Daily Giggle: Veit

At one of my favorite daily blog reads, Legal Insurrection, I came across this delightful (and non-political) post. Apparently, Dr Jacobson has a cousin who is delving into family history and stumbled upon his great-grandmother's marriage license, dated 1900. On the marriage license, each party had to identify "Color," and his great-grandmother, in her Russian-accented English, identified herself as "White" -- or rather "Veit." The doofus clerk wrote out exactly what he heard, and that's how it appears on the license.

I kind of like this, actually. So, here's a challenge. Next time, you have to fill out one of those forms that asks for race, consider circling or checking "Other," and write "Veit."

I wonder how long it would take people to figure it out.

Book Review: The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron

Several months ago, while flipping through some fluffy woman's mag, I stumbled across an article with a quiz: Are you a highly sensitive person? I was curious, so I took the quiz. I found it intriguing, but then I shut the magazine and promptly forgot all about it.

While wandering through the bookstore a few weeks back, I saw this book on the shelf, and the memory came back to me. I decided to take a closer look.

And I'm really glad that I did.

Let me start by discussing what the highly sensitive person isn't. The word "sensitive," particularly in American culture, denotes something negative -- something that a person "should just get over." It's often treated as a mental condition requiring medication. (In fact, the author of the book, Dr Aron, talks about a conversation she had with her doctor. She mentioned that she was writing a book on the topic of highly sensitive people, and the doctor initially sounded positive: That's great! I wish more people knew about this! And then he shifted to the standard medical diagnosis: It's so easily treatable. A prescription for Prozac can take care of the problem. She declined.)

That's just the thing. Being highly sensitive isn't a problem. It can cause problems, but highly sensitive people don't necessarily need medication. So, what is a highly sensitive person? As Dr Aron describes it, highly sensitive people have what amounts to a high neurological sensitivity to what's going on around them. They quickly pick up on sights, sounds, smells, and so forth; they read body language, tone of voice, etc. very fast. They are sensitive, because they sense many, many things right away. See? Not so bad. What can result, however, is an overload on the nervous system. Too many sights, sounds, smells. Too many people in a room with too much body language, too many voices to take in. It can all get to be too much. And highly sensitive people can only take so much before they shut down.

I am a highly sensitive person, and this describes my own experiences extremely well. I have a limit on what I can handle. When I enter a room, I am taking it all in -- catching gazes, reading peoples' eyes, trying to figure the nuances of people's body language, movements, faces, and so forth. The larger the crowd, the more going on, and the more overwhelmed my little nervous system gets. From childhood I have been dealing with this. Too many people, and I reach a point of non-functioning. I just quit, can't go any further, and try to get away. I'm fortunate to have grown up in a home where this was all right. My mom just accepted that it was part of my personality, and sometimes I had to go be by myself for a while. Given the opportunity to get away, I can reinforce my reserves and keep going. Without it, I reach a point of becoming angry, weepy, frustrated, and generally useless.

But the key has always been that I recognize this quality in myself, even if I wasn't using the term "highly sensitive." I know how much I can take; I know how far I can go. And I know when to leave quietly, find an empty room, shut the door, and take a few minutes to myself. I don't need medication. I need a little peace and quiet and a feeling of having a safe place to go. Last Christmas (not the most recent, but the one before :), we had family visit. It was exciting, and I was looking forward to it. And for three days, we had seven extra people in our home, including three small children. I thoroughly enjoyed having them there, but I also had to know my boundaries. I spent most of my time in the kitchen, in part because there was a lot to do and in part because the kitchen was something of a closed-off space from everything else. Even though it was technically open, it felt like a safe place where I could be -- still with everyone nearby but without having to be in the midst of the ongoing noise and activity. Those moments that I stepped into the living room, with the television playing for one child, a mini-DVD player running for another, and the general sounds of people talking and laughing, I felt overwhelmed. So, the kitchen was my quiet space to be there around everyone but also to keep myself from going into neurological overload. And, for what it's worth, I now understand why I've always said that my children won't be allowed to have toys that are "noise makers." (Children are already pretty good noise makers, you know?) My mom said I would just have to get over it. Oh, no. I don't think I do.

I've spent my life with people assuming I'm standoffish, anti-social, and so forth. Really, I'm not. I'm actually quite fun, have a good sense of humor, and enjoy being around friends. But there's only so much I can take. Most highly sensitive people are this way. What the rest of the world perceives as a party-pooper or a very shy person is often just a highly sensitive person who has to limit the amount of time spent around people with a great deal going on. (Think big parties, loud music, Vegas: things like that.) I like going out and doing things. But when I get home, I need to be alone. Just for a little while. I read, sit in a bath, have a cup of tea or a glass of wine, and savor the silence. Without this, I would need Prozac.

