the term not as an insult, but matter-of-fact-ly. Hillbillies are his people, and he describes them with both love and brutal honesty. Hillbillies are my people, too, and my husband's. I see so much in this book that I know because I have experienced it. I am not from Appalachia, and my upbringing was not as violent as Vance's, but like him, I come from country folk of Scots-Irish descent. And there is so much in this book that rings true and reminds me of my childhood. Here are a few of the things that Vance writes about to which I can easily relate:

Not knowing whether a parent is going to be sober or drunk. Scoping out the situation and then getting out of the way if it is the latter.

Lots of domestic disturbances, foul language, and yelling and throwing things. (To this day I have no tolerance for foul language or raised voices.)

Being embarrassed to have friends over.

When asked about your family, not being able to give a simple answer because between the steps and halves, it's complicated.

Being one of the first in your family to get a college degree.

Not applying to private colleges because you figure you can't afford it and you don't realize that private schools give lots of money to candidates they deem worthy. So you go into debt for the public institution when you might actually have fared better with the private one.

Having difficulties handling conflict because your history with conflict is so very negative. Early in Vance's relationship with his future wife, she told him, "Whenever something bad happens--even a hint of disagreement--you withdraw completely. It's like you have a shell that you hide in."

Having older siblings and extended family that sometimes provided the normalcy and emotional support that my parents didn't.

Having a high ACE (adverse childhood experience) score. I was not familiar with the concept of adverse childhood experiences as a field of mental health study. If you're interested in learning about it, here's a helpful link. I have an ACE score of 6 (out of 10). My husband also has a high ACE score. Vance writes, in his book, about how difficult it is to break the mold of one's upbringing. If you come from an environment of substance abuse, domestic conflict, broken marriage, unwed pregnancy, etc., you are statistically more likely to continue the pattern than to break it. I am not sure how my husband and I were able to do it. We had so many strikes against us. We still struggle with some of the effects of our upbringing. All I know is that God had mercy on us. I am sure life would have turned out completely different for both of us if the Church had not been a constant presence in our marriage the last 30 years.

Vance writes about the miracle of his being able to break out of the path that so many in his shoes are destined to remain in, crediting a perfect storm of people and circumstances that afforded him the hope and opportunity necessary to chart a different path. He concludes Hillbilly Elegy by considering the ways in which the "system" that is supposed to "help" so often doesn't, but at the same time laying ultimate responsibility at the feet of the individual:

"I believe we hillbillies are the toughest . . . people on this earth. We take an electric saw to the hide of those who insult our mother. We make young men consume cotton underwear to protect a sister's honor. But are we tough enough . . . . to look ourselves in the mirror and admit that our conduct harms our children?"

As much as Vance's book resonated with me, I had so much more going for me than he did. Yes, I had a father with alcoholism and a mother with depression. I grew up in a combined family with a lot of anger and dysfunction. My parents' personal problems led to their not giving their children and step-children the attention they needed. Yet unlike Vance, I did have two parents who stayed married. We weren't rich, but we weren't poor, and I never had any worries about having my physical needs met. In spite of his alcoholism, my dad always held down a job and paid the bills. Another parallel I share with Vance is the experience of being the child who benefits from parents seeming to figure out, later in life, how to be better parents. (In Vance's case it wasn't his parents, but his grandparents, who did so.) Perhaps it was because as the youngest, for the second half of my childhood I was the only one left at home. I got benefits my older siblings didn't. I was the one who was driven to piano lessons. I was the one, after my mom became Catholic, who got taken to church. As the only "ours" of a "his, hers, and ours" family, I was the one who grew up with both my biological parents.

I won't tell you how Hillbilly Elegy ends other than to say it made me cry, tears of both sadness and hope. J. D. Vance (who is only 32) recently announced he is returning to his roots to try to make a difference. God bless him.

