"The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho

So this book is a little pantheistic, but it makes some interesting points. It is the story of a shepherd boy who  decides to go visit the Pyramids and figure out what his "Personal Legend" is. It is kind of like a warm cup of tea. I like tea, for the most part. ^_^

Anyway, let me share a passage I thought was interesting.

"There's no need for iron to be the same as copper, or copper the same as gold. Each performs its own exact function as a unique being, and everything would be a symphony of peace if the hand that wrote all this had stopped on the fifth day of creation. But there was a sixth day," the sun went on.


"You are wise, because you observe everything from a distance," the boy said. "But you don't know about love. If there hadn't been a sixth day, man would not exist; copper would always be just copper, and lead just lead. It's true that everything has its Personal Legend, but one day that Personal Legend will be realized. So each thing has to transform itself into something better, and to acquire a new Personal Legend. . . . This is why alchemy exists . . . So that everyone will search for his treasure, find it, and then want to be better than he was in his former life . . . That's what alchemists do. They show that, when we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better, too."


"Well, why did you say that I don't know about love?" the sun asked the boy.


"Because it's not love to be static like the desert, nor is it love to roam the world like the wind. And it's not love to see everything from a distance, like you do. Love is the force that transforms and improves . . . The world we live in will be either better or worse, depending on whether we become better or worse. And that's were the power of love comes in. Because when we love, we always strive to become better than we are."

The Big over Easy

I just finished this book, and it was beautiful.

For those of you to whom I have not gushed incessantly about this book, it is by Jasper Fforde, who also wrote an excellent series on the spunky and fun Thursday Next.

It's the first book in his Nursery Crimes series, a reinvention of old, beloved nursery rhymes in the world of detective Jack Spratt (yes, yes, the one who would eat no fat) and his assistant Mary Mary.

Fforde's books seem to take forever to read, but then they're over too soon. Just when I thought I'd figured out the plot, he threw me a curveball. I loved every minute of it; I rarely read a book in which I cannot guess most of the major twists.

For anyone who is interested, this book finally answered the age-old question, "How did Humpty Dumpty REALLY die?"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Over_Easy

The Story of the Trapp Family Singers

Very few people can say that they have not seen Roger's and Hammerstein's The Sound of Music, which starred Julie Andrews as Maria Von Trapp. On the other hand, many people can say that they have not read The Story of the Trapp Family Singers, written by Maria Augusta Trapp. I once was one of those, until I completed the book last week.

I must say, the movie does a decent job at keeping in line with the book, but the book is written with such humor, joy, sadness, and all kinds of emotion that I feel it is a greater representation of reality--without even including the fact that the book possesses the true, honest-to-goodness story.

Furthermore, the movie only covers about a third of the book. What happens to the Trapps after they leave Austria? That question is thoroughly answered in the book. So rather than continuing to tell you all the reasons why I immensely enjoyed the book, I'll just include an excerpt from it for your pleasure.

Peter had been a Major in the Imperial Prussian Army. He was a lovely person with a heart as big as himself, which made it easy to get along with him. When it came to duty, however, Peter was made of iron and steel, and as everything in his daily life was classified either as a duty towards God, or his fellow men, or himself, there was a lot of duty to go around.

Peter also loved handbooks.

When Peter was newly married and they were expecting their first baby, he immediately got the proper handbook, which would guide him safely through the next nine months. In the seventh month the handbook said: "Carpets and curtains should be removed from the bedroom, and the walls and floor washed with antiseptic." Peter who, as a Major, had two orderlies at his command, was standing in the middle of the bedroom, book in hand, supervising these activities. At the same time Laura, his wife, slipped on the kitchen floor and, feeling a strange pain, went upstairs, heading for bed, saying to Peter:

"Please, dear, call Mrs. X"--her Frau Vogl [midwife]--"at once."

Peter merely glanced at her, amazed. Then, looking over the rim of his spectacles, he uttered in a helpless tone of voice:

"Laura--impossible! I am only in the seventh month!" (84)

Maria then goes on to tell of a camping adventure she and her family had with Uncle Peter and his family--an experience full of laughs.

P.S. If the reader is Protestant, he must be aware that the author is a devout Catholic and many Catholic practices come out in her writing. On the other hand, the family's devotion to God and Jesus Christ is also genuine and admirable.

Mountains of Spices

I've been staying super busy reading lately--for business and for pleasure. ;) This is one of the books I recently completed for pleasure.

This is the sequel to Hind's Feet on High Places--an allegory of a Christian's journey. It's a simple, yet beautiful story (with a slightly theologically incorrect ending), taking place after Much-Afraid returns from the High Places and becomes a living witness to her friends and enemies in her hometown. What I especially like about it is how the author integrates all of the fruits of the Spirit into her story and transforms her characters which display the opposite traits.