So, take a look around and see if there are highly sensitive people out there that you know. People you've always assumed to be a little too shy or quiet. Underneath, they might have quite a lot to offer. But they're so used to being told there's something wrong with them, so accustomed to having the outgoing people leap ahead and claim all the glory that they've accepted life in the peripheral. And for many highly sensitive people (myself included), that's all right. But it doesn't mean we don't have a voice and something to say. It doesn't mean we have nothing to contribute. You just have to pay a little more attention to find out what it is.

Are you highly sensitive? Here's Dr Aron's quiz:

True or False: I seem to be aware of subtleties in my environment.
True or False: Other people's moods affect me.
True or False: I tend to be very sensitive to pain.
True or False: I find myself needing to withdraw during busy days, go into bed or into a darkened room or any place where I can have some privacy and relief from stimulation.
True or False: I am particularly sensitive to the effects of caffeine.
True or False: I am easily overwhelmed by things like bright lights, strong smells, course fabrics, or sirens close by.
True or False: I have a rich, complex inner life.
True or False: I am made uncomfortable by loud noises.
True or False: I am deeply moved by the arts or music.
True or False: I am conscientious.
True or False: I startle easily.
True or False: I get rattled when I have a lot to do in a short amount of time.
True or False: When people are uncomfortable in a physical environment I tend to know what needs to be done to make it more comfortable (like changing the lighting or the seating)
True or False: I am annoyed when people try to get me to do too many things at once.
True or False: I try hard to avoid making mistakes or forgetting things.
True or False: I make it a point to avoid violent movies and TV shows.
True or False: I become unpleasantly aroused [note: this is not a reference to sexual arousal] when a lot is going on around me.
True or False: Being very hungry creates a strong reaction in me, disrupting my concentration or mood.
True or False: Changes in my life shake me up.
True or False: I notice and enjoy delicate or fine scents, tastes, sounds, works of art.
True or False: I make it a high priority to arrange my life to avoid upsetting or overwhelming situations.
True or False: When I must compete or be observed while performing a task, I become so nervous or shaky that I do much worse than I would otherwise.
True or False: When I was a child, my parents or teachers seemed to see me as sensitive or shy.

There are 23 questions in this list. Dr Aron notes that if you answers "True" to 12 or more of them you might be a highly sensitive person. (I answered "True" to all of them. Go figure.)

Year of publication: 1996
Number of pages: 251

Book Review: The Breaking of Eggs, by Jim Powell

On January 1, 1991, Feliks Zhukovski wakes up to find that the world as he has always perceived it has changed completely. Approaching 61 years of age, Feliks is a lifelong Communist (or, as he is determined to claim "Leftist"), and the Soviet Union has collapsed, the Berlin Wall has come down (two years earlier), and Communist policies are, more or less, proven to be completely disastrous. Far from leading the world as a progressive approach to society, what remains of Eastern Europe is dismal, miserable, and on the verge of complete ruin.

And Feliks doesn't know what to think or how to begin reassembling his value system.

His adult life has been spent as a travel guide writer for Eastern Bloc nations. Granted, there was never much of a market for travel through Communist societies, but Feliks filled a small niche market. Ironically, now that the Communist governments have disintegrated the market has become larger. So, people are clamoring for information just as Feliks has begun to think he doesn't want to have anything more to do with travel writing.

As his 61st birthday approaches, he has some decisions to make. He receives a letter from an American publishing company asking if he would be willing to sell his guide. He scoffs initially but then realizes that it might not be such a bad idea after all. What are his principles now anyway? He meets with the publishing rep and decides that he is willing to sell the guide, but he finds out he'll have to visit America to complete the transaction. Now, this is just too much. American could not be anymore grotesque for Feliks, and he has to go there? But (ever-fading) principle gives way to pragmatism, and Feliks grudgingly agrees.