Our Strange Western Sun

A few days ago I was reading to Evan from our current readaloud Johnny Tremain. Johnny Tremain is a boy growing up in Boston at the time of the American Revolution, witnessing events and people firsthand that we today only encounter in history books and movies. At the point we are in our reading, the British army is occupying Boston but no shots have yet been fired. They are about to be, and the chapter we just finished ends with a reference to "a strange new sun rising in the west . . . that was to illumine a world to come."

I wanted to make sure Evan understood the comparison of America to a sun--one whose rise would shine a beacon of freedom over the entire world. I started questioning him, trying to pull the answer out rather than just give it to him, but it took some doing, which surprised me. Then he said, "America isn't as free as it used to be" and I realized that the equating of my country with freedom which is in my mind a given, something I grew up with and feel at a gut level, was not as natural an association for him. Wow. It drove home for me that at the age of 13 the only president he has any memory of is Barack Obama, and what he has heard from his parents for much of his life is talk about how our freedoms in this country are being eroded and how the federal government continues to extend its reach and control beyond what it is Constitutionally given to do. It made me sad.

I told Evan that the peaceful transition of power that we are seeing today, Inauguration Day, is a testament to the freedom that we still have in the United States of America. I am thankful beyond words to have been born an American. I would not want to have been born anywhere else. God bless our country, its outgoing President, and the President-Elect. May we never take for granted the amazing gift we have been given to live under this strange western sun known as America.

A Hundred Little Occasions

"Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received from the young lady, and wishing that time could come over again, that he might never cease showing her how grateful and attached he was. He had no cause for self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of thought, for he had been devoted to her service; and yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, on which he fancied he might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about us, when every death carries to some small circle of survivors, thoughts of so much omitted, and so little done - of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might have been repaired! There is no remorse so deep as that which is unavailing; if we would be spared its tortures, let us remember this, in time."

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, Chapter 33

Good Morning!

Three minutes of beauty for your day. I hope you enjoy. 

Photo taken December 10, 2015

Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies! 

Emily Dickinson

Pleasing Mr. Bisbee

"My play time was cut short because Mr. Bisbee, one of the boarders, took a notion to teach me to sing and I had to waste some time every day practicing the scales up and down and mixed. I would rather play but Mr. Bisbee was one of the richest men in Burr Oak and our best paying, steady boarder. He must be pleased if possible and so I patiently learned to sing 'do ra me fa sol la see do.'"

Pioneer Girl: The Annotated Autobiography, p. 102, Laura Ingalls Wilder, ed. Pamela Smith Hill

Go Read Another Harper Lee Novel

I finished reading Harper Lee's Go Set a Watchman last night. I know some people have reservations about reading it. There is speculation about whether its publication was her will or that of unscrupulous people out to profit from her work, and there is concern about the effect the book will have on the reputation of Lee's masterpiece, To Kill a Mockingbird. All I can say is that I thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated the book. I would urge reading it on its own merits, for what it has to offer apart from To Kill a Mockingbird. For it certainly has much to recommend it. It was unexpectedly funny. But more important, it is a vividly drawn portrait of a character, Jean Louise "Scout" Finch, who is just as compelling as a grown woman as she was as a young girl. And the theme of initiation, of the realization that the world and its inhabitants are a lot more complicated than they seemed when we were children, is universal. If you as a devotee of To Kill a Mockingbird are worried that your image of Atticus is going to be compromised by reading this book, you are in good company because that is exactly the crisis facing Scout as she visits her hometown in Go Set a Watchman. It is something that we all go through as we become adults and realize our parents are--surprise!--mere human beings. My advice: take Scout's hand, walk alongside her, and see where the journey leads. I think you'll be glad you did.

And if you aren't, I apologize in advance. :-)

For the Insult File

This one could come in handy.

"You are fascinated with yourself. You will say anything that occurs to you, but what I can't understand are the things that occur to you. I should like to take your head apart, put a fact in it, and watch it go its way through the runnels of your brain until it comes out of your mouth."

From Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee

Image: US cover of Go Set a Watchman. Licensed under Fair use via Wikipedia.

Luther on the Importance of Literature

“I am persuaded that without knowledge of literature, pure theology cannot at all endure, just as heretofore, when letters have declined and lain prostrate, theology, too, has wretchedly fallen and lain prostrate; nay, I see that there has never been a great revelation of the Word of God unless he has first prepared the way by the rise and prosperity of languages and letters, as though they were John the Baptists. There is, indeed, nothing that I have less wish to see done against our young people than that they should omit to study poetry and rhetoric. Certainly it is my desire that there shall be as many poets and rhetoricians as possible, because I see that by these studies, as by no other means, people are wonderfully fitted for the grasping of sacred truth and for handling it skillfully and happily. To be sure, 'Wisdom maketh the tongues of those who cannot speak eloquent,' but the gift of tongues is not to be despised. Therefore I beg of you that at my request (if that has any weight) you will urge your young people to be diligent in the study of poetry and rhetoric. As Christ lives, I am often angry with myself that my age and my manner of life do not leave me any time to busy myself with the poets and orators. I had bought me a Homer that I might become a Greek. But I have worried you enough with these little things. Think as well of Luther as you can of your Captiva, and farewell, strong in Christ." 

Luther's Correspondence and Other Contemporary Letters, Vol. 2, pp. 176-77, Letter to Eoban Hess, March 29, 1523

2015 Reading Challenge

I can't believe I'm doing this. Seriously, I can't. In 2015 I will celebrate my eight-year blogiversary. In all that time, I have avoided any hint of anything remotely resembling a reading challenge. I have written here in the past about my struggles with reading. My former status as an English teacher notwithstanding, in the last 20 years (basically since becoming a mom) I have found it increasingly difficult to read material of serious length or depth, family readalouds excepted. I think the reasons are varied but primarily include motherhood-induced attention deficit as well as the advent of electronic communication and social media. Both have contributed to my declining ability to concentrate on anything at all for more than about thirty seconds, much less 350 pages.

The last few years, however, have seen an improvement in my ability to stick with and finish a book. I'm still not reading as much as I would like or as much as I used to, but I'm reading again. So against my better judgment I'm going to assign myself a reading list this year. Unlike some of my friends whose lists number 50 or more, I have decided to aim low: more than one book per month, but less than two. The list below consists of titles that have either been on my to-read list a long time or have been suggested or otherwise made known to me in the last few years. They are grouped by category.

Nonfiction:

1. Unbroken, Hillenbrand. Already started.

2. Night, Elie Wiesel

3. The Failure of Sex Education in the Church, Bartlett

4. The Eternal Woman, Gertrud von le Fort

5. The Seven Deadly Virtues, Hemingway et. al.

6. Orthodoxy, Chesterton

7. Studies in Words, C. S. Lewis

8. Glittering Images: A Journey Through Art from Egypt to Star Wars, Camille Paglia

9. My Bright Abyss, Christian Wiman

10. Bondage of the Will, Luther

Children's literature:

11. The Princess and the Goblin, MacDonald

12. The Marvelous Land of Snergs, Wyke-Smith. "I should like to record my own love and my children's love of E. A. Wyke-Smith's Marvellous Land of Snergs." - J. R. R. Tolkien

Fiction:

13. Looking for Alaska, Green.

14. Les Miserables, Hugo. Backup plan if I hate Les Mis: Anna Karenina, Tolstoy. Backup plan if I hate Anna: nothing.

15. Alas, Babylon, Frank

16. Cry, the Beloved Country, Paton

17. The Martian Chronicles, Bradbury

18. Robinson Crusoe, Defoe

19. Pudd'nhead Wilson, Twain. Or maybe Roughing It. Something by Twain.

20. Lord of the Rings, Tolkien. What can I say? Tried it many years ago, but didn't get through the first book. I am not a huge fan of fantasy. But so many of the people I love, love these books. I like the movies. I think I need to try the book(s) again.