However, I think one of my favorite techniques that the author uses is in closing her chapters--she often writes poems that fully express the idea that she has been trying to get across. The depth is phenomenal!

Usually the poems are based on the fruits of the Spirit, but here's a separate one that particularly struck me and followed a poem about joy.

The cry of all distorted things:
"Why hast thou made us thus?
To bear the anguish which life brings;
Why didst thou not love us?"
So marred that God himself must weep--
Fit only for the rubbish heep.

The cry of every breaking heart:
"Why were we born for this?
Evil alone is made our part
And nothing of earth's bliss.
Why didst thou give us human birth
If we may know no love on earth?"

The cry of each despairing mind
Ascends before love's throne:
"Behold us, God! Or art thou blind?
Can we be blamed alone?
If thou be there, then answer us,
Why make us, or why make us thus?"

And love's voice answers from a cross:
"I bear it all with you;
I share with you in all your loss,
I will make all things new.
None suffer in their sin alone,
I made--I bear--and I atone."

~ by Hannah Hurnard, 69-70

One Miracle After Another

A special person gave me this book as a piece of encouragement, as I've been looking to the future and wondering what God wants me to do with my life. Well, I just finished it, and it was phenomenal. The writing is good--not superb, but good--but the stories are amazing! If you want to be reminded that God still works miracles today, read this book. If you want your faith in God and surrender to His will to escalate, read this book. Here's a snippet from pages 105-7 to whet your appetite:

"When we pray we need to trust God with the outcome. We need to allow Him to work as He sees best. We dare not put self at the center of our requests. We should always put God first and let Him decide what is best for us."

Like a flash he suddenly could see. He had been trying to convince God to answer his prayers his way instead of accepting God's will for his life. Realizing the selfishness of his past prayers, he began to pour out his heart again.

"Lord, I'm willing to give up school, my future, and my degree. I don't care anymore. You just work in the way that will bring honor to Your name. I'm choosing Your honor above my wants and desires."

The moment he surrendered his will to God, the peace he had been seeking returned. No longer feeling anxious about the outcome of his education, he fell fast asleep.

The next day as he arrived at the university he was greeted by the secretary. "Have you decided to attend classes this Saturday?" she inquired.

"No, I won't be here," Pavel replied calmly. . . .

In disbelief she said, "You have really lost your mind. I admire your courage and determination, but there is no God. What God can save you from a Communist regime? I'm sorry, but there is no one who can save you now" . . . .

The next morning Pavel began his walk to school knowing that it might be his last. Now he was more curious to see what God would do than fearful of the harsh reality of being expelled forever . . . . The moment the secretary spotted him coming up the sidewalk she hurried to meet him. He had never seen her composure so shaken. Her ashen face gave her the appearance of being more dead than alive. Something was definitely wrong.

"Pavel, do you know anyone in the government?" she blurted out.

"No, I don't. Why do you ask?"

Without answering, she continued, "Do you know anyone in the Central Committee?"

"No."
"Then do you know Ceausescu?"

"No, of course not. How would I know the president?"

"Are you positive you are being honest with me?" she asked earnestly.

"Yes, I am being totally honest. Why do you think I would know anyone in the government?"
Shaking her head in disbelief, she whispered more to herself than to Pavel, "Then there is a God! For 21 years I have worked at this university. Never have I seen the government take an action like this!" She explained: "This morning the university received a mandate from the government with the president's signature canceling all Saturday classes for the entire country, effective today. . . If this law would have come on Monday rather than today, you would have been expelled from school for the rest of your life."

Chenxi and the Foreigner

A lake sped past my window and I looked up quickly to see the tail end of it disappear from view. I was torn. Finish my book or stare out the window at the gorgeous Newfoundland wilderness racing past the shuttle? I kept my eyes up for a few more minutes reveling in the stubby, wind-shaped evergreens, rocky hillsides and glistening waters painting ever-changing pictures through the glass. But soon my head dropped again to the book I held open in my lap, "Chenxi and the Foreigner" by Sally Rippin. I wasn't thoroughly impressed with the book's premise or language, but wanted to finish it before starting a new one. Just a few pages later, when I came across a passage that fully captivated my attention, I was grateful that I hadn't discarded the book earlier.

In the following paragraphs the main character, Anna, a teenager visiting China for a month, is talking to a fellow artist, Chenxi, from her fine arts college in Shanghai. I've taken out the extra words as much as possible, so just the essence of her longing remains.

"I think an artist's responsibility is to show a different world to the viewer. No, not a different world, the same world, but a different way of looking at it. It's an artist's responsibility, and I'm talking about writers and musicians too, to take the smaller paths that come off the main road. To go down them and to bring back what they find for those people who never dare to go themselves. Or never have the chance."

Anna goes on to voice one of my own deepest desires, although hers is for painting whereas mine is for writing.