He has another reason for visiting America. In the beginning of the book, Feliks claims to have no family, no relationships, nothing outside of his political beliefs. This isn't true, of course, and as is usually true for people who make such claims he has long been suppressing his past and replacing it with the theories and values that he embraced. It turns out that Feliks's life is far more complex and painful than he has wanted to admit for a long time. He is Polish by birth, and his mother was part Jewish. On the eve of the Nazi invasion of Poland, when Feliks was only 9 years old, his mother sent him and his older brother (bizarrely named Woodrow) to her sister in Switzerland in the hopes of keeping them safe. Feliks never saw her again. His brother was some years older and unable to sit around doing nothing in Switzerland, so he left quietly one night to join the French Resistance. Feliks was forced to remain in Switzerland with his Nazi-sympathizer uncle and his aunt (who never mentioned her Jewish background to her husband). Eventually, he made his way to France, joined the Communist organizations there, and became active in the party -- at least to the point of writing positively of travel through Eastern Europe.

As he plans to visit America, so many years after his life was torn apart in Poland, Feliks decides to see if he can find his brother. It turns out that there is a Woodrow Wilson Zhukovski in Columbus, Ohio, and Feliks makes the call. His decision to reach out and glimpse into his past proves to be the beginning of the end for Feliks's long-held beliefs. What he learns is that they can no longer stand up against what he sees and what he learns. The biggest change is finding out about his mother, but I won't spoil that for you. Suffice it to say, Feliks's Communist sympathies take a huge blow.

The writing style in this book is fairly simple; the ideas are anything but. Powell has a great deal to work with here, and in the process he has to work around the pitfalls of overused metaphors. For the most part, he manages to do that. I also like that he doesn't look for a "happily ever after" at the end. Feliks does find a measure of peace he didn't know he could enjoy. But there is no complete turnaround or total conversion -- since that would be largely unbelievable for this character. I like the way that Powell throws challenge after challenge at Feliks, and I like the way Feliks has to sort through these on the way to finding out who he is and what he really believes. Ultimately, he reaches a compromise, one that will probably be a little flexible, of course, and one that can continue to change as he does.

I love the way that Powell dissects (through the characters) Stalin's famous remark about not being able to make an omelet without breaking eggs. Those "eggs" are people with names and faces, and how easy it might have seemed to Feliks to agree with the theory until he learned that the broken eggs were also his own family members. Ideas have consequences.

Overall, this was a thoroughly enjoyable read, and it left me with the kind of thoughts that books about intense topics usually do: it sits in my mind for days and reminds me just how important it is for us to look into the past and recall the mistakes that were made, lest -- God forbid -- we walk down that path again.


Year of publication: 2010
Number of pages: 342

Booking Through Thursday: First Book

The meme for this week:

Do you remember the first book you bought for yourself? Or the first book you checked out of the library? What was it and why did you choose it?

The one that springs to mind is this:

I bought it at a local bookstore, Bookstop, where I spent many happy hours looking for ways to spend my meager allowance money. Given my fascination with English history at the time, this was perfect. It's a handy overview, and I still have it. I flip through it from time to time when I need to check something.

E-Book Review: Heaven Is a Place on Earth, by Michael Wittmer

A while back, I reviewed the last of the C.S. Lewis books and made a comment that I later worried might be a bit sacrilegious. I noted that Lewis had ended his stories with a vision of heaven that makes far more sense and that frankly sounded more interesting than what the standard evangelical preacher offers. In brief, I mentioned that the typical vision of heaven sounds pretty boring: long white gowns, harps, wings, clouds for everyone to sit on, and a great deal of singing. This might be great for a while...but for eternity? Surely, God has something else in mind for us? I have no problem with spending eternity in worship to God, but is it all about standing there and singing? Can't worship be defined in a variety of activities?

Concerned that I might have crossed some kind of theological line, I deleted the post, and Page Turner commented on another post to say that I might be interested in Michael Wittmer's book Heaven Is a Place on Earth. I found the book as an e-book download and decided to go for it. This is one of those occasions when blogging has proven to be incredibly fruitful in the sense that it allows people whose paths might otherwise never cross to make important contributions to the lives of others. My sincerest gratitude to Page Turner for the recommendation.

Wittmer's interpretation of the afterlife for Christians makes so much more sense to me. I am a logical person. I like things to fit into place, and the standard evangelical view of heaven never has done that for me. So, we spend a lifetime here on earth, doing our job of "being fruitful and multiplying," "subduing the earth," taking dominion in the name of Christ, and shaping the world for the glory of God. And then...we spend eternity with harps and wings? Is that meant to be some sort of divine reward for a life of obedience? No offense, but I want something to do -- like a job. Give me something to write. Something to cook. A garden to tend (with no reference to Voltaire intended here). Anything. Wasn't Adam commanded to work in the Garden of Eden, even before the Fall?

