Rebecca Reads » religion

Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 11:00:40 +0000

The introduction to my volume of Zora Neale Hurston’s retelling of the Biblical Exodus calls this a “badly flawed novel” and I’m sure it is. Hurston is basing her novel on a Biblical tale that lacks strong women characters, and she’s trying to make it feel modern. The introduction also criticizes the stereotyped way in which Hurston tries to capture black speech. It’s not written in dialect, but it does capture idioms and mannerisms.

All that said, I really liked reading Moses, Man of the Mountain. I have a fascination with retellings of the Exodus.* Because of that interest, then, I liked Hurston’s novel simply because of the premise: tell the story of Moses and the Hebrews basing it on African-American folkloric practices (hoodoo and magic).

Hurston tells the story in an easy-to-read style, and I personally liked the idiomatic speech. The story has some different aspects to it that make it a little different from the Biblical version, of course, since Moses is a hoodoo expert, but I liked that too. I just liked it over all.

To give you an idea for the writing style of the novel, here is a favorite passage (the burning bush).

The voice came again.

“Moses, I want you to go down into Egypt.”

“Into Egypt? How come, Lord? Egypt is no place for me to go.”

“I said Egypt, Moses. I heard my people, the Hebrews, when they cried, when they kept on groaning to me to help. I want you to go down and tell that Pharaoh I say to let my people go.”

“He won’t pay me no attention, Lord. I know he won’t.”

“Go ahead, like I told you, Moses. I am tired of hearing the groaning in my ear. I mean to overcome Pharaoh this time. Go on down there and I”ll go with you.” …

The Voice was hushed. The bush no longer burned. In fact, it looked just like it had yesterday and the day before and the day before that. The mountain was just as usual with the wind yelling “Whoo-youuu” against its rocky knots. (page 127)

Maybe you can tell in this passage that it’s not the strongest writing ever. I wouldn’t call Hurston’s characterization spectacular either. Nevertheless, although the book may not be a masterpiece, I loved seeing how Hurston weaved it together simply because I love the subject and the setting. I’m willing to forgive any flaws simply because I like those aspects.

Is there any subject or time period that you love reading about, even if the book is not the best?

For the record, most of the Amazon reviewers also seem to enjoy it, rather than complaining that it’s “badly flawed.”

*Back when I thought I wanted to be a writer, I had a story idea related to the exodus. Instead of sitting down and writing that story, I read a lot about it as background. The story never was written. I guess I should say that by reading a book like Hurston’s, my passion to capture my own story dies. I could never create characters and a world so strong as this, and this is “badly flawed”!

[Really Old Classics Extra Credit: retelling of an old classic]

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Swiss Family Robinson by Johann David Wyss

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 13:40:07 +0000

image via Wikipedia

In the Robinson Crusoe tradition, Johann David Wyss created a story of a Swiss family that was shipwrecked on a desert island. Much as Robinson Crusoe, the family must learn to use the land to meet their needs. As with Crusoe, there is a religious element of learning to thank God for their blessings, but unlike Robinson Crusoe, the version of Swiss Family Robinson that I read had a lecturing tone that didn’t take long to irritate me.

Swiss Family Robinson may fascinate children. The family learns and explores natural science, mechanics, engineering, astronomy, biology, mathematics, and so much more through their experiences in a new place. I loved learning about the house in the trees and I was fascinated to hear how they built everything themselves. Maybe young children could relate to the four boys’ adventures in learning.

The main theme of the Swiss family’s story of survival is paradise: unlike Robinson Crusoe, this family loved their new home from the beginning. They ultimately don’t want to be rescued: they preferred to remain isolated in their paradisiacal home. Wyss added an impressive (and impossible) array of animals to the little island, and everything the family needed for survival conveniently appeared, from “candleberry trees” to flax and cotton. It truly was a paradise.

There are downsides to reading an island adventure for the 1800s that was specifically written for children. In this book, the downside was the “message,” although with a little tweaking, the message may have been fascinating.

Some aspects of the message were interesting. The self-discovery of learning to make things from what you have was fascinating to me. I imagine older children would love learning how to make a water wheel, how to carve stairs in a tree, and how to make cloth from flax for example (or maybe I’m just projecting my nerdy self on to some unknown nerdy kids). The father made everything into a teaching moment. For example, when the children were trying to figure out how long of a rope they needed to read the tree branch, the father showed them how determine it via mathematics:

My boys had been trying to measure the tree with the long canes I had brought, and came laughing to report to me, that I ought to have got them ten times as long to reach even the lowest branches. “There is a simpler mode than that,” said I, “which geometry teaches us, and by which the highest mountains can be measured.”

I then showed the method of measuring heights by triangles and imaginary lines, using canes of different lengths and cords instead of mathematical instruments. My result was thirty feet to the lowest branches. This experiment filled the boys with wonder and desire to become acquainted with this useful, exact science, which, happily, I was able to teach them fully. (page 66-67)

The downfall of Swiss Family Robinson, however, that it is told from the father’s perspective. Maybe you can tell from the above quote: he’s a bit of a know-it-all. In fact, time and again, I found myself hating this father of theirs. He was constantly scolding the children (and his poor wife!) for being too irreverent, too lazy, and too insensitive. Yet, because it was from his own perspective, I felt we were not getting the whole story. He seemed a bit “off” to me.

Another downfall was the completely unrealistic portrays of the children. Although more than four years pass on the island, the boys never seem to age. The youngest boy (Frances) was about eight at the beginning, but even when he is 12, he doesn’t seem any less needy. The two oldest boys, on the other hand, are at least 19 and 17 toward the end of the novel, and neither shows any interest in the prospects of his future. What I mean is I think most men that age would be hoping for a lady friend or something for themselves to be looking forward to. Instead, when there is a prospect of a ship, the oldest (at least age 18) says,

“If there should be any ladies amongst them, how pleasant it would be for mamma to have a friend!” (page 199)

Oh my, what a dedicated son to his mamma! The boys never felt realistic to me, and this is just one example.

I had a lot of other issues with Swiss Family Robinson. Because I remembered enjoying the Disney movie as a kid, I was looking forward to the book. In the end, though, I think this is a time to stay with Disney. There is a plot! There are pirates!

The novel Swiss Family Robinson was written in a time when pirates are not a worry, but savages. I should say that in the end, there is a little of a plot to drive it as the story resolves, but for the majority of the novel, the plot revolves around becoming more and more self-reliant as the family creates a modern paradise in their own Eden.

According to Wikipedia, Swiss Family Robinson has been retold through its translations, so it is impossible to know which one is the “original” story by Wyss. I listened to the audio and read via a Librivox.org and a Project Gutenberg translation that is missing two pages. It was the longest version of the story offered as an etext. There is no note as to who translated this version.

I visited Swiss Family Robinson as part of my Reader’s History of Children’s Literature project. It fits right in with the other island tales, and especially with Robinson Crusoe itself, the grandpa of the genre. It has interesting aspects, but I was ultimately disappointed in this version of the story. It was not something I’d like to read to my young son, simply because the father’s lecturing and the unrealistic portrayal of children is not inspiring for a child today. If anything, we’ll watch the Disney movie, which is fun.

Have you read Swiss Family Robinson?

Do you avoid “lecturing tales” for your children? Does this sound like it would bother you?

Would your child like to learn how to build things themselves?

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Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 11:00:58 +0000

Willa Cather’s Death Comes for the Archbishop profoundly moved me.

Perhaps it was Cather’s perfect capture of New Mexico: while I have never been to New Mexico, I feel I now can perfectly imagine the place, the pain, and the joy that the setting evokes. Also, while there are religious elements in the book (after all, it tells the story of the first Roman Catholic Bishop of New Mexico), Cather’s emphasis seems to be the human connections, the legends, and the memories of those living in a challenging yet beautiful era in American history.

Archbishop was a different classic to read: in some respects, it is a collection of stories, not a novel. When early reviews complained that book was hard to classify, Cather herself said “why bother?” She at times calls it a “legend” or a “narrative” (from the introduction, Everyman Library’s Edition).

Because of its loose structure and subtle plot, it tells of the Bishop Latour’s life and that of his friend, Father Valliant at a leisurely pace. In fact, my first read (three weeks ago) surprised me: I found myself struggling to be motivated to read it. (It was also during the Christmas holiday, so I was busy and probably not in the mood for a thinking book.) Because I’m preparing some discussion questions for my infant book group, I decided to reread it this week. (I was feeling horribly nervous about keeping a discussion going. Unfortunately, this is how I feel every month when I go to prepare for book club!)

So I reread Archbishop, knowing that it is slow, thoughtful, and not so much a novel but more a series of vignettes. And I loved it. The last 75 pages last night had me in tears as I pondered the life of the priests. While I loved My Antonia, this is my new, absolutely favorite Cather (of those two, at least). It has far more depth to the characters, the language, and the setting , and I was emotional moved as I read it. I may add it to the “Books Read in 2010 That I Love and Want to Reread Someday” list I’m starting in my head.

Note: Because I don’t believe Death Comes for the Archbishop can be “spoiled,” I discuss the book in below without hesitating to reveal some details.

I finished rereading Archbishop last night, after having finished Mrs. Dalloway on Tuesday, and maybe it was the slow-reading mood I’d had with Woolf that made Archbishop so rewarding this time around.

I am not a Catholic, but I do consider myself religious. Similarly, Cather was religious, but she was not a Catholic when she decided in 1927 to tell the story of the 1850s Catholic missionaries to New Mexico. Yet, her book is a religious one because she describes nature in terms of religion.