"You know, if I painted one painting that changed the life of one person, affecting them deeply enough to make them see something in a completely different way – even if only one person – I feel like I would have achieved something."

I read those words over and over again for the next fifteen minutes and then put my book away to gaze out the window and think them over for the rest of the trip from St. John's to Grand Bank, NL.

The Rumpelstiltskin Problem

I may have forced you to read this before (if you've ever visited me this summer), but I make no apologies. Ladies and gentlemen (or whoever you are), may I present pieces of the introduction to Vivian Vande Velde's The Rumpelstiltskin Problem, which I bought at McKay's for fifty cents.
 
[Comparison to the game Gossip, or Telephone, or whatever you called it, and explanation of the mutability of stories passed on orally]

 The story starts with a poor miller telling the king, "My daughter can spin straw into gold."

We are not told how the miller has come to be talking with the king in the first place, or why the miller chooses to say such a thing. In any case, to my mind the reasonable answer for the king to come back with would be: "If your daughter can spin straw into gold, why are you a poor miller?" But the king doesn't say that; he says, "Then she shall come to my castle and spin straw into gold for me, and if she does, I'll make her my queen."

Now, no matter the reason the miller said what he did, you'd think that in reality he would have noticed that his daughter doesn't actually know how to spin straw into gold. (Unless she's lied to him. In which case you'd think that now would be the time for her to set things straight.) But still her brings her to the castle to show off a talent he knows she doesn't have-- which doesn't sound to me like responsible parenting.

At the castle the king locks the girl into a room and tells her, "Spin this straw into gold, or tomorrow you shall die."

Not my idea of a promising first date.

The girl seems smarter than her father. She knows that she can't spin straw into gold, so she's worried. But what does she do? She starts crying. Not a very productive plan.

Still, along comes a little man who, by happy coincidence, knows how to do what everyone wants. "What will you give me to spin this straw into gold for you?" he asks her, and she offers him her gold ring.

Now think about this.

Here's someone who can spin an entire roomful of straw into gold. Why does he need her tiny gold ring? Sounds like a bad bargain to me.

But the little man agrees and spins the straw into gold.

Is the king satisfied?

Of course not.

The next night he locks her into an even bigger room with even more straw and offers her the same deal: "Spin this straw into gold, or tomorrow you shall die."

Again the little man comes, again he gets her butt out of trouble (this time in exchange for a necklace-- apparently the poor miller has a secret stash somewhere, to keep his daughter in all this jewelry), and yet again the king makes his demand: "Straw for gold."

At this point the girl has run out of jewelry, but the little man says he'll spin one more time if she'll promise him her firstborn child. Why he wants this child he never says, and she never asks. Obviously the miller's daughter is no more a responsible parent than her father is, for she agrees to the bargain.

Fortunately for everyone, the next morning the king is finally satisfied with the amount of gold the girl has spun for him, and he asks her to marry him.

Swept off her feet because he's such a sweet talker ("Spin or die"), she accepts the king's proposal.

Eventually the happy couple has a child, and the little man suddenly shows up to demand what has been promised to him.

Again the girl cries, perhaps hoping that yet another little man will step forward to get her out of trouble.

Although the deal clearly was "firstborn child for a roomful of straw spun into gold," the little man now offers the queen a way out: "Guess my name," he says, "and you may keep the child."

And if she doesn't guess his name, what does he get besides the child she has already promised him? Nothing. I told you: this guy doesn't know how to bargain. You wouldn't want to go to a garage sale with him; he'd talk the prices up.

Now, the queen should be able to guess the little guy's name is Rumpelstiltskin by noticing that that's the name of the story, and-- since nobody else in the kingdom has a name-- she might go with that first. But nobody in this kingdom is very smart, so instead the queen sends the servants out into the countryside to look for likely names.

Luckily for her, at the last moment, one of the servants spots the little man dancing around a campfire singing a bad poem that ends with the line, "Rumpelstiltskin is my name." Why is he doing this? Because if he was singing "Kumbaya," the story would go on even longer than it already does.

Being from this kingdom of the mentally challenged, the servant doesn't recognize the importance of what he has observed. "I couldn't find any names," he tells her. "All I found was this little guy dancing around a campfire singing 'Rumpelstiltskin is my name.'" You wouldn't want to put this guy in charge of sophisticated international negotiations.

Now, we aren't told whether the queen is really, really stupid-- which would be my first choice-- or whether she's playing a cruel game with the little man who, after all, three times spun gold for her and then offered her a last-minute chance to get out of her ill-chosen bargain. But when he shows up and asks if she's found out his name, she says first, "Is it George? Is it Harry?" and only then asks, "Is it Rumpelstiltskin?"