In the opening pages of his book, Wittmer makes the following comment:

I'd love to go to heaven -- for a visit. It will be unspeakably exhilarating to stand in the presence of God and sing his praises -- but to do nothing except this forever and ever? That's a lot of rounds of "Shine, Jesus, shine."

I completely agree. (I also hope that the very harps of heaven will shatter if someone breaks out into "Shine, Jesus, Shine" while there.) And I'm relieved that a professor of theology agrees with me. (Wittmer teaches systematic theology at Grand Rapids Theological Seminary.) It turns out that C.S. Lewis might have been onto something when the Pevensie children return to Narnia at the end of the series -- Narnia remade, that is, Narnia as it should have been. This is essentially the vision of the "new earth" that is noted in Revelation and the vision that Wittmer pursues. In some depth, he starts at the beginning and takes the reader from the Fall to the beyond, arguing that humans were ultimately made for this earth, even after the return of Christ. Yes, this earth has been corrupted by sin, but God will remake it as the place it should have been before the Fall. And this is really where we will spend eternity, continuing to work but in a form of work that doesn't reflect the Second Law of Thermodynamics but rather reflects our ability to pursue our talents purely and effectively. In other words, we'll have jobs to do that allow us to use the very gifts God has given us. And we'll be able to complete them without the problem of sin getting in our way (without this resulting in something like The Truman Show). Wittmer notes that the familiar idea of this earth being evil and all Christians waiting around for Christ to whisk us away to heaven (since that's our real home) are misguided and reflect a poor interpretation of Scripture at best and pagan Greek reasoning at worst.

I'm happy to say that Wittmer freely acknowledges not having all the answers. What will we all look like in heaven? Who knows. What elements of this current earth will remain? It doesn't matter. (I personally like the idea that Beethoven's 9th will be playing -- even better, the second movement of the 7th and the final movement of the 8th -- and that there will be random outbursts of Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus." And I'll be disappointed if some of the great works of art aren't there. The only thing I request is that no songs from that musical atrocity calling herself Lady Gaga are heard. I will, of course, accept God's sovereignty if He prefers to have them there.) Wittmer also points out that we have to be careful in assuming that we're done now: we still have a responsibility to evangelize and to call people to Christ, since the job isn't done yet. Finally, Wittmer points out that we have to remember there are many for whom life on this earth is a burden. What about the poor and the suffering? Doesn't this view undermine the idea that the saved among them will find true peace at last? As Wittmer argues, the remaking of the earth will bring them the security and tranquility that they were deprived of in their lifetime. He has a point.

I don't expect everyone to agree with this. I don't know that it really matters in terms of salvation. (I like knowing that we don't have to be completely right on some elements of Christianity in order to be confident in our salvation. There are, what Doug Wilson -- with whom I disagree on many issues -- referred to as methods and principles. One is essential; the other is preferential. No prizes for guessing which is which.) I long ago abandoned the idea of the Rapture, but my father-in-law awaits it with eagerness (in part, no doubt, because it allows him a vision of escape from the pain in which he suffers now). The real point is that we are both followers of Christ. And in that we should find our peace and continue to spread the Word and reclaim the world for our Savior. After all, "whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."

Art Study: Epiphany

As today is January 6th, and thus the Feast of the Epiphany, I thought I'd post this painting. I'm afraid I can't find any source information, but it was too beautiful not to post.

As a quick note, for those Christians in the Russian Orthodox Church, January 7th is Christmas. (The Russian Orthodox Church follows the Julian calendar, instead of the Gregorian calendar that other churches follow. They also celebrate Easter on a different date.) Given the extreme commercialism of Christmas in the West, I kind of like the idea of having the religious celebration occurring on a separate day. That way, it's a true holy day, rather than the holiness of the day being an afterthought to trees, lights, presents, and pie.

Book Review: The Holy Thief, by Ellis Peters

The Holy Thief, the 19th book in the series, follows The Summer of the Danes in a totally different vein. The story opens with a prologue that describes the events of Geoffrey de Mandeville's rebellion and pillaging in the Fens. While England struggled without a king, immoral men took advantage of the political weakness to seek their own gain, and de Mandeville was one of them. (Oddly enough, I think I'm a descendant of the guy, but I haven't inherited any of those traits. Not that I know of, at least.) De Mandeville began wreaking havoc across the landscape, and one of his most hateful of activities was the burning of Ramsey Abbey. As the story begins, Peters recounts the events of de Mandeville's sudden death, just before which his subordinates (in a hasty effort to restore some of the man's chances of a peaceful eternity) restore Ramsey to the monks. So, Ramsey is a true abbey again, but the buildings and the grounds are in ruins.