This mesa plain had an appearance of great antiquity, and of incompleteness; as if, with all the materials for world-making assembled, the Creator had desisted, gone away and left everything on the point of being brought together, on the eve of being arranged into mountain, plain, plateau. The country was still waiting to be made into a landscape. (page 94-95)

The book as a whole is not overly religious. Rather than celebrating any organized religion, Cather is celebrating humanity and the beauty of nature. She almost gives more space to the Indian traditions, legends, and religious beliefs than she does to the Catholic priests’ beliefs. The priests are just her vehicle to the legends. Catholic, Mexican, and Indian legends are all fascinating to me, despite the fact that I don’t know much about any of them!

A good portion of Archbishop is about service and friendship. I suspect this post cannot possibly capture the beauty of the text and the emotions I felt as I read about those subjects in Cather’s words, but I will try to do my best.

Because Father Valliant went to seminary in France with Bishop Latour, they are close. They were very different: Bishop Latour always planned ahead and Father Valliant was always full of energy to go do what was needed right now. But these differences were what made the book so rich. Both served the Catholic and non-Catholic populations and touched people in different ways, and because they saw life so differently, the moments of togetherness were perfectly captured and realistic. Although other relationships among the people touched me, it was the friendship between the two missionaries that touched me most: they’d given up a life of ease for a life of struggle, all because they wanted to serve. Yet they still had each other to understand how hard it was. How they must have depended on each other! (I say as if they were real… Although Cather based them on real missionaries, the story was a fiction.)

Finally, Death Comes for the Archbishop actually is about death, but it’s also about life and memory. In her introduction, A.S. Byatt indicates that there is confusion with the title:

“It arouses expectations in the reader which are not fulfilled – that death and the Archbishop are of equal importance in the narrative, whereas in fact the Archbishop’s death is only one further incident in the series of frozen gestures, moments of insight, small comedies and agonies which make up the fresco.”

I agree that the Archbishop himself is of utmost importance. But so are the Indian friends, and the New Mexico landscape, and dear Father Valliant, none of whom are mentioned in the title. I think Cather chose to include death in the title because that is what life is: we live to die. I am dying right now. How we live (i.e., what we choose to do with our time) determines how we will eventually die.

As he entered his last convalescence, Bishop Latour gave this bit of wisdom:

“I shall not die of a cold, my son. I shall die of having lived.” (page 267)

Death Comes for the Archbishop tells the story of Bishop Latour’s death, which is how he lived. He lived in service to others, looking ahead and planning for the future. Only before his death could he stop considering the future and recall, with fondness, his past. Cather’s narrative is absolutely beautiful in capturing his story!

Now that I’ve finished this reread, I am incredibly excited for my book club meeting next Wednesday night! I feel I have so much I want to discuss, and this book has much more in it for discussion than My Antonia (which I think many people read in high school or college). I have barely touched on all the themes that stand out to me after these two reads. I just really hope the others didn’t get hung up on the “slow” aspects as I did at first.

If you hated My Antonia, have you tried this one? I’m curious to know if those who dislike Cather know about this masterpiece. This is, of course, much slower than Antonia in pacing (believe it or not), but the end result is far more rewarding, I believe.

Have you read any books lately that moved you emotionally (not necessarily in a tear-jerker kind of way)?

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Jesus the Christ by James E. Talmage

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 18:59:43 +0000

My Christmas was perfect: a low-key morning with a two-year-old who enjoyed just a little bit at a time; a leisurely and delicious brunch; plus a few hours of intense “kids-running-around-at-Grandma’s” visiting with family. A nice balance, and a fun time.

In terms of reading, I finished off my biography of Jesus on December 26. I was right: December was the ideal month for reading James E. Talmage’s 700+ page tome. Part gospel harmony, part historical explanation, and part doctrinal interpretation, Jesus the Christ follows the pre-mortal, mortal, and post-mortal mission of the Savior by interpreting the scriptures.

Talmage wrote his book in the first two decades of the twentieth century, in an era before computers could have helped him put things in order. The seamless nature of his book is therefore all the more impressive to me. Besides that, I really did enjoy the outmoded writing style. While Talmage’s scholarly tone makes it difficult to read quickly at first, I found it beautiful (and not as difficult) once I got used to it. It is clear Talmage is a Bible scholar, and he clarifies the context of the parables, the Jewish dissension, and other aspects of New Testament life with which I was unfamiliar: Talmage puts the New Testament events in context.

Talmage is also a scholar of Mormon doctrine, as his research and commentary gave me insights into the continuing nature of the mission of Jesus Christ. While he only briefly referred to the pre-mortal and post-mortal ministry of the Savior, he did regularly complement his New Testament commentary with references to Latter-day scripture.

As a whole, the book certainly focuses on the Latter-day Saint doctrines of the Savior, and therefore, I am not certain non-Mormon readers would find it so engaging or satisfying. Even Mormon readers need to keep in mind that this volume in one man’s interpretation of the key events and scriptures: I didn’t necessarily agree with all his doctrinal interpretations, and it’s interesting to consider the past 100 years of further gospel insight as I read. Talmage’s volume, although rather comprehensive, is still flawed and incomplete. Yet, reading it had encouraged me to better delve into the scriptures on my own and seek guidance and direction by reading the words of the living prophets.

This blog is not primarily a religious blog: it’s a reading blog. I’ll therefore keep this post brief by saying that I’m grateful I finely did submerge myself in this volume. While I was intimidated by its length and it does have some flaws, I found Jesus the Christ ultimately rewarding, especially at this Christmas season.

John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

We have this gorgeous illustrated edition on our coffee table, and I love browsing through my favorite pictures of Christ.

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A Stop in South Africa (Two Novels by Alan Paton) + Giveaway

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 19:34:10 +0000

In November, I reread Cry, the Beloved Country for my book club and then, because I loved that book so much, I read Too Late the Phalarope, also by Alan Paton.

Although I am glad I had a second experience with Paton’s South Africa, I still much preferred the first novel. I’d be happy to send you my lightly used copy of Too Late the Phalarope. See below for giveaway information.

Cry, the Beloved Country

When I read Cry, the Beloved Country as a teenager, it was on my mother’s suggestion. She loved the message of hope it portrays, and thought it would be one I’d enjoy. I recall that I did enjoy it, and while I remembered the basic plot and themes, I didn’t remember the details.

When I returned to it this year, I was a bit taken aback at first because the language is so difficult: it is in a Biblical style (I can’t think of a better way to describe it) and that adds a layer of complexity to the story. Dialogue is offset with only a dash at the beginning of the paragraph, so I was often confused where the dialogue ends and thoughts begin. This adds a surprisingly realistic feel to the man’s daily experiences in an overwhelming city.

To be honest, I didn’t like the writing style at first. As I mentioned, I did like the novel as a teenager, but this time, it really threw me off. I couldn’t read over breakfast or lunch or as my son played: I needed strict concentration – just me and the book – in order for the events and language to sink in. As I focused on the book, though, it gave back to me.

Cry, the Beloved Country is about two fathers, one white and one black. Stephen Kumalo is the Reverend of the very poor native community in the valley of Ndotsheni, and James Jarvis is the white farmer on the High Place above the valley. When Kumalo travels to Johannesburg in search of his son Absalom, the lives of the two men are inevitably brought together.

That sounds vague, as I don’t want to “spoil” the book. In some ways, Cry, the Beloved Country is about the dichotomy between being black in South Africa and being white. It is about rural life versus city life. It is about hatred versus forgiveness. As the black man and the white man come to know each other, they learn what it means to live and serve each other. They aren’t so different after all.

Alan Paton wrote Cry, the Beloved Country in 1947, and it was published in 1948, the year apartheid, the legal separation based on race, was made law in South Africa. It therefore portrays the country before whites were given legal permission to discriminate against the blacks. And yet, the traditional separation in the culture is obvious and heart-breaking. I believe that Paton’s purpose in writing the book is to illustrate how similar the two men (white and black) really are. Both are fathers, struggling to have a life full of purpose. Ultimately, Cry is about the hope for the future if only the other people in the country could have the same realization of equality among the human race.

I reread Cry, the Beloved Country specifically for my book club and we had a great discussion about the themes in the book. Most enjoyed the book, although two people disliked it and found it depressing. I personally wasn’t really crying throughout the book, but my throat kept getting all tight. It was painful to read. But I think it was necessary for me, because it helped me see the hope that comes from loving one another in our communities, even a community that is so full of inequality. It was a hopeful book to me.

One further note: I read most of a book of commentary and criticism (edited by Harold Bloom). While much of the criticism focused on the religious aspects and the symbolism, I found that many of the arguments felt like a stretch to me. Yes, this book is obviously intended to be a religious allegory: the writing style and the names, for example, hearken to Biblical elements. But for me, reading this book was about the hope I got from the character’s interactions, not about the symbolism.

Too Late the Phalarope

Alan Paton’s second novel, Too Late the Phalarope, has a different feel. It, too, has a Biblical tone to it and the dialogue is confused with thoughts. But I did not like the narrator, the spinster aunt Sophie, and writing style seemed affected and a little tedious. I’m not sure why the writing affected me in this novel, as it seems similar to the other. But the subject matter wasn’t as appealing to me either: it was not about hope.

Pieter is not just an Afrikaner lieutenant in the South African police corps, he’s also a star rugby player, husband and father, and once a star student. His father is pleased with his well-rounded son, but he has a little bit of reserve, since his son is too tender: he loves too much. Pieter, too, wishes that he, like the others around him, shrank away from black people and saw them as less than he is. But he cannot. Pieter loves people, regardless of race.

Ultimately, Too Late the Phalarope is about love. Pieter’s thoughts on love are complicated by his relationship with his wife, who is cold and distant to him. He loves her, and yet there is something missing between them. And Pieter’s deepest secret is that he is attracted to a black woman, which may be a capital offence in 1950s South Africa.