Justifiably annoyed, the little guy stamps his foot, which cracks the castle floor. (The king-- who, by the way, has disappeared from the story-- should have asked her to spin that straw into something useful instead of all that gold, like maybe a floor covering that wouldn't crack when a man consistently described as "little" stamped his foot.) But anyway, there's Rumpelstiltskin with his foot caught in the floor, and in a really resourceful case of well-I'll-show-them, he gets so mad he tears himself in two.

Excuse me?

I hope you took the time to read this through. It makes me laugh. Anyway, you can see a preview of the book here. Yes, the book itself is just as entertaining as the introduction (I didn't post ALL of it, just MOST of it). If you don't believe me, just go read it for yourself.

Sarah's Key

I both loved and loathed "Sarah's Key" by Tatiana de Rosnay.  Last week I stopped at Chapters looking for a particular book.  While I didn't find what I'd stopped at the store to buy, I noticed "Sarah's Key" and the cover art compelled me to pick up the book and read the back cover.  Just from that, I was already drawn in to the story of a ten-year-old Jewish girl born and raised in Paris.  When I actually started reading the book this week, I couldn't put it down and finished it within 24 hours.

The book opens with Sarah's story (although the reader only learns her name halfway through the book) when the French police pound on her door in the early morning hours of July 16, 1942.  Every other chapter reveals more about what Sarah and her family are going through.  I loved those chapters, although I despised the treatment given to Sarah's family and the other Parisian Jews.

But it was the chapters in between Sarah's story that repelled me even more.  After each chapter about Sarah, the scene shifts to the early 21st century where Julia, an American woman living in Paris, learns of the Vel' d'Hiv' roundup.  Julia's story is strangely intertwined with Sarah's and throughout the chapters devoted to her, Julia strives to find out what happened to a family mysteriously connected to her French husband and in-laws.  Julia's story, in itself, wasn't so bad.  In fact, Julia's story was actually more intriguing than Sarah's, since I could tell very early on what the outcome of Sarah's story would be.  But Julia's story gripped me and pulled me in.  It was why I finished the book so fast.  The repulsive part of Julia's story was how her husband treated her and the language used in those chapters.  There's nothing, in my opinion anyway, more repulsive than reading a book filled with swearing.  While I can skip over certain words in my mind, once I read them, I know that they're in there and I lose major respect for the author.

One other thing I noticed in Tatiana de Rosnay's book was that most of her characters talked the same way.  In a halting, stilted, not-using-full-sentences manner.  I could understand if de Rosnay wanted Julia to talk that way.  I could even understand if her husband or daughter talked that way.  But Sarah and her family, who lived sixty years earlier, talking that way was jarring and bewildering, at least for me.  In the end, though, neither the use of less-than-desirable language or the similar speech patterns did much to dissuade me from finishing the book.  I had to learn everything I could about the Vel' d'Hiv' roundup of July 1942, and see how Julia dealt with the changes in her life after finding out what happened to Sarah.  It definitely was a fascinating topic and a very interesting read.

The Lady of Shalott

How typical Alfred, Lord Tennyson's story is! A woman sacrifices her life for a man, and all he can think is, "Wow, she's pretty." Of course, if Lady Shalott had not been pretty, he probably wouldn't even have spared her a thought. 

 The question I have is, why did she risk it? Why does any woman risk it?

Why was Lady Shalott cursed, anyway?

Okay, so maybe that's two questions.

Read it here.

The Five Love Languages for Singles

This book, despite its horrible grammar and kind of poor editing, is wonderful! It totally opened my eyes to a whole new perspective. When Jesus said to love your enemies and also to love your neighbor as yourself, He was speaking of something that can actually be done--not only through prayer, but also through action. By understanding a person's primary love language and learning how to speak it, one can create friendships out of any kind of relationship! Read it. I highly recommend it.

FYI: The languages are Words of Affirmation, Gifts, Quality Time, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch. And no, this book is not just for people looking to get married. It works for any relationship.

Close to Shore

For Christmas 2007 Tyler gave me the movie "12 Days of Terror," which depicted the events of the New Jersey shark attacks in July 1916. While perusing Barnes & Noble on a sibling-date with Ty this past September, I happened to find a copy of "Close to Shore," a book about the attacks, which I had been looking for since I watched the movie. When I got home from school a few weeks ago, I finally got around to reading it.

I had mixed feelings about "Close to Shore." It was extremely educational and written well. I liked finding out more about the shark attacks, enjoyed the historical context written into the story, and especially found people's 1916 views on sharks very interesting to learn. But, sometimes I felt the author, Michael Capuzzo, went too far into details that weren't exactly pertinent to the story or told one victim's story much too in-depth. And that slowed me down some. But, according to the small-print, two-and-a-half-pages of reviews at the front of the book, many others disagree with me.