And here is where the main part of The Holy Thief begins, set in the autumn of 1144. In an effort to find the funding to restore Ramsey, Prior Herluin travels to Shrewsbury to request any aid that the monks and townspeople there can provide. Abbot Radulfus welcomes Herluin and his traveling companion, a young monk named Tutilo (who happens to be a very talented musician), and the abbot promises any assistance that can be made available. Herluin also makes a point of visiting Sulien Blount, who made an appearance in The Potter's Field and who was once a novice at Ramsey (although he never took his final vows). Sulien realized his error and returned home, and Herluin has some idea of persuading him to take up the cowl again. No luck there, but Sulien's mother Donata provides the prior with some of her jewels that can be used to restore the abbey. She also discovers just how talented Tutilo is when he plays for her.

Tutilo is an interesting case, and it takes Cadfael a while to decide what to think. On the surface, he is all devotion and submission. Underneath, however, there is the sense that this young man might not be cut out for the monastery any more than Sulien Blount was. For one, there's Tutilo's quietly growing relationship with the girl Daalny. Daalny is actually a slave who is owned by a traveling minstrel from Provence. Her value is in her voice, as her master Remy makes no use of her body; but slavery is still slavery, and as Daalny points out she doesn't even own the clothes that she wears. Thrown together when Remy stops in Shrewsbury around the same time that Herluin does, Tutilo and Daalny start out by talking and end up developing a friendship that is a little too dangerous for a monk and a slave girl.

Before anything serious can transpire between them, Herluin is ready to leave, flush with the timber and the wealth that he has collected from Shrewsbury. Just before he departs, however, the heavens open, and the rain begins falling heavily on the town and the abbey. In fear for the priceless treasures of the church, the monks begin moving things to higher ground, and among those items moved is the casket of Saint Winifred. Herluin and Tutilo leave as soon as possible, and the cart containing their newly acquired goods follows when the roads are safe. It doesn't go far. Geoffrey de Mandeville's men, now masterless and looking for adventure, attack the cart and steal much of its contents. The men handling the cart limp back to Shrewsbury with the news. Around the same time, the monks of Shrewsbury discover that something else is missing. Saint Winifred's casket has disappeared from among the artifacts that were moved. After all possible locations are searched, the reason becomes clear: Saint Winifred's casket was placed on the cart headed to Ramsey. Where it is now, the monks tremble to think.

Cadfael sets out to discover what he can, and in doing so he must sort through the various and often confusing motives of human beings. It doesn't take long to figure out who was responsible for placing Saint Winifred's casket on the cart, and when the layman who unwittingly assisted is found murdered it doesn't take long to point a finger. As for the saint's casket, it is found on the estate of Robert, Earl of Beaumont. Before the monks of Shrewsbury can sigh a breath of relief. Prior Herluin takes up the claim that the saint willed her journey to Ramsey. The earl of Beaumont, perhaps more to argue for logic than to make a real claim, points out that if she willed it she didn't do a very good job, since the cart to Ramsey was attacked and overturned on his lands. Abbot Radulfus upholds Shrewsbury's claim by noting that she has made her way back to Shrewsbury after all. Each holds his ground, and to sort the matter out Radulfus suggests the sortes Biblicae. What this means is that each claimant will open the Scriptures and places his finger on a verse. What that verse contains will be interpreted as the saint's words to him. This might sound like a fairly silly way to make a decision, but Peters writes the scene beautifully, and it's one of my favorite moments in all the books.

What Peters also does well in this book is shaping the character of the earl of Beaumont. I mentioned previously that I like the way she includes and fills out historical figures. This is no different. She takes what little historical information that must be available and creates a truly delightful character who is one of the more memorable elements of the story.

And what happens to Tutilo? Well, he has to make a choice in the end. You have to read to find out which, though.

Year of publication: 1992
Number of pages: 237

Book Review: The Summer of the Danes, by Ellis Peters

If you're looking for a real page-turner of a mystery, this isn't it. That being said (or written), this has become one of my favorite books in the series, and I think the style and overall quality of the writing in The Summer of the Danes, the 18th book in the Cadfael series, might be among the strongest from Peters. It's ultimately just not much of a mystery.

I wonder if the book was ever meant to be much of a mystery, though. Part of me suspects that Peters wanted to write about this particular event in the summer of 1143 -- the dispute between Owain Gwynedd and his brother Cadwaladr and Cadwaladr's subsequent decision to invite the Danes of Dublin to take their spoils of Gwynedd land in North Wales. But how to get Cadfael there, and how to create some kind of mystery that would provide Cadfael with something to do?