Too Late the Phalarope is not a happy book. Since Paton wrote it after apartheid had been made law, it seems he himself realized the backwards direction that the country was going: no longer is there the hope for a better future that he wrote about in his pre-apartheid book.

That’s not to say that a sad book isn’t good. It was good: it brought a painful issue to the forefront of political consciousness then, and there is relevance today as one looks at the issues of love it addresses. It just wasn’t my favorite book, and I don’t intend to reread it.

Would you like my lightly read copy of Too Late the Phalarope? Let me know in the comments.

I received this paperback used from a giveaway at Maw Books Blog more than a year ago, but it is in very good shape, with just slightly bent cover corners. This giveaway is open until Saturday morning, 4 December 2009. It’s open to anyone around the globe. If you are a regular reader (i.e., you have left a comment on Rebecca Reads before today), you get an extra entry in this giveaway.

A note on the title: A phalarope is a rare South African bird. I was very curious myself.

Have you read Alan Paton? Did you enjoy the writing style?

What books have you read with difficult or different writing styles? Did the writing style change your enjoyment of the book?

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A Selection of Poetry by John Donne

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 19:36:13 +0000

When I was about 75 pages into my slim, 98-page volume of John Donne’s poetry, I was bored. But then I read the last section of the book: the Divine Poems. After reading that section, I’m pretty sure I’ll be revisiting Donne’s poetry again.

I didn’t hate the beginning portion of the book; I just wasn’t all that interested. Occasionally, a poem interested me, but most of the time I just was not loving Donne’s poems, which often seemed to be well-written yet confusing love poems. I liked the writing style (I like to read it the beautifully written lines out loud) but the poems were complicated and non-interesting to me.

I decided I’d make it to the end. After all, my volume was very short (albeit with very small print). Then I wouldn’t feel bad to admit that “I just couldn’t get in to it.” But then came to the last section of the book.

I truly loved John Donne’s Holy Sonnets. There was something so personal and real about his discussions with God. I could relate on a personal spiritual level. And since I had just reread the play Wit, in which the main character discussed these poems as she prepared to die, it was emotional to read the poems.

I consider myself religious, so I related to Donne’s pleas to God for assistance and forgiveness. For example, in Sonnet 4, he calls out to his “black soul”:

Oh make thyself with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ’s blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.

There were so many other lines I loved:

…here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent; for that’s as good
As if thou hadst seal’d my pardon, with thy blood. (Sonnet 7)

a space

One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. (Sonnet 10)

a space

Batter my heart, three-person’d God …
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. (Sonnet 14)

a space

’Twas much, that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more. (Sonnet 15)

I found myself rereading these sonnets over and over again to make sure I understood, to fully internalize what Donne was saying about his own life and his personal desires for salvation.

In the end, I think John Donne is a poet to be reread and reread. Maybe then I will understand him a little bit more. I’m pretty new to poetry, and I don’t know how to “understand” it. But I do intend to revisit some of Donne’s poetry. In fact, I’m glad the volume I have is a slim collection, even if it did still take me a long time to work my way through this time around (I kept putting it off). I will pick it up again, and I will browse through it.

Some favorite poems include “The Good-Morrow”; “The Flea”; “The Bait”; “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning”; “The Will”; the sonnets included in this volume (1, 3-7, 9-10, 12-15, 17-19); and “A Hymn to God the Father” (which has a funny play on his name “thou hast done”). I admit: as I go through the volume to pick out favorites, there are a number more that jump out at me as “reread me now, please” poems, and I like them more and more with each read.

I also picked up a slim volume of (Harold Bloom edited) criticism on Donne’ poetry, but I haven’t gotten to it yet (I’ve only read the intro and the biography of John Donne). I may browse through it this weekend, but I admit I liked reading the poetry myself. I’m beginning to think reading someone else’s interpretation of a short poem takes away some of the fun. (This is coming from a former student of English who loves literary criticism!)

Do you ever read criticism to help you understand poetry? Have you read Donne?

Links of Interest:

If you have reviewed or shared thoughts on your blog about any of John Donne’s poetry, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Abraham Lincoln: A Man of Faith and Courage by Joe Wheeler

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 00:41:03 +0000

I am fascinated by Abraham Lincoln, and last month’s reread of Newbery-winner Lincoln: A Photobiography (reviewed here) only reinforced that.

Anthologist and “historian of ideas” Joe Wheeler has also been fascinated by Lincoln, and he spent seventeen years studying the fascinating man and collecting stories about him. Abraham Lincoln: A Man of Faith and Courage is Joe Wheeler’s collection of favorite stories from the life of the sixteenth president, focusing on the development of Lincoln’s faith and morals.

I really enjoyed the stories Wheeler collected. The book was personable and readable, so it moved quickly. Because I am religious, I appreciated the emphasis on Lincoln’s faith, and the first-person, opinionated side-notes, while completely unnecessary, made it feel like I was sitting by a rocking chair listening to my grandpa (or someone else’s grandpa) tell his favorite stories from Lincoln’s life. It felt like a book of reminiscences.

Despite that pleasant approach, I still ended up being disappointed at times. It’s important to realize that Wheeler’s Abraham Lincoln is not an academic biography. I’m a compulsive endnote reader, so when I read a story or quote, I immediately want to see where it came from; I’m constantly flipping to the back of the book to look at the sources. With this book, it seemed many of the stories were not documented; none of the epigrams (quotes by Lincoln before sections in the chapter) were documented; and many of the stories that were documented were taken from other biographies, not “original” material. To avoid being frustrated, I had to keep reminding myself that Wheeler is a compiler of stories, not an academic historian.

I tend to prefer my biographies to be fact rather than hearsay, and I tend to prefer a carefully written, non-personal narrator rather than a first-person narrator that writes in sentence fragments, even if the sentence fragments are more “readable.” But the purpose of this book was different: to build an image of the character of this man that so many people revere. The religious purpose behind the book was rather blatant, but because I knew what it was going in to it, I appreciated it. I wanted to read a book of stories about Lincoln’s faith.

Reading Abraham Lincoln: A Man of Faith and Courage as a collection of stories (and not as a biography) was certainly enjoyable. While reading Freedman’s Photobiography gave me a feel for the facts (Freedman was careful to only give information that was documented fact, claiming to refute the “myths”), Wheeler’s Abraham Lincoln gave me a feel for the traditional, inspiring personality that is the man Abraham Lincoln. I’m glad I read it, but unless you are specifically interested in the canon of stories relating to Lincoln’s faith, I’d probably recommend starting with something more factual and/or academic.

What type of biography do you prefer: academic (endnote heavy) or conversational (story-driven)?

I’ve only read these two biographies of Lincoln, although I have Team of Rivals on my upcoming radar. My interest in this man is still keen. What biography of Lincoln have you read and loved?

I read Abraham Lincoln: A Man of Faith and Courage for the U.S. Presidential Reading project.

If you have reviewed Abraham Lincoln: A Man of Faith and Courage on your blog, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Wit by Margaret Edson

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 11:23:52 +0000

The Summer Lovin’ Challenge is all about rereading favorites, so can you blame me for squeezing in a short reread this week? After I made my list, I couldn’t resist. I love rereading my favorite books!

Wit by Margaret Edson is a quick read (I think I read it in about an hour over the course of a day), but is poignant because of its emotional subject matter. Despite its brevity, it is packed full of various implications. I’m sure I miss most of the subtle meanings when I read it, so I enjoy rereading it. I get more out of it each time.

The play centers on Vivian Bearing’s last days in the hospital as she dies of ovarian cancer, with flashbacks to key moments in her life and career. Dr. Bearing is a professor of seventeenth century poetry, specifically of John Donne’s Holy Sonnets, and throughout the play, Bearing’s fears echo John Donne’s lines. Her impersonal medical care likewise parallels her own insensitive method of teaching students.

This play never fails to bring me to tears as I read it (or watch it), and I’m not certain why I like such intense emotion. I like the connections to words and how words can comfort and provide an imagined escape. I love the childhood books that are mentioned and the parallel between those books and the emotions that Dr. Bearing faces as her life comes full circle. I like the reminder that as people we need to recognize each other as such. This play had lonely people in it, and it made me want to make sure that others aren’t feeling lonely, whatever their stage in life.

The title, Wit, comes from the type of poetry that John Donne wrote, metaphysical poetry. The Wikipedia entry for “wit” says that “wit can be a thin disguise for more poignant feelings that are being versified” and cites John Donne as a great example of this. I certainly am not an expert at such things, so I can’t really discuss it. But reading Edson’s play is inspiring to me because I realize I have so much to learn. I love the way it makes me think. And now I want to go read John Donne’s poetry in depth.

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. (John Donne, Sonnet X)

Margaret Edson wrote Wit in 1995, when she was an elementary school teacher volunteering at a hospital cancer ward. The play won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1999.

I also rewatched the movie this week, which stars Emma Thompson. While it is certainly an adaptation of the play, it is very well done. I’ve never seen the play live, although I’d like too. It should be noted that the play itself has brief nudity at the end, which may be a bit surprising if one is not expecting it.

Other Reviews:

Semicolon (review of movie)

If you have reviewed Wit on your site, please leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

Do you like to read emotional books?

Are any of your favorite books “tear jerkers”?

Related posts:

The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 12:23:17 +0000

To my relief, I was not the only one at the book club meeting that didn’t love this month’s choice!

I don’t usually read modern fiction; it’s just not my thing, and I can’t really say way. Maybe I’m just always reading the “wrong” modern fiction and so it has a bad rap in my mind. I did try to have an open mind when I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo. I think discussing it with others did help me to give it more of a chance. I probably wouldn’t have finished it, despite its brevity, if I didn’t know the book club meeting was coming up.