So, here's my humble opinion: the research put into the book was intense and I was thoroughly convinced that the author knew his topic inside and out. I just think he could have left out some of the less-needed details to shorten the story and keep me totally captivated. All in all, I liked the book and my favourite chapters were the ones about the actual attacks. They were the most engaging and appropriately-detailed. But, don't trust me. Read the excerpt below – and the whole book, if you wish – for yourself.

"A great dorsal fin sliced the middle of the brown creek as the shark swam along prairies of sedge grass and wound slowly past deserted banks, undetected by anyone. The air was warm and ripe with the sulfuric rot of the marsh.  The water was rising under the shark, and it was attuning itself to new atmospheres.  It passed easily through changing water temperatures, and the rising tide was protecting its salt balance." p. 226.

John Donne, Undone

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you
As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, 
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

(Holy Sonnets XIV)


I've always been able to relate to this sonnet. I feel just this way sometimes. The trouble I have with Donne, though, is that I cannot seem to separate these poems from his other less "holy" work. How can the same man who wrote "The Flea" write this?

Even as I type, my brain is protesting. It says, "People change" and "People act" and "People have layers." Perhaps John Donne was the same man who wrote "The Flea," after all-- or perhaps, as I imagine, the authors were very different people. Perhaps there is not such a disparity between the two works-- or perhaps the disparity was intentional.

In any case, I must admit that John Donne is one of my favorite poets, and whether or not he truly believed what he wrote, I take comfort in it. After all, God uses imperfect people. Perhaps discounting a message just because the messenger doesn't act on it is wrong.

As usual, I'm reading far too much into this. Enjoy the sonnet.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

"We were in a trap, you see--  a trap of our own making. If we stayed where we were, our dead would kill us; if we moved out of our defences, we should no longer be invincible. We had conquered; in turn we were conquered."

This is, in a nutshell, the difficulty I have with Twain's book. It creates a trap-- a very subtle trap that Twain forces the reader to create. In it, the protagonist, Hank Morgan, pretty much forces the people of Arthur's time to accept all sorts of technological advances that at first seem to create great progress-- but then in then end, these very things that were to bring these people out of darkness only plunge them into greater darkness and, eventually, totally annihilate them.

Of course, as is true with many books I have enjoyed, the best part about the book is this trap it creates, for it forces people to think. I don't think I've ever met any reader of this book that didn't have a strong opinion of it. Not everyone loves to evaluate things that most of us take for granted.

Read "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court." You may not like it, but you will leave it with a new perspective.

It's Right Here

The Mysterious Benedict Society

Trenton Lee Stewart's The Mysterious Benedict Society makes you feel smart.

It's about gifted kids solving problems.

I was so charmed by it that I read it in two days. Here's an excerpt.

Click Here!!!!!

Moving Comics!

Sometimes I try to write intelligently for this blog, sometimes I don't. HERE IS A TIME WHEN I DON'T, I JUST SHARE SOME AWESOME.

http://vimeo.com/9847999

That is a link to some wonderful person who has animated a few Kate Beaton comics. They're pretty rad.

I just thought you guys should know.

Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden

Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden) is a wholly remarkable book. I cannot explain my fascination with it clearly, but (to give you an idea of how much I liked it) I read it in two days. It made two statements about pain that I thought were interesting:

p. 405: "I couldn't help imagining I'd seen on his face some of the shock I myself was feeling. I didn't know if the shock was really there-- and I doubted it was. But when we feel pain, even the blossoming trees seem weighted with suffering to us; and in just the same way, after seeing the Chairman there . . . well, I would have found my own pain reflected on anything I'd looked at."

p. 419: "Though I must say, I lived in that contented state a long while before I was finally able to look back and admit how desolate my life had once been. I'm sure I could never have told my story otherwise; I don't think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it."

The Iron Curtain

A lot of people ask the question: If God really loves us and cares about us, why is there so much evil and suffering in the world? The common answer given is that the only way that we can truly exhibit our love for God is if it is genuine, and genuine love for God is a result of freedom of choice. Evil and suffering come from the choice of separating ourselves from God--our source of life and happiness. That's a great answer, but now, I have an additional response to add to the argument: if God hadn't given us freedom of choice, we essentially would be living under an eternal communist government! How incredibly awful would that be!?!

For more information, I highly recommend the book The Iron Curtain by Harry and Bonaro Overstreet, a book published in 1963 when Communism was still in place in our world. The authors thoroughly explain the rise of Communism, the ways of life under its power, and the reasons why Communism would eventually fall. They call readers to look to the Iron Curtain as an example of artificial freedoms and encourage the world to not be sucked in by Communist propaganda.