Peters decides to re-introduce the character of Brother Mark, who has left Shrewsbury to join Bishop Roger de Clinton's employ as a deacon on his journey to becoming a priest. The bishop sends Brother Mark to Wales with a welcome and a gift for the new bishop there. Along the way, Brother Mark (with full approval, of course) stops at Shrewsbury to request the abbot's blessing and Cadfael's company. After all, Cadfael still speaks Welsh, and Brother Mark can expect to make little headway in Wales without a linguist.

So, Cadfael returns to Wales, and he and Mark find the new bishop in Prince Owain's camp. The task of delivering welcome and gift are easy enough; the real interest is in watching the dynamics of the Welsh prince's household. Owain's brother Cadwaladr has been implicated in the murder of Prince Anarawd of Deheubarth in the west of Wales. As the prince was the intended bridegroom of Owain's daughter, Owain responds angrily and sends his son Hywel to remove Cadwaladr's lands from him. In Wales, this is like taking Cadwaladr's life: without his lands, he has no ownership in Wales and no clear identity. As Peters indicates again and again, the Welsh identity is closely connected to the land, so Cadwaladr is more than a little upset. But Owain stands his ground, as Cadwaladr has created serious political problems for him.

Cadwaladr still has friends, and one of them (Bledri ap Rhys) arrives at Owain's camp to request that the prince return his brother's lands. Owain declines to rule on the issue right away but still welcomes Bledri as a guest. Bledri makes himself at home, and Cadfael watches from a distance to see if he can understand the man a little better. He notices that Bledri flirts innocently with Heledd, the daughter of Canon Meurig. Heledd is herself engaged to be married, having chosen an arranged marriage over life in a convent -- since her father, who was married according to the traditions of the Celtic church, has decided to rid himself of so obvious a symbol of his past so he can rise in the ranks of the Roman traditions that are held firmly outside of Wales.

(If, by this point, you can't make any sense of the Welsh names, just take a deep breath and do the best you can. For a quick overview, "Cadwaladr" is pronounces pretty much the way it's written: "Cad-WALL-a-DER." "Owain" is something like "O-wine." "Bledri ap Rhys" can be pronounced "BLED-ree ap REES." And "Heledd" is "HEL-eth." Vocate the "th" at the end of her name -- "then" instead of "thin." Trill all r's.)

The next morning, Bledri ap Rhys is discovered murdered, and Heledd is discovered missing. Perhaps more shocking, Owain receives news that his brother Cadwaladr has returned from Ireland with a fleet of Danes who have promised to help him get his lands back and who expect to do a little pillaging along the way. A dispute between brothers is one thing, but to allow foreigners to invade Welsh land? Unthinkable. Owain swings into action to protect his people and their homes while avoiding as much bloodshed as possible.

Heledd's disappearance has caused a concern beyond any possible connection to Bledri's death (a connection that quickly proves to be unfounded). She is apparently alone in a land that might soon be teeming with Danish invaders. Cadfael and Brother Mark set off to find her, and along the way Cadfael manages to get himself captured -- along with Heledd -- by the Danes. The momentary surprise of being a captive quickly wears off, as it becomes clear the Danes have no interest in hurting anyone; besides, they recognize the value of captives that fall under Owain's direct protection. So, Cadfael settles into his typical role of observing these Dubliners and studying human nature.

The story kind of plods along from here, with Peters describing the back-and-forth discussions between Owain and the Danes and Owain and Cadwaladr. Things wrap up with very little bloodshed, and even Bledri ap Rhys's murder is solved (although it's more of an afterthought than a real purpose for the story). The real interest of the story is in watching these historical characters make their moves. I love it when Peters develops real-life figures, because she brings such a humanity to them on the pages of her books. Her characterization of Owain Gwynedd might be one of my favorites, and while this isn't the first time he's popped into a Cadfael story this is certainly one of the most rounded descriptions of him. I walked away from this book sorry that I couldn't go back in time to meet him. How difficult it is to see any connection between 21st century America and a region of Wales in the 12th century, and yet how well Peters creates that bridge.

I certainly wouldn't recommend this as a starter book for the Cadfael series, and I should point out that I appreciate the book more now that I'm almost in my 30s than I did when I was half this age. There's a maturity to the writing that didn't really appeal to me years ago, but I appreciate its significance and admire it's complexity now.

Year of publication: 1991
Number of pages: 280