In addition, 2015 is apparently the year of the re-read (who decides these things, anyway?) So to keep the reading gods happy, here are two re-reads, one that I loved and one I didn't.

21. A Wrinkle in Time, L'Engle. A childhood favorite.

22. Pride and Prejudice, Austen. I read it many years ago and didn't enjoy it enough to read any more Austen. But so many of my friends love Austen that I think I need to give Lady Jane another try. We always tell our kids they have to try the foods they don't like periodically because maybe their taste buds have changed. Well, maybe my reading taste has also changed. Or maybe I'll still not understand the passion some of you have for Austen. We'll see.

Also this year I will be getting my first ever review copy of a book! More on that later. And I hope to read my daughter's novel, but first she has to finish it. Disclaimer: I reserve the right to stop reading anything on this list if after giving it a fair chance I find it doesn't pull me in. Life is short. Books are aplenty. Reading should be a joy, not a chore. Besides, I'm not in school anymore and don't have to read anything I don't want to. So there.

Feel free to make suggestions for future reading lists, or additions to this list in case I get through it (miracles can happen!) and need more.

Of Monsters and Angels

At the suggestion of several people whose opinions I respect, I recently read Neil Gaiman's The Ocean at the End of the Lane. I have never read any of Gaiman's work before and wasn't sure what to expect. Initially I thought the book was going to be a psychological drama with an element of mystery but it didn't take long to realize that what I was reading instead was a no-holds barred fairy tale for adults. I wouldn't call the book an allegory, but if you enjoy allegory, fantasy, and tales with supernatural elements, I would recommend it. It is a fairly quick and easy read. I hasten to add that while several reviews I read suggested it is suitable for all ages, I strongly disagree. It is one very scary book, and there are several scenes that are definitely not appropriate for children.

I should clarify what I mean in calling the book easy to read. It is limited in narrative scope, focusing on a few characters primarily at a single point in time and space, and it is straightforwardly told. So it is easy in the storytelling sense. It is not, however, easy to pinpoint the book's meaning, and as a one-time English major I like to be able to do just that. So ever since I finished reading I have been trying to figure out what it all means, and here in non-spoiler fashion is what I have concluded (at least for now).

One of my favorite parts of the book occurs when the main character/narrator, who is seven years old at the time, has a conversation about monsters with his 11-year-old friend. (Monsters figure prominently in the book.) As they discuss the nature of monsters, Lettie, the 11-year-old, observes:

"Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Some of them are things people are scared of. Some of them are things that look like things people used to be scared of a long time ago. Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren't."

The conversation between the two continues as they discuss one of the adult characters whose behavior has been nothing short of monstrous:

I said, "People should be scared of Ursula Monkton." 

"P'raps. What do you think Ursula Monkton is scared of?"

"Dunno. Why do you think she's scared of anything? She's a grown-up, isn't she? Grown-ups and monsters aren't scared of things."

"Oh, monsters are scared," said Lettie. "That's why they're monsters. And as for grown-ups . . . . I'm going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. The truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. . . . "

In my opinion this passage encapsulates what the book is about. As the story opens the narrator is an adult returning to the town of his childhood to attend a funeral; he is soon overtaken by the repressed memory of something terrible that happened when he was seven years old. The bulk of the book recounts that memory, which includes an epic battle against some pretty horrifying creatures. Therein lies the heart of the book. Throughout our lives we encounter monsters in various shapes and sizes. Sometimes they look like monsters; sometimes they don't. Sometimes we recognize them; sometimes we don't. But they are there, and in one way or another we are always battling them. If we are lucky we will have someone on our side helping us fight them. But we will always bear the scars of the various monsters we encounter, and it may take a long time for those scars to heal. Moreover, even when the battle is over and we have moved on, the memories have a way of calling us back and making us relive the entire ordeal. That is to be expected and is a necessary part of processing what has happened. That battle with the monster was real, and pretending it wasn't doesn't help. Acknowledging and facing it is part of the process of healing and moving on.

I am a Christian and as such tend to read everything through the lens of my faith. Neil Gaiman is not a Christian as far as I know, and neither is his book, but there are several themes in the book that rang true for me as a Christian. There is no doubt in this book that there is such a thing as evil and such a thing as good and that they are at war with each other in big and small ways. There is no doubt that there is more to the created world than what we see on the surface. And perhaps most important, there is something called love, and it is so powerful that it can lead one to sacrifice himself for the sake of another.

Here are a few more takeaways from the book that rang especially true for me:

Monsters are real, but they don't always look like what you might expect.
The same goes for angels.
Sometimes the people you most trust turn out to be monsters.
The monsters are afraid, too. Sometimes they don't even know they're monsters. They may even think they're doing good.
Help can come from the most unexpected places.
There is such a thing as evil. It is powerful, but good is more powerful.
Things are not always as they seem.
Much of life doesn't make sense, but every once in a while we are granted a moment of clarity, and it can strengthen us for the rest of the journey.

If you're looking for a book to get lost in for a few days, one that will capture your imagination and get you thinking about some of the Big Questions, you could do worse than The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

You're invited . . .

. . . to read the first chapter of my daughter's novel. It is linked here. I know I'm her mom, but I am beyond impressed and totally sucked in to this story. I don't know when she will make more of it available, but if you are so inclined, please go on over and read and encourage her to see this tale through. She welcomes your comments and constructive criticism.

Reading Challenge

Periodically one of my friends posts something online about taking part in a reading challenge. Such a challenge typically involves coming up with a list of books to read in a given period of time. There was a time I would have embraced so worthy a goal, but these days it sends me running in the opposite direction. You see, I don't like failure. Avoiding situations in which its occurrence is predestined is one of my basic guiding principles.

Still, I do believe in the value of reading, and by "reading" I mean "reading books." I worry that in our headline-driven, Twitter-dominated society, human beings, myself included, are losing the ability to concentrate on complex ideas for extended periods of time. I also miss the joy I used to take in getting lost in a good book. So last year I created my own reading challenge, which goes something like this: "Pick out a book and read it." 

You think I'm joking. I'm not. Right now, it's the best I can do. And for the most part, it's working for me. I've read more books over the last year than I've read over the last five years. I'm not going to tell you how many books that actually is.

Recently, though, I seem to have hit a snag. I have tried one book and another and nothing has grabbed me. So I finally did the obvious thing: I asked my daughter for a suggestion. She readily obliged, and I started the book she gave me a few nights ago night. At this writing I am ten chapters in.

The book is The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, one of Caitlin's favorite YA (Young Adult) authors. I am impressed. The story is engaging, and so is the first person narrator. But one of the things I am most appreciating is the style. For me style is as important as story. When it comes right down to it, plot lines can be reduced to a few essential arcs. People are born. They die. Along the way they do stuff. The greatness of a book is in the telling, in the ability to memorably and freshly cut to the truth of a situation in a way that makes you say, "Yes, that is exactly it." I am seeing this characteristic in abundance in The Fault in Our Stars. I am also meeting characters who are real and likable and intelligent. The book does not come across as one written for teenagers. It is devoid of clichés. It is a book about the human condition, and that is something that has no age limit. Here is an example that I think can be understood and appreciated without context or comment.

"She didn't want to dump a blind guy," I said. He nodded, the tears not like tears so much as a quiet metronome--steady, endless.

"She said she couldn't handle it," he told me. "I'm about to lose my eyesight and she can't handle it."

I was thinking about the word handle, and all the unholdable things that get handled. "I'm sorry," I said.

He wiped his sopping face with a sleeve. Behind his glasses, Isaac's eyes seemed so big that everything else on his face kind of disappeared and it was just these disembodied floating eyes staring at me--one real, one glass. "It's unacceptable," he told me. "It's totally unacceptable."

"Well, to be fair," I said, "I mean, she probably can't handle it. Neither can you, but she doesn't have to handle it. And you do."

"I kept saying 'always' to her today, 'always always always,' and she just kept talking over me and not saying it back. It was like I was already gone, you know? 'Always' was a promise! How can you just break the promise?"

"Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them," I said.

Isaac shot me a look. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don't you believe in true love?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer. But I thought that if true love did exist, that was a pretty good definition of it.

There's a lot more where that came from. I think I'll get back to reading. And when I'm done I'll ask a girl named Caitlin what my next book should be. 

Something Has Changed

Thirty years ago one of my favorite things to do was to take a piece of literature and pick it apart in that way that so many high school students despise. It was what led me to follow up my music studies with undergraduate and graduate degrees in literature. For a number of years I put those English degrees to good use, teaching first high school, then college English, and sometimes I even stumbled on students who seemed to enjoy the subject as much as I did. But the longer I taught English the more discouraged I became at the shocking unpreparedness of many of my students as well as the socio-political agenda that seems to drive many college English departments. I ultimately left English teaching behind and returned to my first love, music. 

For the last ten to fifteen years I have worked much more in the musical than the literary realm, and the older I get, the more I think I want it to stay this way. These days when I read I just want to read. I have little desire for the sort of close, analytical approach I learned in my English classes. It's hard enough just to read! I also can't help wondering whether something has changed in me beyond the length of my attention span. There is something about literary analysis that seems inherently destructive. That is not to say there isn't value in it for the deep understanding and appreciation of a work. Sometimes to truly understand something one must take it apart. But I think I may be at a time in my life when I am much more interested in building up than in tearing down. And music is about nothing if not building. Whether it's the practicing, or the composing (which I don't do), or the putting together of all the parts within an ensemble, the goal is synthesis, the creation of something beautiful. In literary analysis, all the effort is in the opposite direction, towards taking apart rather than creating.

Maybe that's why I have also continued to blog. Even if I didn't have the few of you reading that I do, I would still get the satisfaction of creating something, however small. Maybe one of these days I'll write something bigger than a blog post, or maybe I'll learn a new musical skill. Then again, maybe I'll just do more cooking. . . .

Spring Fever

"Don't you know what that is? It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want--oh, you don't quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! It seems to you that mainly what you want is to get away; get away from the same old tedious things you're so used to seeing and so tired of, and set something new. That is the idea; you want to go and be a wanderer; you want to go wandering far away to strange countries where everything is mysterious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can't do that, you'll put up with considerable less; you'll go anywhere you CAN go, just so as to get away, and be thankful of the chance, too."

--Tom Sawyer, Detective, "An Invitation for Tom and Huck" by Mark Twain

Smarter, Nicer People

The kind of reading discussed in this article used to account for the majority of my reading. It doesn't anymore, unfortunately. I am trying to rediscover the reader I once was, but it is hard. I find it difficult to shift from the fast-paced, scanning type of reading I primarily do online to the chew-and-digest-every-word type of reading I used to do all the time as lover of literature. These days when I do the latter type of reading, I have to consciously work at not skipping chunks of text and at soaking in the words the way I once did rather than merely extracting meaning from them. One of the nice things about a book, as pointed out in the article, is that there are no hyperlinks to turn your attention away from the page you're on (and no ads or Facebook notifications). It's just that page and nothing else. And if you turn off your phone and step away from your computer you might even get through that one page without a real world interruption. At the very least, the probability of doing so will increase. And as the link suggests, you will likely walk away a better human being.

Speaking of which, I think I'll close the laptop and read another chapter of The Little Prince. 