This is the key statement which instigated this post:

If...the people who are ruled by the Party have "unbounded love" for it and recognize how right it is in all its policies, why must they be denied the chance to make free choices and comparisons? Why has the refugee tide, from 1917 to the present, been almost exclusively away from Communism's domain? Why has Khrushchev needed to make it a capital offense for anyone to try to leave the Soviet Union without permission; or, once out, to try to avoid returning to it? (page 198)

For further examples of Communism, read The Giver. I don't know if that's what the author was getting at, but after learning what I have about Communism, I wouldn't be surprised if that's the false utopia around which her book revolves.

The Mobile Library Series

If you liked "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and the character of Arthur Dent in particular, you should read The Mobile Library Series by Ian Sansom. The Mobile Library's main character, Israel Armstrong, BA (Hons), is similar in his hapless attempts to control his less than desirable job as a mobile librarian northern Ireland, and entirely likable, if a bit of a sad sack. I like him really, because I relate to his unrealistic expectations of life, which are mostly heavily influenced by the books he's read. I think we could be friends.

In the first book of the series, "The Case of the Missing Books," Israel arrives in Ireland, expecting to be made head librarian of the local library, only to find it has been closed and all the books supposedly transferred to a large mobile library van. Only all the books are not on the van, or the old library building, but missing. As the new head librarian, it is up to Israel to find the books. Here's a bit from the second chapter.

------------------------------------------------
Israel Joseph Armstrong, BA, (Hons), had arrived in Northern Ireland on the overnight ferry from Stranraer. In his rich imagination, Israel's crossing to Ireland was a kind of pilgrimage, an act of necessity and homage, similar to the crossings made by generations of his own family who had made the reverse journey from Ireland to England, and from Russian and Poland, from famines and pogroms and persecution to the New World, or at least to Bethnal and then Golders Green and eventually further out to the Home Counties, and to Essex, and similar also to the fateful trip made by W.H. Auden and Christopher Isherwood on board the Champlain....

He'd read far too many books, that was Israel's trouble. Books had spoilt him; they had curdled his brain, like cream left out on a summer's afternoon. He'd been a bookish child, right from the off, the kind of child who seemed to start reading without anyone realizing or noticing, who enjoyed books without his parents' insistence, who raced through non-fiction at an early age, who read Jack Kerouac before he was in his teens, and who by the age of sixteen had covered most of the great French and Russian authors and who as a result had matured into an intelligent, shy, passionate, sensitive soul, full of dreams and ideas, a wide-ranging vocabulary and just about no earthly good to anyone at all.

His expectations were sky-high and his grasp of reality was minimal.

[The ferry crossing was making him ill]; this was not how his new life and new career in Ireland were supposed to begin. His new life in Ireland was supposed to be overflowing with blarney and craic. He was supposed to be excited and ready, trembling on the verge of a great adventure. But instead, Israel was trembling on the verge of being sick again, and the journey had given him a terrible, terrible headache.

Thought Food

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

 

--CS Lewis

Duty and Desire

"Who would not choose red and gold over  black and a silly old wig?" Trenholme offered. "Wickham knows, as does any man, that the ladies go faint with admiration over a uniform. Is that not true, Miss Avery?" he quizzed.

Miss Avery colored alarmingly as the attention of the table centered upon her. She looked helplessly at her brother, whose only encouragement was an irritated frown. "A u-uniform is n-nice," she stuttered miserably.

"Nice? Bella!" Manning's withering tone caused Darcy to wince while the others became fascinated with their silver service or wineglasses. "Good Lord, speak up and stop st---!"

"But she has spoken, my lord, and much to the point!" Lady Felicia smiled gently into the swimming eyes of the very young lady. "A uniform is nice." She faced the others, arching one brow. "It makes a plain man smart; a dull man intelligent; and a timid man brave with merely putting it on-- at least, in his own estimation!"A chorus of masculine denials mixed with chuckles raised the spirits of the hapless Miss Avery.

"And what will a uniform do for a more talented man, Lady Felicia?" asked Lady Sayre. "I vow, it is more than 'nice' work then."

"Oh, my dear Lady Sayre." Lady Felicia looked to her hostess. "It is well known that a uniform makes a smart man dashing; an intelligent man a genius; and a brave man a hero in no more time than it takes his batman to brush it and ease him into it." A new howl went up from the gentlemen, and the ladies were forced to resort to their fans. Darcy smiled approvingly. Her rescue of Miss Avery by the turning of Manning's embarrassing treatment of his sister into a clever conceit was well and compassionately done.

-- Pamela Aidan, Duty and Desire (the second book of her Darcy series), p. 122-123

The Faerie Queene

This is the summary my Renaissance Lit class was given for Cantos 7 and 8 from Book 3. Don't they make you want to read it?