In the end, I thought the writing trite and the underlying message saccharine. The author was aiming for a specific religious agenda, and it seemed forced and inappropriate to me. Besides, the back cover of The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo claims, “Every few decades a book comes along that changes the lives of its readers forever.” I guess that just meant that I expected more from it.

In The Alchemist, a young shepherd dreamed of the pyramids in Egypt. The next morning, he met a mysterious king who told him to follow his dream, so he sold his sheep and moved to Africa in search of the pyramids. When he was robbed of his money, he had to find a way to earn more so he could continue to follow his dream. In the desert on the way to Africa, he found other people searching for their “Personal Legends” (i.e., their life-long dreams). One man was afraid to pursue his dream; one man was so distracted in searching for his dream that he missed seeing it right in front of him. The alchemist, a wizard who turns lead into gold, guided the young boy to the pyramids, teaching him how to read nature to find the meaning of the omens on his way to accomplishing his “Personal Legend.”

The Alchemist has been termed a fable. As such, it is telling the story of everyone’s journey through life. It’s a spiritual book. The king at the beginning was Melchizedek of the Old Testament 4,000 years later, giving Santiago the Urim and Thummim to guide him when he struggles. Melchizedek and the alchemist paraphrased biblical truths throughout the book. Because The Alchemist is a parable of a spiritual journey, my thoughts about the book are spiritual and religious in nature.

The Negative

Of all the religious messages that are discussed in The Alchemist, one seems strangely absent: charity. Instead, it seemed to me that Santiago was encouraged throughout to be selfish in his quest, ignoring others (even a woman he loved) on the way. I believe that in reality, as Paul says many times in scripture, life is about serving other people.

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. …

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. …

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. (KJV, 1 Corinthians 13: 2, 8, 11-13)

I felt that Coehlo was encouraging us to follow childish things: random dreams that don’t really build us. Is Santiago’s box of gold really supposed to symbolize something precious in our spiritual life? That seems contrary to the gospel Jesus preached:

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (KJV, Mat 6:20-21)

The Positive

There was one part that I did like in the book, and that was Santiago’s work with the crystal merchant. Because Santiago wanted to continue his dream, he needed more money and therefore kept suggesting ideas to the merchant for improving business. At one point, the crystal merchant observed that because of the boy’s influence, he’d have to expand the shop, which may not be a good thing for him. He says,

I’m already used to the way things are. Before you came, I was thinking about how much time I had wasted in the same place, while my friends had moved on, and either went bankrupt or did better than they had before. It made me very depressed. Now, I can see that it hasn’t been too bad. The shop is exactly the size I always wanted it to be. I don’t want to change anything, because I don’t know how to deal with change. I’m used to the way I am. (page 57-58)

I do think it’s important for a person to be happy with the life he or she has chosen. Like the shopkeeper, we might be happy with the status quo when we realize our alternatives. Finding things that make us happy in our situations in life is very important. We should all have goals and dreams of some kind. Maybe this book can help people be proactive in finding those goals and dreams.

I do believe that personal dreams (or “Personal Legends,” if you insist) change as we grow older, as we make decisions, and as other people enter our lives. Our five-year-old dreams should grow up into adult dreams. Sometimes they may be similar, but they still have to be appropriate for adults.

And I think that loving and serving other people is a key to a happy life, not searching for physical treasure or selfishly abandoning others in order to pursue a childhood dream.

Did you like The Alchemist? Why or why not? Did you think Santiago was being selfish?

What was/is your dream? Has it changed throughout your life?

I had two dreams as a child: to write books and to travel. I’ve had the chance to travel (so someone’s going to say “but you already got your dream!”). It’s interesting: my family had the chance to spend a year living in Australia, and although I’d still love to travel through Europe, I’d be okay to never travel again. It’s really nice to stay in one place. I also no longer feel any compulsion to write a book. Raising a happy, healthy, well-developed son has replaced any other dreams I had. Maybe someday I’ll consider writing, but really, my dreams have changed since I was a child. I’m liking the motherhood and the reading things right now.

If you have reviewed The Alchemist on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

Other Reviews (I’m sure I missed a lot! These are just the first two pages from the search engine.)

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Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 11:00:54 +0000

In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis sets out to share what he believes the core of Christianity is. He makes it clear in the introduction that he is not sharing doctrines of a specific faith, but rather Christianity in general.

I hope no reader will suppose that “mere” Christianity is here put forward as an alternative to the creeds of the existing communions-as if a man could adopt it in preference to Congregationalism or Greek Orthodoxy or anything else. It is more like a hall out of which doors open into several rooms. If I can bring anyone into that hall I shall have done what I attempted. But it is in the rooms, not in the hall, that there are fires and chairs and meals. The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in. For that purpose the worst of the rooms (whichever that may be) is, I think, preferable. (I apologize I don’t have page numbers; I had to return the book to the library.)

In the end, I certainly appreciated C.S. Lewis’s analogies and explanations of Christianity. It encouraged me to ponder my own understandings and determine what I believe. It reminded me of lots of things I should do to improve myself. There are so many quotable analogies!

For just one example out of many, I need to eliminate the “rats in the cellar” of my life, even if I don’t see them every day:

[S]urely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of a man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in a cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats: it only prevents them from hiding. In the same way the suddenness of the provocation does not make me an ill-tempered man: it only shows me what an ill-tempered man I am. The rats are always there in the cellar, but if you go in shouting and noisily they will have taken cover before you switch on the light.

Mere Christianity, of course, describes what C.S. Lewis believes is core. In some respects, I think any Christian (well, if they were a good writer) could develop a similar book for their own understanding of the core of their faith. And while the “core” of this core would remain the same, I suspect there may be differences. Mere Christianity is not scripture, and Lewis is not a prophet.

I listened to the audiobook of Mere Christianity in March. While the book was only six hours long, it took me a few weeks to listen to it because my listening ended up being in 5 or 10 minute intervals. C.S. Lewis provides lots of analogies, and I was often confused how the analogy related to the point because my listening was so sporadic. I really didn’t enjoy listening to it, and I felt I needed to give it another chance, so I also read it in April. I am glad I gave it another chance because I enjoyed it a lot more.

I think part of the problem with audio format is that Lewis shares so many deep concepts that are meant to be pondered and applied to my own life. Listening to it in brief intervals confused me, rather than enlightened me. Reading it was much better.

C.S. Lewis’s strength lies in his analogies and his personal voice. His perspective is also significant, since he was an atheist until age 33. (He was 44 when he wrote this book.) The book was highly readable and personable, and the analogies followed his logic.

One of C.S. Lewis’s goals in writing this book was to bring everyone into the “hall” of Christianity (see quote above). Will atheists and other non-Christians be convinced of Christianity after reading this book? I don’t think so. I’m not a logic expert, but I’m not sure Lewis’s logic would convince anyone determined in their current beliefs. For me, a Christian, though, it was an interesting perspective on my faith.

Ironically, Mere Christianity began as a series of radio lectures, aired in the United Kingdom in 1942, in the midst of World War II. For me, it didn’t work in audio format. There were so many things to ponder and apply to my life that I feel it is a book to read and study in depth, probably more than twice. In the mean time, I should read the scriptures again.

What type of audiobooks work best for you? This month, I’ve been listening to children’s books and it is very pleasant. I often listened to nonfiction in the past, but this experience shared that some nonfiction doesn’t work well in 10 minute intervals.

Mere Christianity counts for the Dewey Decimal Challenge (200s).

Other Reviews:

The Bookshelf Reviews

If you have reviewed Mere Christianity on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

Related posts:

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 11:00:41 +0000

I loved reading Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, despite the fact that it was written with 1700s archaic language, with long sentences stringing thoughts together, with essentially no dialog and no characters (beyond Robinson Crusoe himself), and with basically no plot. And yet, I loved it. Putting in to words why I loved it is another matter: I’m not certain why, but I did enjoy it.

Robinson Crusoe is the account of the life of a man by the same name, and it is an adventure story. I don’t tend to enjoy adventure stories, but this was one for me, for Robinson’s adventure was one of practical survival and religious realization. I also loved the language with which it was told, archaic and unfamiliar though it was.

Robinson was a young man who left his comfortable home in England for a life of adventure on the open seas. In the coming years, he was captured by pirates and sold into slavery. He escaped and immigrated to Brazil, where he joined in a partnership of a successful tobacco plantation. Ultimately, he determined to become richer by entering the slave trade, and when the ship he was on was wrecked in a storm, he was the only survivor. He then lived on a deserted island near the New World for almost 30 years, making his little island highly productive. He eventually befriended a Native American he named Friday and with whom he was able to escape his isolation (which we know will happen from the beginning, since he’s sharing his story in retrospect).

Robinson’s adventures were most interesting to me once he landed on the island. The novel told of his fear and despair, but it also detailed his clever cultivation of the land, the wild goats, the wild grapes, and more. Although in England Robinson had been the spoiled son of a wealthy merchant, on his desert island he had to sew, milk animals, farm land, weave baskets, hunt, build a shelter, and otherwise sustain himself. He was his own world. This adventure of survival was fascinating to me.

I also mentioned that Robinson Crusoe was an adventure of religious realization. To some readers, this may feel like a remnant of the age, and they may not notice or care so much about the religious part of the adventure. Robinson Crusoe of course has an undercurrent of “what does religion mean?” because it was written in an era when religion was a more significant part of life, at least in the literature. It was written just a few decades after the incredibly popular religious allegory Pilgrim’s Progress (thoughts here), after all.

I personally loved the undercurrent. Robinson Crusoe was a rebellious boy who didn’t care for religion at all: and when he finds himself alone in an abandoned island, he must determine what he believes. It takes him a few years to pull out his Bible and read it, but for him, that is a significant step in his personal development. He realized how superficial his life had been, and he longs for spiritual fellowship. He regrets his “wickedness” (like joining the slave trade). I felt this change was a significant “adventure” underscoring the rest of the novel, too, since it was the personal change of the main (and only) character. It made me think about how and what I’d feel given such dire circumstances. It made Robinson a real person to me.

And yet, all that said, I don’t think one needs to search for or enjoy the religious aspect of Robinson Crusoe to enjoy the novel as a whole. It is still an adventure, a struggle for survival.

I thought it was a delightful classic read, although I did read the entire book aloud to my son and I wouldn’t suggest that; it’s hard to read aloud because of the convoluted grammar and it took quite a long time. (We’re reading a true “children’s book” this time.)

I have heard (especially in the chapter I’m reading of Seth Lerer’s Children’s Literature) there are a number of “abridgments” and “retellings” of Robinson Crusoe for children. I’ll have more about this in a few weeks, but I suspect the magic of the text is missing from those. I always hesitate to embrace an abridgment.

I read Little Women abridged for the first time. It was very disappointing to me. I loved it once I read it in the original, though.

What do you think of abridgements and retellings? Do you get them for your young children? Have you had a bad “abridgement” experience?

The Effect of Robinson Crusoe

It’s interesting how literature ebbs into society. Robinson Crusoe is the basis for all sorts of survival stories, television shows, and movies, and it has also become a part of society.

I took an economics class in college, and I seem to remember a few lectures that revolved around Robinson Crusoe and Friday, along these lines (please note that I’ve forgotten the correct economic terminology):

“If Robinson Crusoe was faster at weaving baskets and Friday was faster at chopping wood, it would be economically practical for Robinson Crusoe to specialize in basket weaving and Friday to specialize in wood chopping.”

And then we’d graph their (made-up) speeds and determine their comparative productivity. How fast would Robinson Crusoe need to become at chopping wood for him to (practically) change his specialty?

This very sketchy background sparked my interest in Robinson Crusoe. I knew that it involved a shipwrecked man on an island, and another man named Friday, but I knew few of the details.

Have you heard of Robinson Crusoe in daily culture? What do you know about Robinson and Friday?

Other Reviews:

Reading Comes From Writing

If you have reviewed Robinson Crusoe on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

Related posts:

Babylon in a Jar: New Poems by Andrew Hudgins

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 18:18:40 +0000

I mentioned at the beginning of the month that I first “got” poetry when I heard a presentation by the poet Andrew Hudgins, so I thought I’d take National Poetry Month to revisit some of his poetry.

Now, I’m a beginner at poetry. I don’t know how to write about it clearly and I don’t know how to interpret it “properly.” What I like about the poems in Babylon in a Jar, is that many of them don’t seem to need “interpreting.” Hudgins writes frankly and many of the poems are approachable simply as they are. Others have a bit of depth that I enjoy but that I’d rather not try to detail for you – simply because I’m probably “wrong” and don’t want to embarrass myself!

One common theme in Hudgins’ poetry is the ordinariness of life, along with the things that bring life out-of-the-ordinary. For example, in “Keys”, the narrator throws his keys in the air one pleasant afternoon, only to see them get stuck high above his reach. “In the Red Seats” tells of a drunk being a little too thankful at a baseball game. In two different poems called “Ashes”, two different characters at two different memorial services reflect on the cans of human ashes. The poems are humorous and yet painful as we recognize our own short sojourn on earth and how simple things can make us feel uncomfortable when we realize that.

Other poems have deeper meanings as Hudgins reflects on how the present time echoes the past civilizations that were once great (such as Babylon). Hudgins also has a deep distaste for organized religion that he expertly explored in such poems as “Stump” (a poem that I enjoy very much; the fact that I enjoy it strikes me as rather odd because [1] I consider myself religious and [2] the poem is about a chicken getting its head cut off). These “deeper” poems were also great, although I admit I don’t fully understand them.

The poem that stood out to me most upon this read of Babylon in a Jar was “We Were Simply Talking.” In this poem, a couple nearly crashes their car and the narrator realizes all that he loves and how much he does not want to die. This poem really stood out to me at this point in my life because I had an experience a few years ago when I realized I was going to die. (Moral: If you are going to swallow meat without chewing it, make sure an ER doctor is sitting behind you.)

Here’s how “We Were Simply Talking” ends:

Suddenly the radio roared, and by the car
a dog barked wildly and, yes, we were fine.
Fine. We were fine. But what was “fine,” I wondered,
and why do we always, always have to speak?

Note: I’d love to quote “We Were Simply Talking” in full, but due to copyright, I’m unable to do so. Please find a copy of it: it is incredibly powerful.

I loved revisiting Andrew Hudgins’ poetry in Babylon in a Jar. Visit Andrew Hudgins at Poets.org. Other books he has published are these:

Ecstatic in the Poison (poetry; 2003)
Babylon in a Jar (poetry; 1998)
The Glass Anvil (essays, 1997).
The Glass Hammer: A Southern Childhood (poetry, 1994)
The Never-Ending: New Poems (poetry, 1991),a finalist for the National Book Awards
After the Lost War: A Narrative (poetry, 1988), received the Poetry Prize
Saints and Strangers (poetry, 1985), a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize

Have you read any of Andrew Hudgins’ poetry?

Other Reviews:

If you have reviewed Babylon in a Jar on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Christ and the New Covenant by Jeffrey R. Holland

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 00:55:03 +0000

Christ and the New Covenant by Jeffrey R. Holland contains Elder Holland’s insights into the imperative role of Jesus Christ in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by reviewing Christ’s role throughout The Book of Mormon. Some chapters had a “devotional talk” feel (and in fact were expansions of Elder’s Holland’s previously given addresses) and other chapters felt more like his personal notes and understandings of the scriptures. In both cases, I enjoyed reading Elder Holland’s testimony of Christ and of The Book of Mormon, and his writing style was easy to read and absorb, as it normally is.

Elder Holland includes many extensive quotes from The Book of Mormon, and while he makes it clear that is not a substitute for personal scripture study, it was a nice book to read with my husband each evening (over the past six months).

Because it is written for a strictly Mormon audience, it probably holds little interest to those who are not Mormon. In fact, if you are not a believer of Mormonism, Christ and the New Covenant is probably not the place to start, only because Elder Holland’s purpose seems to be to inspire, more than to teach.

I debated whether or not I’d review this book for Rebecca Reads, since it is certainly out of my ordinarily scheduled reading. I finally decided to review it simply because it was a book that I would highly recommend to any LDS reader interested in a book of this nature. I enjoyed reading it, and I don’t want to forget that. (I’m now coveting the newly published illustrated edition, but my hardcover edition is quite pretty too.)

Do you review everything you read? Why or why not?

I honestly can’t remember if I have omitted any books from my reviews since I began blogging last May. For future reference, though, I probably will omit reviews if I didn’t like a book, if I don’t have anything to say about it, and/or I know there is very little interest.

Related posts:

The Life of Our Lord by Charles Dickens

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 14:00:45 +0000

Charles Dickens wrote one book that never appears on his “collected works” lists. That is The Life of Our Lord, a “child’s new testament” that he wrote for his own children for Christmas one year. It was first published in 1934, 64 years after Dickens’s death.

In The Life of Our Lord, Charles Dickens retells the major events in the life of Jesus Christ. He obviously omits a lot, but he focuses on what he wants his children to know. It is an intriguing look at the life of Christ and at the specific faith of Charles Dickens. I appreciated the way he wrote as if speaking directly to a child, and I am glad I read it.

All that said, I wasn’t very impressed with this short children’s book. Publishers warned readers not to expect a typical Dickens book from it, and I have to say I agree: I don’t think it’s typical. It was written for children and for specific children at that (his own). For that reason the tone is incredibly casual.

As I read, I kept thinking “I want to write something like this for my own child!” Because Dickens is writing for his own purposes, he writes what he feels is most important, explicating his own theological understanding on the events of Christ’s life. It is perfectly appropriate, and yet it made me want to do the same with my own understanding and beliefs about the life of Christ. I want my children to know what I believe and what I love from the life of Jesus Christ.

While he was alive, Dickens asked that The Life of Our Lord never be published while he was alive; he wrote it for his family and wanted it to say in the family. In the 1930s, it was published by his descendants. More information can be found at Wikipedia.

The bottom line: I recommend reading The Life of Our Lord if you’re interested in Dickens’ faith and understanding of the life of Jesus Christ. The Life of Our Lord may interest you and inspire you, but I don’t think it’s full of quality Dickens writing. I’m not very inclined to whole-heartedly recommend that you read The Life of Our Lord; it’s purpose wasn’t for me or you or anyone else to read it. I felt like I was reading a personal letter Dickens wrote to his children.

Do you think it was right of Dickens’ descendants to publish The Life of Our Lord? Dickens hadn’t asked that publication be avoided forever, but he obviously wanted to keep it in the family. If you wrote something you never wanted published, what would you think if someone published your writing against your wishes? What if you’ve been dead a long time?

Have you reviewed The Life of Our Lord? Leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Anthem by Ayn Rand + A Giveaway

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 14:00:41 +0000

Equality 7-2521 lives in a dark futurist dystopia in Ayn Rand’s novella Anthem. He has no words for love or self, and being alone is a crime. Yet, as do characters in countless other dystopian novels, he still finds moments to write his story of discovery.

By itself, Anthem is slim – just 100 pages – and quick to read. I enjoyed the story of Equality 7-2521’s literal self-discovery and I love the concepts within it: What is joy? What is pleasure? What is self?

Anthem has its faults, notably a complex ideology that Rand obviously hopes to impart to the reader. For me, this philosophy seemed to overshadow the story of Equality 7-2521 a bit too much. But, because it is a slim story, it was still a worthwhile reread for me.

Rereading this novella reminded me of the need to reread the classic dystopian novels: Animal Farm, 1984, and so forth. From my dim memories, Rand’s dystopia most reminds me of the dystopia in The Giver, for, like Jonas, Equality 7-2521 learns of what life was like before the dystopia, which in Equality 7-2521’s case is called “the Unmentionable Times.” The difference is that in Jonas’ world, the high councilmen (can’t remember what they are called) have kept a person that has those memories (called The Giver); in Anthem, even the memories are gone and all must be rediscovered.

In some respects, I found Anthem to be much more compelling than The Handmaid’s Tale, another dystopia-tale I read recently, because the narration made sense in Anthem. If Equality 7-2521 doesn’t have a word for something, he uses words he does have. Tense don’t shift. It is written in one chronological time frame, although he does share some flash backs of his life history as he writes in his journal. (It still bothers me that I can’t explain how the handmaid in Atwood’s novel told her story since the tenses were so “off.”) That said, Anthem is a completely different story than The Handmaid’s Tale and it has a different agenda. While The Handmaid’s Tale looked at religion as totalitarian disaster, Anthem does not. This dystopia is godless and religion-less, as is Equality 7-2521’s ultimate escape. The only god in Anthem is the individual. And that is to what the novel sings an “anthem” to.

This also reminded me of Ella Minnow Pea, silly as it was. In that novel, once or twice Ella mourned the day the “I” would fall off of the memorial and she’d no longer be able to express herself: “I love you.”

And celebrating the power of “I” is also Rand’s goal in her writing. My volume has a 10-page introduction and a 10-page appendix discussing Rand’s philosophy and how Anthem is a precursor to her further philosophical treatises/novels (Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead). Rand developed her own philosophy, called objectivism. I’m sorry to say, reading this novel and the front and end matter has only confused the issue of “objectivism” in my mind. It seems quite complicated. But the gist seems to be that no overarching power – government or religion – is more powerful than each individual; by extension there is no god and there is no faith because truth is given power only through reason. For more information on objectivism, visit Wikipedia’s entry, The Ayn Rand Institute, or the user-created Objectivism Wiki.

As one who believes in God and faith, though, I didn’t find Rand’s political agenda to be remarkably or annoyingly atheist, however. I believe celebrating the individual can go in harmony with religion and Anthem was an appropriate “hymn” to that individual.

Martel-Harper Challenge

In reading Yann Martel’s letter to Stephen Harper about this book, I have to say, he gave up the entire plot. Although his letter is amusing and sarcastic, don’t read his letter until you read the book. I’d be annoyed if I were Stephen Harper. Sometimes I really hate spoilers! (Other times I read the last page first.)

A Giveaway

My copy of Anthem has the most recent publication of the novel as well as a facsimile of Rand’s edits to the original 1938 U.K. publication. (Publishers in the U.S. would not publish Anthem until 1946, apparently for political reasons.) I’ve read the novella twice; the first time was for a book club, so I marked two or three passages with pen in the margin. Other than that, it’s in excellent condition.

I’d like to giveaway my copy. (Remember my poll about giving away used books? This book is used and does have pen markings in it. If you don’t want it for that reason, I understand.) If you would like to be entered into the drawing, tell me in a comment below. I’ll select a winner next week.

What is your favorite dystopian novel? I’m in the mood to read some more of them.

Have you read Ayn Rand’s masterpieces? What are your thoughts on objectivism within those books? Is the plot overshadowed by philosophy?

If you have reviewed Anthem on your site, please leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 14:00:28 +0000

Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn has the apt subtitle “A Novel in Letters.” Through a series of epistles between friends and family members, we learn of the tragedy most recently befalling (literally) the fictional small island-country of Nollop.

The tragedy is this: Slowly but surely, the letters are falling off of the national memorial:

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Unfortunately for Ella and her friends, the local government believes that this is a sign from the God-like Nevin Nollop, the native-son who created the pangram (the sentence above, which uses each letter of the alphabet). Therefore, when the first letter falls, it is decreed that no one in Nollop is to implement said letter in speech or in writing: Nollop himself is challenging the citizens of the country from beyond the grave to better express themselves.

Fortunately, that letter is “z.” No one will miss “z,” will they? But when the “Q” and “D” and “J” also fall, writing and speaking to each other becomes a little more difficult.

At first glance, Ella Minnow Pea is what you’re probably thinking:

A quirky novel with pages of zany, jumbled lexicon.

But at second glance, this is a story of a dystopia, and a reminder to all word-lovers of the significance and influence of each letter, A to Z.

Ella Minnow Pea has its faults (limited setting; predictable plot development; superficial characterization). But I believe it meets its goal (satiric commentary on religion and totalitarian dystopias) in a delightful way that resonates with me, a word-lover.

One of the reviews on the back cover of the book calls Ella Minnow Pea a “satire of human foibles, and a light-stepping commentary on censorship and totalitarianism.” So it’s a good thing I defined satire a few weeks ago; now I can actually recognize it as such!

Of what, then, is Ella Minnow Pea suggesting a remodeling, through its humor and wit? I think it’s suggesting that religionists get a little overboard with attributing things to “divine will.” It’s also suggesting that governments take on too much power, as this should never have been a “governmental” issue.

But Ella Minnow Pea is also a commentary on freedom of speech, on censorship, and on how quickly a heaven-on-earth can change into a totalitarian state, once those freedoms are gone. What freedoms do we take for granted? More specifically, what letters do we take for granted?

All that said, Ella Minnow Pea is “zany.” It’s fun. And, if you like and appreciate words, it’s full of fun language that plays with words. It helps you see how we need each and every letter: we use them all all of the time.

One person is banished for using a “d” in her letter. I had to read the letter three times to find the “d.” It was interesting to see how quickly my eyes pass over it, how easily we take each letter for granted.

I think I’d personally be most sad to lose the letter “R.” I couldn’t say my R’s until first grade (thank you Speech Teacher!), and so I guess I want to keep the wonderful sound in my repertoire. Not only is “R” an imperative part of my first, middle, and last names, but it’s so much fun to roll, especially in Spanish: “Relámpagos!”

I suppose I would be least sad to see “Z” go. We could start spelling many words with an “S” as they do in the British Commonwealth and substituting an “S” in other places.

What letter do you most appreciate? Which letter could you do without? Can you write your own pangram? (It’s harder than you think!)

Other Reviews:

If you have reviewed Ella Minnow Pea on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling by Richard Lyman Bushman

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 14:00:07 +0000

The life of the Mormon Prophet Joseph Smith, although short, was full of faith and controversy. In his cultural biography, Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling, Richard Lyman Bushman approaches Joseph Smith’s life for all it was, without apology.

Bushman does not omit controversy from Joseph’s life; rather, controversy surrounding Joseph is carefully researched in the context of early 1800s America. As a fellow believer in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormon Church), I readily enjoyed what I felt was a balanced examination a person I consider a prophet in his era. While Bushman’s account is certainly biased toward Joseph Smith as a prophet, I felt it was a fair look at both man and prophet.

Joseph Smith’s World

In his May 2005 lecture at “The Worlds of Joseph Smith” conference at The U.S. Library of Congress, Richard Bushman examined the various histories given to Joseph Smith:

The context in which [Joseph Smith] is placed effects how one sees the prophet. It colors everything about him.

In his biography, Bushman attempts to put Joseph Smith in the cultural context that helped form him in to the man and prophet that he was: the subtitle is “A Cultural Biography of Mormonism’s Founder.”I think he did an excellent job.

The Life (and Controversy) of Joseph Smith

Because Joseph Smith only kept a personal journal for six months, much of what we know is from other’s journals, public reports, and the cultural context of his life. Though he only lived 39 years, Joseph Smith profoundly believed in the revelations he had received. He also lived with an abundance of persecution. (More about Joseph Smith here.)

Revelation and Faith

Joseph Smith was a teenager when, following a personal prayer, he had a vision. Years later, he was led to an ancient record and given the power to translate it, which resulted in the Book of Mormon.

While for Joseph these experiences were calls from God for him to lead, he seldom talked about his visions: he instead emphasized baptism and repentance, among other things. He had boundless hope for personal salvation. One facet of the Mormon religion is the fact that each person is able to receive personal revelation to help them through their lives.

Joseph Smith’s life was formed by what seems to be miraculous religious experiences, and as he said on many occasions,

I don’t blame you for not believing my history[;] had I not experienced it [I] could not believe it myself. (page 551)

He certainly believed he had these experiences: he never doubted himself. Reading his history shows me his optimistic hope.

Persecution for Religion and Politics

When Joseph first discussed his miraculous vision with local church leaders as a teenager, he was scorned and told his vision was of the devil. Thus began a lifetime of persecution, for young Joseph was certain his vision was from God. His family and followers were driven from New York State and later Ohio. In Missouri, Mormons were driven out by mobs. Ultimately, he was murdered in Illinois and the remaining Mormons were driven from the state.

Surprisingly, much of the persecution stemmed from politics. For example, in Ohio, a failed economic cooperative angered the locals; in Missouri, Mormons were northerners settling in a slave state. In Illinois, Mormons sought redress from various political parties, rewarding loyalty to any leader supporting them. Joseph Smith, frustrated by the government’s lack of any redress for the violence against his followers, decided to run for president himself. The cultural background for persecution was fascinating to discover.

Some persecution was religious discrimination. I also found the cultural rationales for this discrimination interesting.

Polygamy

The Mormons in 1843 Nauvoo, Illinois, could not imagine living in a polygamous society. Bushman did a marvelous job at expressing the shock that this doctrine had on the small community of Mormons. Joseph had doctrinal reasons for instituting the practice, and divine inspiration convinced him it was of God. Personal revelation allowed others to likewise feel divinely inspired, as Bushman showed. Bushman does not apologize for the practice but rather provides a fascinating look at the cultural context.

(While I do believe that Joseph Smith was inspired, I also believe that polygamy practiced today is not; I personally cannot explain why it was necessary to be practiced in Nauvoo in the 1840s. For the church position on polygamy in the past and today, visit the LDS.org Newsroom.)

Unbiased or Not?

Is it possible to provide an unbiased account of a man many consider to be a prophet? Bushman is an expert of Puritan and early United States history as well as a practicing Mormon. In his introduction, he discusses the challenges to writing Joseph Smith’s biography:

… To protect their own deepest commitments, believers want to shield their prophet’s reputation. On the other hand, people who have broken away from Mormonism … have to justify their decision to leave. … For a character as controversial as Smith, pure objectivity is impossible. What I can do is to look frankly at all sides of Joseph Smith, facing up to his mistakes and flaws. … (page xix)

To get inside the movement, we have to think of Smith as the early Mormons thought of him and as he thought of himself – as a revelator. (page xxi)

The Bottom Line

Bushman is a believer in Joseph Smith as a prophet, as am I. Is his history of Joseph Smith biased? Yes, of course. But his history would also be biased if he didn’t believe Joseph Smith was a prophet. As it was, I loved Bushman’s biography of Joseph Smith, and I learned about a man who was certainly not perfect. I appreciate Joseph Smith and his life’s work and sacrifice all the more knowing he’s imperfect.

Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling has been widely received in academic circles. I imagine that anyone interested in a well-researched cultural biography of Joseph Smith and the founding of Mormonism would probably appreciate Bushman’s biography. It’s the only one of its kind.

It probably doesn’t exist, but I’m now looking for a balanced biography of Brigham Young. Any recommendations?

If you have reviewed Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling on your blog, please leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 10:00:07 +0000

In The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood creates a powerful futuristic dystopia in which a quasi-religious political organization has taken control of the United States, creating a men-centered universe determine to procreate, even if via “handmaids.”

In the attitude of George Orwell’s 1984, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, Lois Lowry’s The Giver, and I’m sure many others, Atwood’s dystopia is a dire reminder of the danger of extremism. It is a chilly tale of life under fanatical leaders and the danger of swinging from one extreme to the other. It was an intriguing story of how a changing law changes one’s moral acceptance of things. I literally had a hard time putting down the captivating story.

I enjoyed the narrative. I enjoyed the pacing of the story. I sympathized with the narrator. I was fascinated by the political warnings of what the world could come to. But I can’t say I loved The Handmaid’s Tale. It is one that many people should read, but it’s not a favorite that I will reread.

What I Didn’t Like

While I found Atwood’s tale to be engaging and fascinating, I disliked a number of things about this book.

Religion

My main dislike was the negative portrayal of religion. Certainly, religious extremism is real on the earth. However, I personally found some concepts in this book to be a horrible distortion of religion (for example, that sex with a nameless handmaiden in a distorted “ceremony” is more sacred than IVF or other methods of conceiving a child in love). As a religious woman who believes in God’s command to “Multiple and replenish the earth,” I still believe in birth control. I still believe in a woman’s right to choose (although I personally disagree with abortion). I still believe sex is a beautiful gift from God, not a distorted “ceremony” only for conception of children. One can believe in religion without being extreme.

Reading a book showing distorted Christianity helped illustrate to me why followers of Islam might be frustrated when people assume that fanatical Muslims represent all Muslims. I can better sympathize to that frustration now.

Sexuality

In The Handmaid’s Tale, sexuality was a political tool, and obviously, the handmaid (the narrator) was defined by her ovaries. I don’t read books with lots of sexuality in them, and I wasn’t unduly concerned with sexuality in this book since I knew the premise of the novel when I began it. However, I can’t see myself rereading it, and I would hesitate to recommend it to anyone easily bothered by excessive sexuality in fiction.

The Narrator

Woman in the dystopia were not allowed to read or write, and the unnamed narrator had no materials for writing. Supposedly, this story was told on to cassette tapes found 150 years later. However, the story was told mostly in the present tense, as events were happening. I had a hard time determining how the narrator could tell her story on to cassette tapes as events were happening. It seemed so unrealistic that it bothered me throughout the narrative.

Suspension of Disbelief

I had small disbeliefs, but my main disbelief was in the basic premise: over the course of five years or so, the U.S. government was slaughtered in a massacre, a religious fanatical group took over, banks denied access to all women, and second marriages became illegal and children of those marriages confiscated by the government. Not only that, but children were suddenly very scarce because most people didn’t want to become pregnant, women couldn’t become pregnant, and one in four children were born with horrible birth defects that made the child mortality rate very high. I had a hard time believing that all these things would suddenly allow the creation of a society where a formerly married woman accepts being a handmaid for a married man. I realize Atwood wanted to create a society within the narrator’s viable childbearing years, but the rapid development of such a radical society was so unbelievable as to bother me.

What I Liked

As I read, I kept disbelieving: is it really possible that an outrageous political group could take control of the country and turn the nation, in five years, from a free society to one where women had to be veiled? Is it really possible that Japanese tourists would visit the former USA and take photos of such oppressed women?

There is no way the world would let it happen. I thought time and again. The population of the country would never support such radical moves. There is no way they’d accept such propaganda.

And then I remembered: 1932. The National Socialist German Workers Party was democratically elected to power. Within six years, non-Nazi leaders and Jewish peoples were being taken to concentration camps.

The Nazis, an “extreme” political group, came to power because people let them; the people were politically apathetic. The rest of the world let the Nazis take over; after all, they were elected.

When I read Einstein’s biography a few months ago, I learned that Einstein himself expressed apathy to the political situation in the early 1930s: “It will blow over once the economy improves,” he said to reporters. But the Nazis didn’t go away. They took more and more power and made their agenda into a World War.

Other societies on earth deny freedoms, and the world likewise watches.

The Bottom Line

The Handmaid’s Tale, then, is an important addition to dystopian literature and an important reminder of our individual role in political affairs. I certainly don’t like Atwood’s image of the world before the government takeover (pornography is rampant; high pollution causes birth defects; low birthrates encourage kidnappings in supermarkets). But Atwood’s warning-dystopia is even more disturbing.

Let us each take some role in our governments; let’s not let either extreme happen. Vote if you can: Your society depends on your voice.

It seems most people love The Handmaid’s Tale; I’m probably the small minority that only “liked” it, although I’m sure some people hated it. What did you think of The Handmaid’s Tale? Why did you love it? Did anything bother you about it, or am I the only one?

Other reviews:

If you have reviewed The Handmaid’s Tale on your site, please leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

For the rest of October, I’ll donate 10 cents to World Food Programme for every (non-spam) comment I receive on any post of Rebecca Reads. See most post on Blog Action Day 2008 here. I’m also donating any proceeds (4%) from my Amazon Store.

I’m giving away books! Visit here to enter the contest.

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Ingenuity and Authority: Who Really Wrote Aesop’s Fables?

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 13:00:58 +0000

A few months ago, I read a version of Aesop’s Fables that I found online at Project Gutenberg, written and published in the early 1900s. I thought I’d read Aesop’s Fables.

I was interested, then, to read in chapter two (“Ingenuity and Authority”) of Seth Lerer’s Children’s Literature: A Reader’s History from Aesop to Harry Potter that Aesop’s fables differ markedly from generation and generation. The history of Aesop’s fables (the Aesopica), then, illustrates how the translators changed the message of a translated text, especially in literature for children. This prompted a question: How are the authors’ purposes and translators’ objectives subversively included in modern children’s literature, and does it matter?

Fables as Nursery Lessons

Fables, Lerer explains, were (and are) the child’s first “lesson in the arts of the literary imagination” (page 37).

[Fables] take parts for wholes, draw on particulars for generalizations, make mute creatures speak. Their status in the nursery or in the classroom rests not simply on moral or didactic goals, but on their metaphorical enchantment. … the heart of the Aesopic fable is a form of impersonation: of animating the inanimate, of turning abstractions into realities. (page 37, page 38)

Even the most original of the Aesopica had some didactic goals. Lerer explains that “Aesop became a touchstone for an understanding of life itself” (page 38), and Aristophanes, Plato, and other writers often referred to Aesop in their texts as underlying examples of a basic nursery education. Hearing Aesop, then, appears comparable to a modern child learning to sing the ABCs. It was an understood part of growing up.

Aesop as Religious Lessons

Through the centuries, various translations of the Aesopica were made, each drawing on the vernacular language of the age. Following the advent of Christianity, translations of Aesop began to emphasize different aspects: instead of being moral life tales, they became Christian parables with religious undertones. Further, Aesopic texts for children in medieval schools included commentaries to explain correct behavior.

Some of the Aesopica still retained a sense of literacy, and some later translators maintained a sense of “wit” rather than “the heavy hand of the school teacher” (page 46). But the bottom line is this: “Translation is transmission” (page 47). With the advent of the printing press, Aesop was often the first text printed, and the translator could rewrite it as he or she desired.

Do We Need Aesop Today?

Obviously, with the advent of a further children’s literature, children can look anywhere for “metaphorical enchantment.” But when reading Aesop a few months ago, I was surprised to recognize familiar stories and semi-familiar characters.

Lerer also recollects how the Aesopica has been reincorporated into other literature: Hamlet’s conversation with the skull, Yorick, for example, has shadows of Aesop (“scattered fragments of an old tradition,” says Lerer, page 56). Aesop speaks today through such fragments, and the new metaphors are the ones familiar to this generation. You probably have read remnants of the Aesopica without ever picking up a book labeled “Aesop’s Fables.”

Further, I was struck by the brief history Lerer recounted. The translator’s and publisher’s agendas transformed the fables into a new literature, thus calling in to question the authenticity of the “original” fable itself. Each new translation became its own work of literature, designed to meet the needs of the children of that age, as the “translator” deemed appropriate.

For me, this calls to mind, then, the various recent debates about works for children today that are obviously created with an agenda. As I haven’t read some of those debated books, I can’t give an opinion of those. I don’t have answers, only questions, and I think it leads to an interesting discussion.

Looking back on the history of Aesop, I wonder: Does it matter why a work was created for children? What is the value of didactic or even subtle “agenda” literature? Did children in the medieval ages know, care, or notice why and how the Aesop they read was created? Would we, as parents, resent the agenda of the translator, and if so, how can we pay attention to the agenda of the author today?

For the rest of October, I’ll donate 10 cents to World Food Programme for every (non-spam) comment I receive on any post of Rebecca Reads. See most post on Blog Action Day 2008 here. I’m also donating any proceeds (4%) from my Amazon Store.

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Stories by Flannery O’Connor

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 13:00:32 +0000

To understand Flannery O’Connor’s short stories is understand the rural South that she was familiar with in the pre-1970s. Her stories focus on aspects character in human, every-day situations all revolving around her South, dealing with race relations, Christianity, rural versus city living, parent-child relationships, etc. She brings the reader into the settings by capturing thought processes, a style I found engaging. I enjoyed reading her stories, although they illustrated a lack of hope in human nature.

Themes

Race and Class

I found the most common theme in Flannery O’Connor’s stories is race and class, looking at conflict between generations. A great example is “Everything that Rises Must Converge.” In this story, a progressive young man must ride the bus with his older mother to the YMCA because she is “afraid” of the blacks on the integrated buses. He wants to teach her a lesson, but in the end he realizes he still needs his mother, as “old-fashioned” as she is.

Race and class often mix in O’Connor’s stories. In “Revelation,” a self-satisfied judgmental woman is baffled when a young girl calls her a rude name; in the end, she (maybe) realizes the folly of her judgments.

Other stories clearly dealing with race and class also include rural versus city conflicts. Some of these stories are “The Artificial Nigger” (a father and son visit Atlanta); “The Displaced Person” (a Jewish refugee family joins the farm); “A Late Encounter With the Enemy” (Grandpa fought in the civil war); and “The Geranium” and “Judgment Day” (an old man, living in New York City with his daughter, longs to return to the South to die; these are essentially the same story, one written at the beginning and one at the end of O’Connor’s career).

Isolated, Lonely People

Some of my favorite stories were about lonely, isolated individuals seeking for a place. In “The Crop,” a lonely woman sits down to write a short story-and forgets where she is. I love this story because I can relate to this writer: she can’t figure out how to get the story from her head to paper. In “A Stroke of Good Fortune,” the woman ponders a fortune teller’s message, and the reader, following her thoughts, knows what it is. I loved how clueless she was as I followed her thought process.

While others weren’t favorites, they were also about lonely, isolated people: “You Can’t Be Any Poorer Than Dead” (14-year-old must bury his grandfather); “Good Country People” (a lonely girl with a wooden leg finally trusts someone, the good country man selling bibles); “The Life You Save May Be Your Own” (mother gets her mute daughter married to a nice, good country man); “A View of the Woods” (a lonely, selfish grandfather idolizes his granddaughter); and “The Enduring Chill” (a lonely, unsuccessful writer returns to Georgia to die).

Christianity (Good versus Evil)

Flannery O’Connor’s stories also deal with Christianity and good versus evil in general. Her view of good and evil in the face of Christianity is intriguing.

“A Good Man is Hard to Find” is probably the most familiar O’Connor story, but I really don’t like it. Grandma gets her family lost on a side road. They meet a murderer, who Grandma is sure she recognizes as a good man. I think it’s a look at how everyone has good, and yet, we’re all missing good too; we’re all condemned. I find it a bit disturbing.

In other stories, people try to save each other through religion and because of religious training. In “The River,” the boy’s caretaker, Mrs. Conin, wants to “save” him with religion. In “Parker’s Back,” Parker gets one more tattoo that he thinks his religious wife will appreciate. In “The Comforts of Home,” Thomas’s mother thinks she can save a loose woman from corruption. In “The Lame Shall Enter First,” Sheppard thinks he can redeem a criminal boy who shows more promise than his own son.

Compared to the Others

I found Flannery O’Connor’s stories to be completely unlike the others I’ve read in the past few months. And yet, I still try to compare and contrast.

As did Chekhov, O’Connor focuses on specific characters in a specific setting, keeping the scenarios tight. Somewhat like Maupassant, O’Connor’s stories focus on base human desires and situations. In contrast to James Joyce, who was careful to develop a scene, O’Connor throws us into it to a scene and we must feel our way until we understand the setting (and yet it is still marvelously developed). Also, while Hemingway captured scenes mostly through dialog, O’Connor captures her scenes through incredibly realistic thought processes.

Unlike O. Henry, her stories are not “feel good.” In fact, I almost hated reading some of the stories, because I knew, following her style, that just before the character finds redemption, something would go wrong and they’d be damned, or killed, or otherwise without hope. In subject matter, then, I think her stories most closely resemble Jhumpa Lahiri’s stories in Interpreter of Maladies, which capture the isolation immigrants feel. While O’Connor’s characters aren’t immigrants to the United States, they seem similarly confused by their loneliness in a changing Southern environment.

HTR&W

I didn’t agree with a lot of Harold Bloom’s comments in How to Read and Why on the specific stories he discusses, but his general comments on O’Connor’s style are interesting. He focuses on the religious aspect of her work, how everyone ends up damned as I mentioned above, and how O’Connor doesn’t expect anyone to be redeemed.

…the best way to read her stories is to begin by acknowledging that one is among her damned, and then go on from there to enjoy her grotesque and unforgettable art of telling.

Harold Bloom captures what my main gripe was with O’Connor’s stories, although he thinks it’s a beautiful trait. It is, but it’s still a bit annoying in bulk:

…readers need to be wary of her tendentiousness: she has too palpable a design upon us, to shock us by violence into a need for traditional faith.

I sometimes didn’t like the violent shock at the end of each story: but that may be because I was reading all of her short stories in the same week. If you read Flannery O’Connor, read her in installments.

In the end, Flannery O’Connor certainly has a marvelous but morbid story telling ability.

Have you read Flannery O’Connor? What do you think of her stories? Did you like “A Good Man is Hard to Find”?

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The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 22:00:50 +0000

Anton Chekhov’s “The Student” is the perfect story.

Decide for yourself by reading it at Project Gutenberg (1,500 words) or listening to it at LibriVox (10 minutes). Note that I read a new translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.

Here are some elements that make it perfect for me.

It is short

I mentioned that according to Harold Bloom, Edgar Allan Poe’s definition of short story is “read in one sitting.” But that’s not what I mean when I say “short” makes “The Student” a perfect short story. What I mean by “short” is that “The Student” captures an instant, not a lifetime. It doesn’t give too much back story; it doesn’t give too many details. It is concise and yet complete. And to me, it’s amazing to be able to create something so cohesive and powerful in so few words. (As I said when I reviewed On Writing, I don’t believe that length or quantity is a necessary measure of “good writing.”)

It captures one main character in one moment/subject

Sometimes a short story has two characters that act as one (a couple in a relationship, for example) but I think short stories that try to capture too many characters (as do some of Chekhov’s in the volume I’m reading) lack the pleasing organization or the “short and sweet” element that I like in a story. By nature, I think a short story needs to focus on one character/subject in either one moment or in one series of moments that relate (like a couple developing a relationship or a woman learning to respect her husband or a group of peasant women discussing how they will never love their husbands). “The Student” focuses on a young man, Ivan, on one wintery evening.

The character’s emotions are foremost

“The Student” follows the young man’s emotions as he walks in the wintery night, sits by the fire at the widows’ home, and then walks home. While Chekhov describes what happens and what people say, the young man’s emotions are the driving factor of the story.

Something happens, emotionally

While something physically happened in Turgenev’s stories, I didn’t feel any emotional draw to the characters. I am realizing that I approach literature through my emotions. For me, I loved the emotional draw in “The Student.” Ivan feels one way at the beginning of the story, has a very simple experience, and walks home at the end of the story feeling differently about his role in the world: past, present, and future. I think it is beautiful. Note that I don’t believe all stories necessarily need to have a positive emotional change for a story to be beautiful. But for every story that I like in the Chekhov volume I’m reading, there is some emotional realization at the end, whether that is happy or sad: I finish a story and sigh, wanting to let myself dwell on the emotion for a few moments before beginning the next story.

HTR&W

I wrote this post before reading Harold Bloom’s opinions in How to Read and Why. I may not even need to read what he says for some of these HTR&W works: I am loving Chekhov. If you don’t like Turgenev, don’t give up on the HTR&W list! These stories are better in my opinion. I’m really enjoying Chekhov’s stories, and I’ll write about Bloom’s comments and about the rest of the volume of Chekhov’s stories when I finish it.

Questions for you

Harold Bloom especially emphasized in his prologue that reading is an individual experience; what I like and am inspired by may not touch you in a similar manner. So I want to hear from you.

What makes a short story “good” for you? Was “The Student” a “good” story for you?
The back cover of my book calls “The Student” a “moving piece about the importance of religious tradition.” However, to me, I thought the religious story Ivan shares with the widows is not as important as the emotions explored. The introduction to my volume of Chekhov’s stories even admits that Chekhov, although familiar with the Christian traditions, was not a religious man. I believe “The Student” was about a young man understanding that his life can have an impact on others; his life has meaning. But what do you think? Is “The Student” a story about religious tradition?

Other thoughts:

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