Readaloud Dilemma

We finished The Adventures of Tom Sawyer today. Yes, it took us a while. We savor our books. :-)

Here are a couple of pictures I took of Evan and Willard while I was reading. (Notice who is on the blanket. Willard loves readaloud time.) The second picture captures the moment they turned to look at me after I took the first one.

Back to our readaloud. Today Tom and Huck found the robbers' hideout, along with their supplies, and--let us not forget!--the treasure. This discovery led to a discussion of robbers and their practices, as Tom and Huck made plans to inaugurate their own prepubescent gang of criminals. (For those who have never "met" Tom Sawyer, it is probably good to interject here that Tom's boyish imagination knows no bounds.) The conversation covered the important points of killing all the men but being gracious toward the women--so that they will fall in love with you, of course--and then wrapped up thus:

"Now less fetch the guns and things," said Huck.

"No, Huck--leave them there. They're just the tricks to have when we go to robbing. We'll keep them there all the time, and we'll hold our orgies there, too. It's an awful snug place for orgies."

At this point Evan broke out into loud, sustained laughter punctuated by repetitions of the sentences "We'll hold our orgies there!" and "It's an awful snug place for orgies!" Finally the guffaws subsided and he turned to me and asked, "What's an orgy?" I continued reading.

"What's orgies?" [said Huck].

"I dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we've got to have them, too. Come along, Huck, we've been in here a long time. It's getting late, I reckon. I'm hungry, too. We'll eat and smoke when we get to the skiff."

Such is the adventure of reading aloud. Sometimes you stumble on things you're not quite expecting (even if you've read the book before)! I told Evan that an orgy was kind of like a party--but a party where people get carried away and eat and drink too much, so not a very nice party. The problem with this definition (which is not incorrect) is that it excludes the more common modern usage of the term, the one everyone thinks of when he hears the word. But I don't want to tell my child that meaning yet! Which, of course, opens up the possibility that he'll decide to show off his new word at a less-than-opportune time. Oh, Tom, dear Tom--you just love complicating things, don't you?

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Reading this book with Evan has been an interesting experience. He can't figure out the main character. He disapproves of Tom's fighting, his naughtiness and his lying. And who in his right mind would elect to run away from a very nice home to spend several days and nights roughing it on an island, all the while letting the folks back home think he was dead?

Last night we read Chapter 25, which begins thus;

"There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure."

Evan's response?

"Not me!"

The one aspect of the book that he doesn't seem to have much trouble identifying with is Tom's affection for Becky Thatcher. It would seem I'm rearing a lover, not a fighter. I'm okay with that.

One Thing Leads to Another

Road trip!

Ever since it became clear that we are moving to Oklahoma, I have been trying to do things that will be geographically harder to do once we leave this area. At the top of that list is a visit to one of my best friends in the world. She lives with her family in eastern Iowa, only a few hours from here. The schedule finally cleared enough to allow us to plan a get-together. So next week Caitlin, Evan and are looking forward to spending some time with our friends on their farm, enjoying fun and fellowship.

Then, as I was talking to my husband, he pointed out that it would not be too far out of our way to swing by one of the colleges Caitlin is interested in looking at: Truman State University in Kirksville, Missouri. So we decided to add a night to our trip and schedule a campus tour. Then upon studying the map, I discovered that our drive home would take us right through Hannibal, Missouri! Why does that excite us? Have you ever read Huckleberry Finn? If you haven't, you should! Hannibal is the childhood home of author Mark Twain and the model for the town of St. Petersburg in that book and its precursor Tom Sawyer. The town boasts a Mark Twain museum, a Mark Twain cave with live storyteller, and a riverboat ride, among other attractions.

So, a move leads to a visit with a friend, which leads to a campus tour, which leads to a family field trip, which of course can only mean one thing: it's time to read as much of Tom Sawyer to Evan as I can before Thursday of next week! That's how we roll in the Philipp Nicolai Lutheran Academy!