"These cantos treat the adventures of the true and false Florimells. Always in flight, Florimell narrowly escapes a series of disasters. The son of a witch in whose cottage she takes refuge is smitten with passion for her; when she escapes in the night the witch sends a hyena 'that feeds on women's flesh' to capture or kill her. To escape him she leaps into the boat of an aged fisherman who promptly tries to rape her; she is saved by the god Proteus, who carries her off to his bower in the sea and presses his suit to her continually, in every shape and guise. Meantime, to save her pining son from death, the witch creates for him a false Florimell made of snow but he loses her quickly to the braggart knight Braggadochio, who himself loses her to a stranger knight. Meanwhile, Sir Satyrane (1.6) tames the hyena and rescues the Squire of Dames (a knight whose name reflects his promiscuity) from the giantess Argante, a figure of unnatural lust in female form. These two knights meet up wiht a third, Paridell, and all seek shelter from a sudden thunderstorm in Malbecco's castle."

I'm not making this up. Honestly.

My Girlfriend

I got a new girlfriend, though I don't like girls.
I haven't much money, but I buy her pearls.

I'm always embarrassed, but I give her flowers,
and talk on the phone every evening for hours.

We go to the movies, and she gets to pick.
She wants to hold hands, though it makes me feel sick.

She likes when I smell good, so I take a bath.
I do what she asks me, and she does my math.

--Kenn Nesbitt

Anna Karenina

"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry."

-- W.B. Yeats

Thus begins the introduction to my very favorite translation of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, the translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. The quote is, in my opinion, an apt one. Most people who have studied this particular work are of the opinion that Tolstoy wrote himself into it as Levin, a man who has every reason to be happy yet finds himself deeply, perhaps even suicidally, unhappy. This struggle is, of course, the mirror image of Anna herself, the woman who has many reasons to be unhappy yet is happy until she meets a man (not her husband) who has fallen for her.

This novel is a beautiful one, and if you have not taken the time to familiarize yourself with the Russian classics, this is a great beginning. Don't worry; as the back cover says, this translation is "neither musty, nor overly modernized, nor primly recast as a Victorian landscape" (Caryl Emerson).

So, basically, what I'm saying is: "Read it. Read it now."

A Preview

Dr. Seuss Got It from Shakespeare

The work: Troilus and Cressida. Do you recognize it?

Hector: O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er;
But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?

Achilles: Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body
Shall  destroy him, whether there, or there or there?
That I may give the local wound a name
And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens!

Hector: It would discredit the blest gods, proud man,
To answer such a question. Stand again.
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly
As to prenominate in nice conjecture
Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achilles: I tell thee, yea.

Hector: Wert thou the oracle to tell me so,
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
I'll kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er.

_

Sound familiar?

(from Shakespeare's T&C, p. 120: here)

Reading by Lightning

I wonder how you choose what you're going to remember. That's what happened, I say about any particular event. But of course we recall only a tiny fraction of everything that occurred. If every day that went by I'd saved a whole other set of details and impressions, my life as I tell it to myself would be completely different. This is a rather crucial human limitation. If your situation changed dramatically (if, for example, you're walking down a road and are suddenly scooped up in a whirlwind and deposited somewhere else, like that man in the Bible was), you may need to start thinking about your life in a whole different way. But how can you do that when all you have for information is what you chose to remember at the time?

-- Joan Thomas, p. 13

Sanditon

I'm usually a bit snobbish when it comes to books. I tend to like nineteenth-century classics. I'm not sure why. Anyhow, most people have read (or at least heard of) Jane Austen's work. They've made enough movies about it (some of which are actually quite good, by the way). My favorite is probably Pride and Prejudice, just as it is for most Austen fans.

Still, Sanditon is a pretty close second (or maybe third; I don't know), even though most Austenians have never even heard of it, and those who have probably wouldn't give it a second glance. You see, this was Jane Austen's last novel, and she never finished it. Years later, a diehard Austen fan (possibly someone like myself, except that she's a better writer) decided to help her finish.

I picked up Sanditon from a small library in Maine, and according to the card inside, I was the first one to do so. It had virtually no wear and tear in it, and I can only assume that people simply glanced at it and passed it over for all the other Austen delicacies on the shelf. I had read all of those, however, and I wanted something new-- but something Austen.

I expected it to start out good and then roll into a big ball of cheese. I expected to know exactly when my author ended and "another lady began." I didn't. It had a different ending from the typical Austen novel, but it was still excellent, and I loved every minute of it. I even bought a copy that is now occupying a place of honor on my bookshelf.

If you like Austen, you have to read this book.

Catcher in the Rye

As an introduction, I'm Caitlin, Janelle's roommate. I'm an uneasy English major who reads books and writes journals/blogs. Writing fiction makes me nervous, I don't know why. But I like recommending things to other people! So here we go.

To be honest, I have not been reading much for pleasure lately. I thought I would try and jump start this over Christmas Break, but I did not. Instead I just got more into TV/movies. I consider them worthwhile forms as entertainment as well, but I feel less guilty about being overly attached to books, because they are good for the brain, or something. Whatever it is they say in school.

Anyway, my point is, whenever I find myself in this rut, I tend to read pieces of the same books to try and love reading books so much again that it overwhelms my guilt about not getting schoolwork done or thinking about My Uncertain Future while reading for pleasure. I also enjoy magazines a lot.

One of these books is "Catcher in the Rye," which is a book that seems to create a lot of strong opinions. Let me get this out of the way: I do not think of myself as, nor do I want to be like, Holden Caulfield. The guy is in an awkward stage of life and embodies confusion and contradiction, even as he wails on about all the "phonies" of the world. He would probably be REALLY annoying in real life, with his sudden outbursts and random lying and cursing pretensions.
But maybe that's because you couldn't see inside his head in real life, and that's important, because even though he is sill kind of annoying in there, you can also see the potential and that he's not all that bad of a guy, really.

I don't know, the guy thinks in one liners filled with curses and it makes me laugh. And his relationship with his sister near the end always makes me happy, as it balances out his loud bluffing in the beginning as he struggles to get along with people. It's nice to have a Phoebe that accepts all your ridiculousness.

Next time: Maybe David Sedaris. Did Janelle already write about him? Well I will again, I guess.

Comics = Writing, Right?

Kate Beaton is an amazing historical comedian. Look at these.

http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=231

http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=210


http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=206

Also...

(Yay Canada...)

http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=184
 
http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=180

Me Talk Pretty One Day

About David Sedaris... well, he's hilarious, that's what. Okay, well most of the time. Sometimes he's a bit disturbing, but at least he sees the humor in his disturbing-ness, which is about all anyone can do anyway.

http://www.macobo.com/essays/epdf/Me%20Talk%20Pretty%20One%20Day%20by%20Sedaris.pdf

Enjoy.

The Hunger Games

Have you ever read a book that you loved even as you hated it? That's exactly the way I feel about Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games. It's written in present-tense, which is really hard to do, and it tells a story that is really hard to tell.

You know, I was going to say more, but... with this one, you just have to see for yourself.

Third book comes out soon, and I can't wait.

http://www.suzannecollinsbooks.com/the_hunger_games_69765.htm

Modified Stationary Panic

If you've never read Patrick McManus before, go to the nearest bookstore and find one of his books. They'll be in the humor section, or maybe in with outdoor activities. Anyway, this gentleman writes some of the best outdoor humor I've ever seen (and I am clearly an expert on that). The editor for his book, A Fine and Pleasant Misery, pointed out, his humor sneaks up on you, making you laugh when you least expect it. Personally, I just think he's a great writer (probably because he has taught high school English).

See for yourself.


http://books.google.com/books?id=SIwt-SlBYAkC&pg=PA14&dq=patrick+mcmanus+modified+stationary+panic&ei=CthPS9-IApnAzQT-zImMDA&cd=1#v=onepage&q=&f=false

The Merchant of Venice

I really love this Shakespeare play-- and not just because I'm slightly obsessed with Shakespeare (seriously, just because I have everything Shakespeare ever wrote (sometimes x2) doesn't mean I'm crazy, does it?). Anyway, let me share with you some of my favorite lines from this amazing play.

I could start with the famous Shylock lines, "If you prick us, do we not bleed..." or the cask's poem, "All that glisters is not gold..." or Portia's "The quality of mercy is not strain'd..." but I won't. Here are some awesome, lesser-known ones.

"His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search." -- Bassanio

"I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching." -- Portia

"The villainy you teach me, I will execute." -- Shylock

Shakespeare was a wise old crow.

The Magician's Elephant

It may possibly be the absolute best book I've read this year. I found it at Wal-Mart and bought it because it was written by Kate DiCamillo, who also wrote The Tale of Despereaux. She's one of the authors whose books I always buy, no questions asked, and she never disappoints me. I wish I could write as well as she does. Let me share with you a few tidbits of TME, and you'll see what I mean.

Leo Matienne had the soul of a poet, and because of this, he liked very much to consider questions that had no answers.
He liked to ask, "What if?" and "Why not?" and "Could it possibly be?"
Leo came to the top of the hill and paused. Below him, the lamplighter was lighting the lamps that lined the wide avenue. Leo Matienne stood and watched as, one by one, the globes sprang to life.
What if the elephant had come bearing a message of great importance?
What if everything was to be irrevocably, undeniably changed by the elephant's arrival?
Leo stood at the top of the hill and waited for a long while, until the avenue below him was well and fully lit, and then he continued walking down the hill and onto the lighted path, toward his home.
He whistled as he walked.
What if? Why not? Could it be? sang the glowing, wondering heart of Leo Matienne.
What if?
Why not?
Could it be?

For Your Reading Pleasure

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we'll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings