Dwell in Possibility

Book Review: At the Corner of East and Now, by Frederica Mathewes-Green

2012-01-13T22:33:00.001-05:00

This was the Half Price Books purchase that sent my best-laid plans for January into a tailspin. I had been looking at it on Amazon for a while but couldn't make up my mind to buy this one or another by the same author. Seeing it in the bookstore made the decision for me.

My first introduction to the author came through her website, which was, incidentally, linked through an article on a church website. What was meant to be a quick perusal quickly became a morning-long experience of reading through other articles on her site. (I quite honestly sat at my computer, on a morning in which I had any number of other things to do, and absorbed as much of the written material there as I could.) For one, Frederica Mathewes-Green is an exceptionally good writer, and I don't say (write?) that easily. Perhaps more importantly, though, her honesty and humility about her journey to conversion provide a degree of accessibility for those of us who are otherwise unfamiliar and frankly a little frightened -- even as we are increasingly drawn toward it -- of this "other world" of Christianity.

At the Corner of East and Now is Mathewes-Green's follow-up book to Facing East, her first book about her family's conversion to the Orthodox Church (and which I have yet to read). Some of the reviews on Amazon indicate that At the Corner of East and Now makes for a poor study of Orthodox theology, but I suspect that these individuals have failed to grasp the purpose of the book. It's not really about theology, so much at someone individual experience of embracing a new theology and seeing its effects in hers and her family's life. It's beautifully written, with the chapters alternating between the contents of the weekly services and snapshots of poignant moments outside church. The result is that Mathewes-Green quite literally keeps the reader "at the corner of East and now" by looking back and forth, so to speak: she provides a glimpse of ancient Christian tradition and then she turns the reader's head toward a more day-to-day practice of this tradition. It could, I suppose, feel a little disorienting, but I found it quite helpful. Just as the reader is getting caught up in something that feels almost intangible, a liturgy that crosses the boundaries of time and draws the worshiper into the mysteries of the faith, we are brought back to earth again with the reminder that we're still here with a job to do; and that job usually means interacting with very real, very human people through the expression of Christ's love.

This book is definitely focused on Orthodox Christianity, but I think it's one that can be enjoyed by those not so much interested in the Orthodox Church as in Christianity in general. In particular, Protestants might object to specific theological elements, but they won't miss the recognizable faith behind her words. (I don't have a Catholic background, so I hesitate to project the Catholic impression. I don't think Catholics would be offended by anything in here, however.) And Mathewes-Green doesn't claim to know it all; instead, she makes it clear that this is where her Christian journey has brought her, and this is where she has found peace. It's not about arrogance; it's about learning, pressing on, loving and serving Christ.

Year of publication: 1999
Number of pages: 279

Book Review: A Man Lay Dead, by Ngaoi Marsh

2012-01-13T16:05:00.000-05:00

The best-laid plans...

I have a perfectly good reason (ahem, excuse) for why I'm deviating from the reading plan. You see, this is what happened: I had every intention of reading other things at the beginning of January. But then I read this on the plane trip back over the holidays. And then I went to Half Price Books on New Year's Day and found something else I'd like to read. In fact, the other book was from an author whose works had been tempting me on Amazon, but I just couldn't make the decision to spend the money. And here was the very book I wanted, at a fraction of the price. And how could I not sit down and start reading it right away, when I'd been waiting for so long...?

Well, that's the next review. As for this book, I actually forgot entirely about having read it. But it was pretty good, as far as Marsh mysteries go, so I'll include a review. This is one of the stories that I read after having already seen the film version some time back. There were, not surprisingly, a number of alterations between book and film, but I didn't find any of them to be egregious. For one, the character of Agatha Troy makes an appearance in the film (neatly taking the place of another character whose absence really isn't noticed); since the filmmakers seemed interested in exploring the developing romance between Troy and Alleyn in all of the films they made, this isn't surprising. And I was almost disappointed that she wasn't in the book. Additionally, one of the characters in the film version is German, instead of the Russian character in the book. Not sure why this happened, but there were some complications of the Russian character in the book that might have been a bit too much for the filmmakers to work logically into the movie. I appreciate that.

So what happens here, to leave a man lying dead? Well, all the characters (far too many to name, if you want my opinion) are invited to a weekend house party, and the host plans the events around a murder game: names are drawn; someone is designated the murderer and must "kill" another guest; the mystery must be solved before everyone leaves at the end of the weekend. Apparently, it's only fun if someone doesn't actually die. But someone does. And it's quite cleverly done. The lights go out in the evening -- which is the pre-determined signal for the murderer to make his move -- and the guests wait for the murder to happen. The gong sounds -- another designated signal -- and everyone emerges to see who the victim is. Of course, they don't expect a real murder, but sure enough there's a body, stabbed with an antique dagger, at the foot of the stairs.

The host is a man of some substance, so Alleyn is called in to bring a measure of discretion to the case. And really, it's all just too much. People show up for a weekend of murder, and they get exactly what they want, even if it isn't truly what they want. Alleyn sorts through the individuals and their alibis, and true to form he has to solve the mystery by using a little sleight of hand. I should point out that if I hadn't seen the film version I might have been a little confused by how Alleyn handles this. (Marsh, for all her good qualities, is a terrible writer of direction and spatial explanations.) But the murderer remains the same in both versions, and the motive is also the same.

The one real gripe about this is hardly worth mentioning, but since this is my blog I'll mention it. As befitted the fashion of the day, Marsh describes any non-English characters with all of the expected (negative) stereotypes. That is to say, the Russian characters all prove to be unreliable and leering with menace. Because, ya know, all Russians are that way. And even when the Russians are exonerated, they're still somehow untrustworthy. Because, ya know, they're not English. *Sigh* This is par for the course in novels of the day, in which many writers reduced the complexities of non-English cultures to a few silly stereotypes. (Naturally, this wasn't limited to Russians.) To Marsh's credit, she manages to utilize these stereotypes as red herrings in the story, but not to her credit she still manages to give the impression that she believes the stereotypes are largely true. Oh, well. I guess we can't rewrite the errors of the past, as long as we can learn from them.

Looking past the occasionally head-scratching silliness of stereotypes, this was a pretty enjoyable read. It was, as I've mentioned a couple of times, already familiar to me through a film, but that didn't reduce its fun in book form. I wouldn't say this is my favorite Marsh book, but it was certainly worth the time and made for a nice read on the plane.

Year of publication: 1934
Number of pages: 214

Reading 2012: January Plan

2011-12-30T19:14:00.001-05:00

I've decided to go with a monthly installment plan for reading. This will give me some sense of direction while still offering me a measure of flexibility in my reading choices. (It also creates a measure of accountability, something I know full well that I need.)

Obviously, I'm not going to post my monthly plan for the whole year, but I think I will provide an idea of what I want to in the next month. For the upcoming, and rapidly approaching, New Year, I've made a plan for both January and February.

January:

The Ascent of Money, by Niall Ferguson. I tried to read this before but couldn't get into it. I'm giving it another try.
False Scent, by Ngaio Marsh. I picked this one up a while back, and it looks interesting.
Ballet's Magic Kingdom, by Akim Volynsky. Another book from the fall. Fingers crossed for this time around.
Poetry of Anna Akhmatova. I have a copy of this slim volume sitting on my shelf, and I'd like to read through it.

February:

The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe. February is shaping up to be a busy month, so I just want one book to focus on reading. I'm trying to figure out some sort of weekly update as I proceed through it.

So that's how things look now. Happy reading days ahead! :)

Reading 2011 Wrap-Up: Favorite Books

2011-12-30T18:53:00.001-05:00

It's been an interesting year. One year ago, I had just moved to a new city. A couple of months from now, I will very likely be moving to a new country. Life is never dull.

That's a very good thing, by the way.

For my 2011 wrap-up post, I'm going to focus on my favorite books of the year, by month. (I'm only allowing myself to pick one per month, with one exception; otherwise, most of the books I read this year would end up on the list.)

January:
The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron. This book completely changed the way I understand my personality and helped me to find the balance I so desperately need in my life.

February:
In Siberia, by Colin Thubron. This is an incredibly beautiful book. It completely changed the way I look at this fascinating part of the world.

March:
Clutch of Constables, by Ngaio Marsh. Apparently, I didn't read much in March. Well, that's a little embarrassing. Of the books that I did read, this one was my favorite.

April:
The Bronze Horseman, by Paullina Simons. Okay, it's really poorly written, but it's a fascinating story. And it sat with me for weeks. And it drove me to do historical research on a time/place that I had previously ignored. That has to count for something, doesn't it?

May:
The Daughter of Time, by Josephine Tey. I couldn't put it down. And it ignited my interest in Tey. Both good things.

June:
The Rest Is Noise, by Alex Ross, and A Mountain of Crumbs, by Elena Gorokhova. With these kinds of riches, it's hard to pick just one.

July:
Written in Blood, by Caroline Graham. Loved it. So much better than the Midsomer Murders episode, and that was already pretty good.

August:
Scales of Justice, by Ngaio Marsh. I really didn't like either Marsh book that I read during August, but if I had to pick one this would be it.

September:
A Mind to Murder, by P.D. James. There would be something seriously wrong, if a P.D. James book wasn't my favorite for the month in which it was read.

October:
To Love and Be Wise, by Josephine Tey. This one edged out The Singing Sands just by a little, largely because the story was so clever.

November:
To Join the Lost, by Seth Steinzor. Exquisite poetry.

December:
Brat Farrar, by Josephine Tey. Not her best, by any means. But the story stuck with me for a while.

My favorite book of the year falls more under the heading of "book that has influenced me the most this year." And that is definitely Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy, by Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick. But no more needs to be said about that here.

I decline to count up the number of books I've read this year, only because I (a) don't want to remind myself about how much more I could have read and (b) don't want to turn my reading into some sort of personal challenge to complete the most books. Overall, I'd count this as a good year. I could have read more, but what I did read had good effect.

By the way, I've posted my reading intentions for the New Year here.

Quick Review: Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy, by Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick

2011-12-23T18:19:00.002-05:00

Describing this book is proving to be a little difficult for me -- hence the ongoing procrastination in posting the review. It's not that the book is tough to describe; as the title indicates, it is simply a comparison between Orthodox Christianity and other beliefs, whether other forms of Christianity or other non-Christian religions. At its core, from what I can see in the Introduction, is an educational tool to enable Orthodox Christians to converse with those who aren't Orthodox. Were I in this position, I can see how it would be a very helpful book. As it happens, though, I'm approaching the book from a different perspective: that of the non-Orthodox individual who is trying to understand Orthodoxy better.

From this perspective, the book proved to be very useful. What makes this book difficult to discuss -- although I'm not yet ready to go into a great deal of detail on the blog -- is that it proved to be the nudge I needed to push me off the cusp of just being interested to being seriously interested in Orthodox Christianity.

For a quick summary, I loved the straightforward approach that the author takes. There is no hint of self-righteousness; there is no sense of superiority. There is simply a straightforward presentation of information: this is what Orthodox Christians believe, and this is what others believe. Now I have to suspect that in some cases there is a measure of generalization. I was quite shocked to find some of the positions that the Reformed Church claims to hold, at least officially. (Many of these beliefs were nothing short of repellent to me, although that might be the result of the distance I've developed from Reformed beliefs over the last few years.) But I have to assume that there is a difference between these beliefs on paper and these beliefs as practiced by the individual. The author takes care to point this out as well; Christians "on the ground," so to speak, might have much more in common with one another than their official theological affiliations suggest.

Generalizations aside, there's a hefty amount of information in here, packed into a fairly short book. Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy is a great read, regardless of whether or not you are looking into the Orthodox Church all that seriously. You will probably find out things you didn't know about Orthodoxy (and, in my case, things that kept making me ask, "How did I not know all of this?"), and there's a good chance you'll also find out things about your own belief system -- whatever that may be -- that you didn't know. It's a quick, refreshing book that won't take up much time to complete, but, if you're anything like me, will leave you with a lot to think about for many weeks.

Year of publication: 2011
Number of pages: 214

Fall Into Reading: Wrap-up Post

2011-12-20T13:53:00.003-05:00

The Fall Into Reading challenge is almost over, and while I have one more book review to post I'd like to post my wrap-up before I forget about it.

(Thanks to Callapidder Days for the questions/prompts.)

Did you finish reading all the books on your fall reading list? If not, why not?

Yes, and no. I started out strong but then decided to make some adjustments to my list along the way. Post-adjustments, I did finish all of the books I wanted to read.

Did you stick to your original goals or did you change your list as you went along?

As noted above, I altered the list to suit my reading needs as they developed. I saw no point in dragging myself through books that just weren't right for me at the time. I'd rather wait and read them later, when I'll get more out of them.

What was your favorite book that you read this fall? Least favorite? Why?

Favorite: To Join the Lost, by Seth Steinzor. Reason: Beautiful poetry that approaches Dante from a modern perspective while still honoring Dante in spirit.

Least Favorite: Apollo's Angels, by Jennifer Homans. Reason: Rubbish writing, rubbish ideas, rubbish approach to presenting history.

Did you discover a new author or genre this fall? Did you love them? Not love them?

Well, I certainly discovered how much I appreciate Seth Steinzor's poetry.

Did you learn something new because of Fall Into Reading 2011 – something about reading, about yourself, or about a topic you read about?

I confirmed what I already knew -- that I like the idea of a list but don't do a great job of sticking to it. Ah well, no great loss.

What was your favorite thing about the challenge?

While I'm not great at sticking to a reading schedule (i.e., having a list), I liked having a good idea of what I wanted to read over the course of the fall. I think I'll try something like for the New Year -- maybe a monthly goal? I haven't decided yet.

Overall, I did better than I expected, but I have things on which to improve. Admittedly, this is exactly how I would have wanted it to turn out: not a total failure but not a total success either. I like having some room to grow.

Book Review: A Shilling for Candles, by Josephine Tey

2011-12-16T17:40:00.002-05:00

This book brings me full circle with Tey's mysteries. It was the first Tey book that I tried to read -- and gave up on -- so it's nice to come back around to it. I've become a pretty big Tey fan since starting her mysteries, but it took a few books for me to understand her style enough to consider myself a fan. When I picked up this book, however, I just didn't appreciate the strength of her own version of story telling.

I've mentioned it before, but I'll say it again: one thing about Tey that I've come to appreciate is that the reader needs a few chapters to get into the story. In most of the books, the action gets going pretty quickly; for instance, in A Shilling for Candles the body is discovered in the first chapter. But this doesn't mean that story really takes off from here. Tey takes the time to build things up. She describes characters in some detail, establishes the necessary background information (that she later draws from to develop the solution to the mystery), and feels at times like she's wandering. She's not. But it took me a while to figure this out.

What's most important about Tey's writing style is that she tries to create a measure of authenticity for the work of a police officer. Inspector Grant isn't Poirot. In other words, he doesn't look things over and then go back to his flat to sit in his armchair, enjoy his tisane, and let the little grey cells work. Grant is a working, on-the-ground, sifting-through-the-details police officer. So we follow him through the process of getting to the solution. He interviews people, asks the necessary questions, and reviews the details; he chats about them with his sergeant, and the two consider possibilities. He often focuses on the wrong person first and then gets to the right person (who has, of course, done a very wrong thing) later on.

So this is what happens in A Shilling for Candles. In fact, Grant is pretty much positive that the culprit is one person, and then another; he's wrong, but he has to get through the process of discovering this with the evidence.

As for the plot, it is in many ways quite simple: a body is discovered floating in the water, and it is initially assumed that the person -- clad in a swimsuit -- has gotten caught in a current and drowned during an early morning swim. Further inspection indicates that the swimmer has actually been drowned by person or persons unknown. Further research also indicates that the swimmer in question is a well-known film actress who goes by the name of Christine Clay. Everyone is shocked, naturally. Clay was beautiful, talented, and fairly popular. It seems difficult to find someone who really had a strong enough motive for killing her. Once again, further inspection is necessary to discover that there were a few who would benefit from Clay's death and that one of them is almost certainly responsible for her death.

The summary on the back notes that this particular story is the (loose) basis for Alfred Hitchcock's film Young and Innocent. I haven't seen it, and after reading a synopsis I'm not particularly tempted to do so. (It appears that the murderer in the film isn't the same as the murderer in the book.) If you have seen it, however, you will recognize elements of the story. I suspect you'll also find a somewhat more cohesive storyline in A Shilling for Candles.

Two thumbs up for this book. Another fine mystery from Josephine Tey.

Year of publication: 1936
Number of pages: 236

Book Review: Brat Farrar, by Josephine Tey

2011-12-02T22:05:00.001-05:00

Once again, an impulse purchase. I had seen this book at the bookstore a few times, and something about it just put me off. The title, perhaps? I don't understand why anyone would willingly go by the name "Brat." And I didn't really understand the premise, based on the summary presented on the back of the book, so I kept ignoring it. Eventually, though, I ran out of other unread Tey titles at the bookstore, so I finally picked this one up.

I wouldn't say it was my favorite Tey mystery, but it was certainly very interesting, very clever, and very readable. (In fact, I read it over the Thanksgiving holiday while on the couch watching TV with family.) And similar to what has happened in other Tey novels, the premise on the back cover failed to provide the best sense of the story. It's not wrong, per se, but it doesn't offer the punch that the story provides.

So what happens?

Just a few days before Ashby heir Simon Ashby is due to turn 21 and thus inherit his family's fortune, someone shows up claiming to be Patrick Ashby, Simon's twin brother and the older by a few minutes. This, of course, would make Patrick the heir. The problem, however, is that Patrick is supposed to be dead. He disappeared and is believed to have committed suicide when he was only 13 years old -- eight years before. There was a treacherous cliff, a despairing note: and one day, Patrick was gone. Given that this followed hard on the heels of the sudden death of the Ashby children's parents, everyone just assumed that they had let Patrick down, that he had been more upset than anyone believed, and that he had leaped off the cliff one day in a moment of utter sadness.

Not surprisingly, most have put the incident out of mind. It's hard to imagine in any case; add the dynamic of a teenage boy who has just lost his parents, and the incident becomes impossible to think about without gut-wrenching guilt. The remaining Ashby children -- Simon, Eleanor, and almost-ten-year-old twins Ruth and Jane -- are cared for by their devoted Aunt Bee, and she does her best to raise them in as stable an environment as possible. She keeps Patrick's note, though, and occasionally forces herself to look at it as a reminder of what she believes to be a massive failure in her life.

But then, one day, Patrick comes back. He claims that he didn't kill himself after all. He says that the note wasn't a suicide note so much as a statement that he needed to get away and go somewhere else. He says that he left England, spent time in America, and is now ready to come home. Needless to say, everyone is shocked. The man who arrives couldn't be anyone but an Ashby. Simon and Patrick weren't identical twins, but they looked very, very similar; and this new arrival could easily be Simon's lost twin. Not only this, but the young man passes a number of identity tests. He remembers small details that only someone close to the Ashbys (like Patrick) would have known; he fits in easily, as the prodigal returning home. As everyone points out, if he isn't Patrick, then who could he be?

But of course, he isn't Patrick Ashby at all. What's interesting about this book is that the reader is in on the scheme from the beginning. The mystery isn't really about whether or not Brat Farrar, as he has called himself for many years, is Patrick. We know he isn't. We're taken through the events that lead Brat Farrar to the point of pretending to be Patrick, and we find out the what, the why, and the how. The real mystery, it turns out, is in who Brat Farrar turns out to be and what actually happened to Patrick. One thing that's emphasized over and over again is that Patrick was a sweet and considerate young man. Even in a state of depression, it's unlikely he would have (1) hurled himself over a cliff, or (2) run away without sending any word. So Brat takes it upon himself to figure this out, and the discovery proves to be both chilling and devastating.

What's also interesting is that Inspector Grant isn't part of this book. I kept hoping he'd make an appearance, but in retrospect I understand why Tey chose to leave him out. The ending is such that it's better for the police to be involved as little as possible, and Inspector Grant is most decidedly the police. Besides, this book is Brat Farrar's journey from his former identity and to his new one, so Grant really doesn't have a place.

Again, not my favorite Tey book by any means, but certainly more intriguing that I expected it to be. I definitely recommend it, but I don't know that I recommend it as a first Tey read. The style is a bit of a departure from her other mysteries, and while this isn't a bad thing it might be disorienting to read this first and then turn to one of the Inspector Grant mysteries. Leave this one as a fun alternative when looking for a different kind of mystery.

Year of publication: 1950
Number of pages: 286

Fall Reading Challenge Update

2011-11-30T19:38:00.001-05:00

Due to...well, life...I'm making some small changes to my Fall Reading Challenge List:

Dropped

I'm putting The Ascent of Money on hold for now. I started it, and it's genuinely fascinating. But I just can't commit the critical thinking skills to it right now -- for lack of any better way of explaining it. If I manage to squeeze it in at the end, great. If not, I'll put it at the top of my reading list for the New Year.
I'm placing Ballet's Magic Kingdom and Manon Lescaut on the hold list at the moment. I might very well get to them. After my grandfather's surgery (which went really, really well, by the way!), I got out of my reading groove and can't seem to pick up again with anything intense. Again, I might add them toward the end. For now, however, they're tentative.

Added

I picked up Josephine Tey's Brat Farrar at the store a while back and found that it was exactly what I needed over the Thanksgiving holiday. (For the record, I read a good portion of it while watching Home Alone 2 with family. It's that interesting: even Home Alone 2, which is hysterical, couldn't tear my concentration away from Brat Farrar. I plan to review it soon.
I grabbed another Tey book -- A Shilling for Candles -- at the bookstore, and I think I'll read it before the end of the year. This was my first dive into Tey, but I couldn't get into it. I'd like to give it another try, since I have a much better idea of how Tey's writing works now.
A while back, I read Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy. I had no intention of reviewing it, since it was more of an intensely personal reading choice, but after some consideration I think I'd like to write about it. My journey to Orthodoxy has been long and occasionally surprising, but this book sealed the decision for me.

So that's the way things stand for now. I needed to take the pressure of the "Dropped" books from my reading list to ensure that I keep reading. Otherwise, these long books that are doing much for me will just keep generating guilt and, oddly enough, preventing me from reading. I've discovered that some books just aren't right at a certain time but are very right later on. I'll wait until the time is right for them.

Prayer Request

2011-11-07T14:36:00.001-05:00

Just a quick request to all prayer warriors out there. My grandfather underwent surgery today. I was prepared to write up a post explaining what he means to the family and how difficult this has been. But I'm no good at sounding sincere when I become sentimental (some things being just too tough to talk about), so I'll stick with the brief approach. Suffice it to say, this has been definitely been a stressful time for everyone.

Anyway, I just heard from my mom that he's doing well, but I would (as well as the rest of my family) be grateful for prayers for his recovery.

Book Review: To Join the Lost, by Seth Steinzor

2011-11-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

Reinterpreting the classics can be a tricky task, and there's many a writer/poet/artist/etc. that has done it pretty badly over the years. Every once in a while, however, someone comes along who manages to remain true to the overall vision while still offering a fresh perspective on the work. Seth Steinzor's re-imagining of Dante through a modern lens has accomplished just this.

Steinzor notes in the book's "Afterword" how much Dante has inspired him over the years, and it is clear to see that great care has been taken to respect the original without simply tweaking it to look a little more contemporary. After all, Inferno was Dante's story, but To Join the Lost is Steinzor's. He starts the work out with the following statement:

Midway through my life's journey, I found myself
lost in a dark place, a tangle of hanging
vines or cables or branches -- so dark! -- festooning
larger solid looming walls or
trunks or rocks or rubble, and strange shapes
moving through the mist...

And this does a fairly good job of envisioning in a new light Dante's famous first lines:

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
ché la diritta via era smarrita.

Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura
esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte
che nel pensier rinova la paura!

(You mean you don't read Italian? Tsk, tsk, tsk ;)

I should note started this work with a measure of skepticism, but within a couple of pages I knew I was going to be zipping through it -- but not because it's excessively simplistic. This is some excellent poetry, and I don't say that easily. Steinzor is a truly gifted poet, fusing words and ideas together perfectly with exactly the right rhythm and tone. There were moments when I simply had to stop and admire the word choice of a line or a stanza. I was reminded of Owen Barfield and the poet's ability to surprise and delight when he conveys a complex idea with a serendipitous selection of words.

In developing this re-imagining of the classic work, Steinzor is himself the subject of the journey, with Dante as his guide. He even includes a counterpart to Dante's Beatrice (meaning "blessed") with his own Victoria (no doubt you can figure out the meaning, and symbolism, of this). I really appreciate this feature. Victoria is only a memory in To Join the Lost, unlike Beatrice who is an angelic being that offers guidance to Dante in Inferno, but Victoria still represents an important element without the poem. She appears in memory at important moments and counters the mood of whatever is being experienced in hell.

Where the poetry soars, and the reader becomes truly engrossed, is in those autobiographical moments where Steinzor discusses his own life experiences or runs into people he knew. The one that haunted me for some time was his description of seeing the man who molested (or attempted to molest) him during his early teens. It is here that the reader practically feels the racing pulse of the sojourner and steps into the memory with him. In the way that only a good poet can. Steinzor conveys the moment without saying too much, and it is almost surprising to go back and realize that such a striking, almost gut-wrenching, description is contained within only a few lines.

What's interesting in Steinzor's vision is that identifies himself as "a very contemporary agnostic-Jewish-Buddhist American." I'll admit that I'm not entirely sure what this means, but I'm more than a little confident that he and Dante don't share a worldview. This is reflected throughout the poem. While Steinzor remains true to Dante's overall vision of hell, with its structure and assignment of certain forms punishment, there is lacking a sense of consistency in what it all means. Dante's vision of hell was founded on the reigning Catholic theology of medieval Europe. For good or for bad (and I decline to take a position either way), there was at least a strong sense of underlying morality that governed it. In place of this moral foundation, however, Steinzor seems to rely on his own socio-political ideology for meting out punishment in hell. Nowhere was this more apparent than with the startling discovery that St Paul seems to have found his way into Steinzor's vision of hell, due to what looks like an exceptionally poor reading and interpretation of Paul's epistles to the Ephesian and the Corinthian churches. What is more, Steinzor has no problem filling hell with modern political figures that don't fit his own ideological views. Honestly, I would have liked to see a little more creativity in this, not to mention a little less political finger-pointing. It comes across as petty, rather than driven by conviction. To be sure, Dante had his own moments of peopling hell with those he must have disliked intensely, but again there was always the larger sense of Dante applying the theological vision that shaped Europe's worldview. Dante, I suspect, could also have argued his case for these inhabitants of hell with a little more success.

I will point out, though, that To Join the Lost is first and foremost a very personal work from a poet who has been influenced by Dante and is interpreting the medieval poet's work from his own perspective. Cast in this light, I can't fault Steinzor for filling hell with the people he did. Unlike Dante, he is not necessarily creating a metaphorical vision of punishment for those who have broken God's laws. Instead, he is simply viewing Dante in a new light and applying his own life experience to the work. In looking at it this way, I can't say I'd want the poem to be any different. I'll also note that viewing hell through the eyes of someone without a Christian background forced me to consider my own convictions a little more carefully.

In the end, the discussion of who Steinzor places in hell is ultimately quibbling in what remains a beautifully crafted work of poetry. I would be interested to know if Steinzor intends to continue his journey, as Dante did, with a trip through Purgatory and then Paradise. The frontispiece (do people still use that word?) notes that To Join the Lost is "Book 1 of La Mia Commedia," so I hope there are more works to follow. I'll also be interested to see how the thematic arc develops, because Dante ends each part of The Divine Comedy with the word "stars." Steinzor, on the other hand, ends To Join the Lost with the word "void." This word is by no means representative of the poetry itself, but it offers an fascinating hint at what the larger vision might look like.

Year of publication: 2010
Number of pages: 216

Seth Steinzor's website: To Join the Lost
TLC Book Tours site for To Join the Lost: November Tour

This book was sent to me, by Seth Steinzor and through TLC Book Tours, for the purposes of review.

Book Review: Hallowe'en Party, by Agatha Christie

2011-10-28T17:23:00.001-04:00

This was a fun, easy read, so I'm glad I picked it up and added it to the fall reading challenge. I had actually watched the Masterpiece Mystery version several months back (and enjoyed it immensely), and elements of it intrigued me. I wanted to see how it compared to the book, and I was curious if the book would feel quite as "creepy" as the film version. As it turns out, there were a few important differences between the book and the film but nothing so gratuitous as to make the film unrecognizable or the book less enjoyable.

The setting, as the title indicates, is a Hallowe'en party, given by a Mrs Rowena Drake in the town/village of Woodleigh Common. A number of local children are in attendance as their mothers help Mrs Drake in setting up the party earlier in the day, and during the course of the afternoon young Joyce announces that she's seen a murder -- that it happened a while back, that she didn't know at the time she had witnessed a murder, but that she realized later on what she had seen. Of course, no one believes her.

There are several good reasons for this. For one, Joyce is known for being an inveterate liar. She has a history of making up the most absurdly embellished stories, so it is hardly surprising that everyone assumes this to be the case once again. Additionally, the well-known mystery writer Ariadne Oliver is also attending the party, and everyone else believes that Joyce is trying to impress Mrs Oliver with her outrageous tale. Joyce's announcement thus becomes a mere blip on everyone's radar, and it is quickly forgotten. Until Joyce is discovered with her head in the pail of bobbing apples. It seems that someone has held her down until the poor child drowned.

The rather overly dramatic Mrs Oliver is shocked, horrified, and completely at her wits' end, so she phones her friend Hercule Poirot to take a look at the case. The party goers seem to think the most likely scenario is that someone broke into the house during the party and murdered Joyce, or that there is some bizarre sexual twist in the case. There's no evidence of either being true, however, so Poirot has to assume that one of the people at the party killed Joyce. As there were something like 30 people there, the list of possible suspects isn't exactly short. What's more, Joyce's claim to have seen a murderer now seems strangely relevant, and Poirot must consider the possibility that the child who cried wolf might, in fact, have been telling the truth for once. Not only this, but Poirot must assume that someone at the party was responsible for an earlier murder and wanted very much for Joyce to be silenced.

So Poirot sets about his task as methodically as always, asking questions, digging into the past, putting pieces together. The immediate problem is that no one in Woodleigh Common can remember a murder in recent years, or at least something that would not have looked like a murder to a young child. There was the knifing of a legal clerk -- ostensibly after he started seeing another man's wife -- but it's difficult for someone to see a knifing and doubt what has been seen. But Poirot's on the scent, and he beings to nose out other events in the past that seem less fragrant when considered more closely. The result is one of those great English mysteries that fuses the events of the past with the present and once more brings truth to the idea that even old sins cannot be concealed forever.

This isn't Christie's best mystery by any means, but it's also not her worst. It feels tired in a few places, but I suspect that's partially on purpose as Poirot is aging and is presented as a man who no longer has the vigor of youth and is also losing touch with the younger generations.

In terms of the differences between the book and the film version, I'll add a couple of notes. The book was published in 1969. Christie makes broad references to cultural influences of the day, so I'm assuming the book is intended to be set around 1969. The film version, for whatever reason, is almost certainly set well before this -- perhaps in the late 40s or early 50s. In terms of ambience, it makes sense. The style of the clothes, the mood, all of it works a little better (for me, at least) in the film setting. There are also a few other peripheral moments in the book that are given mini-story lines in the film version. I can't blame the filmmakers for this. The book has a rather massive cast of characters -- far too many, I think -- and it would be ridiculous to include all of these people in the film. What is more, in order to make the characters who are in the film stand out, it doesn't hurt to add a bit to their characters. I didn't feel like any of it was out of place, and it made for a richer story. It does, however, explain why I was a little confused in a few places while watching the film (i.e., Agatha Christie included that in her story?). There are hints and suggestions in the book that become full-blown plot devices in the film. Again, I don't have a huge objection to what was done, as none of it dishonored Christie in intent, and I certainly understand why. (I would go so far as to say that in some ways the filmmakers did a better job of weaving things together and creating a tighter plot. From a story telling perspective, there was a bit more coherence in places.) Just be forewarned that the book is a bit different in places.

Year of publication: 1969
Number of pages: 259

Book Review: To Love and Be Wise, by Josephine Tey

2011-10-21T22:48:00.000-04:00

This particular book might just very well be my new favorite of Josephine Tey's Inspector Grant mysteries. It was a bit of a slow start for me, no doubt due to the poorly worded synopsis on the back, but once I got into it I couldn't put it down. I should mention that this isn't atypical of Tey mysteries (at least in terms of getting into them). They tend to plod along at the beginning and pick up about one-third of the way through. This is the very reason I couldn't finish the first Tey mystery I tried (A Shilling for Candles), but I'm glad I gave her books a second try.

To Love and Be Wise starts out with Inspector Grant attending a "literary sherry party" -- apparently, a cocktail party of sorts for a publishing company to toast the success of an author -- and while there he encounters a young man named Leslie Searle. Searle, as Grant quickly decides, is quite an interesting phenomenon. He's American, a photographer, and disconcertingly self-contained. Searle is also the type of person who has the presence that makes an impact. He shows up to meet Miss Lavinia Fitch (the toasted author) and mentions that he was hoping to meet her nephew Walter Whitmore who is a friend of someone he knows. Miss Fitch is intrigued and readily invites Searle to her home in what I assume to be the fictional Orfordshire, where her nephew Walter also lives. Additionally, Searle finds himself invited to dine with Grant's own friend Marta Hallard, a well-known actress who is also enchanted by this fascinating young man.

So Leslie Searle goes to Orfordshire and meets Walter Whitmore. He also meets Walter's fiancee (and Miss Fitch's step-niece) Liz Garrowby, and she too is interested. On the whole, Searle raises a few ruffles in the small village where they all live. He just doesn't quite make sense...if that makes any sense. There's something unexpected about him, something that doesn't quite work, and no one can quite place a finger on it. It takes a bit for all of this to sink in, and as it's sinking in Walter and Searle decide to partner up on a venture: the two will travel the nearby river in canoes, and Searle will photograph while Walter, who is a journalist, will write the text. As the two are well known enough in their own fields, the book is guaranteed to be a success.

Having started the project, Walter then decides that he doesn't quite like the young man, but Walter isn't a particularly emotive sort of fellow. He just plods along with it, until one evening when Searle provokes him during a conversation at the local pub. Walter gets up and walks out, slamming the door behind them. Searle waits a bit and then leaves too, cheerily saying goodbye to everyone else and leaving with a spring in his step.

And from then on, Leslie Searle is never seen again.

In short, he disappears. The assumption is that he fell, or was pushed, in to the river and drowned. And of course, because Walter was seen to quarrel with him Walter is the automatic suspect. The river is dragged, and nothing is found, but suspicion lands on Walter and doesn't seem in any hurry to leave. Meanwhile, no one has any idea what happened to the American photographer who made such an impact in so short a time.

Grant is called on the scene to investigate, and he does so with the knowledge that he at least met the young man who has disappeared. He conducts his search with care, but all the while he has the feeling that something isn't right, that something doesn't fit. Walter makes a poor candidate for a murderer (as Grant's sergeant points out, Walter is more like to be the one pushed into the river than the one doing the pushing), but nothing else fits. What could have happened? There's no indication that Searle would have left of his own volition, so the police have no choice but to assume something more sinister.

The only problem I really had with the solution to this mystery is that I figured it out earlier than I should. I got about halfway through and thought to myself, "This whole mystery would be simple if ______________ were the case." It turns out I was right. And it was a tiny bit disappointing (I like to be surprised), but Tey wrapped it all up quite well. I liked the conclusion; I liked how she worked it all out, and why. And now To Love and Be Wise is a definite favorite among the Tey mysteries that I've read.

Year of publication: 1950
Number of pages: 223

Book Review: The Singing Sands, by Josephine Tey

2011-10-14T20:58:00.000-04:00

This is, apparently, the last of Josephine Tey's Inspector Grant mysteries, a fact that I wish I had ascertained before I was about 20 pages into it. Ah, well. It was enjoyable nonetheless, and I liked that, as always, Tey revealed yet another aspect of Grant's character. He never quite gets stale. Part of me wonders if this doesn't contribute to a degree of inconsistency in character development. (That is to say, this was the first I remember hearing about his problem with claustrophobia. Unless there was a drive-by mention in another book.) All the same, I appreciate that Tey tries to bring something new to the table in each book, not only in terms of plot but also in terms of character.

Due to the previously unknown condition of claustrophobia, Inspector Grant has been given a leave period of several weeks, and he has decided to take his holiday with his cousin Laura and her family in Scotland. He plans to do some fishing -- an activity that would doubtless stress me out even more, but different strokes, and all that.

No sooner does he get on the train to Scotland than Grant stumbles across a mystery, without quite realizing it. As he passes a cabin, the steward is hammering away on the door. At last, the steward opens the door and sees that the gentleman inside has died from what appears to be a severe blow to his head. He reeks of alcohol, and it is assumed he was a little tipsy and lost his balance when the train lurched. He pitched into a corner and died before someone could assist him. Grant is there as this discovery occurs, and he does what he can to assist. He also -- inadvertently -- does something he shouldn't. The man's newspaper falls onto the floor, and Grant picks it up and tucks it under his arm. He doesn't mean to, of course, but he's more focused on the condition of the passenger than on the newspaper the passenger had with him.

Later on, as he sits over tea, Grant opens the newspaper to realize that it isn't his. And on it is scribbled a few lines from a poem:

The beasts that talk,
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sand,
.................................
.................................
That guard the way
To Paradise

Well, it's not the stuff of legend, but it's catchy all the same. And it sticks in Grant's head. He decides that he wants to know more about the young man who wrote down these lines. They're not familiar to him and his otherwise excellent education, so he assumes they're original.

From here, Grant tries to focus on his much-needed holiday, but he finds that fishing holds less appeal for him than he would have expected. (Well, I could have told him that.) He discovers that there are "singing sands" in Scotland, so he visits Cladda to see what it holds. No luck there, but he is starting the process of relaxing, and he's also making headway on dealing with his claustrophobia. Eventually, the primary clue must come to him, and from this point Grant realizes that he's facing not just a tragic death but also a murder. So Grant digs in and finds out what really happened. His discovery of the perpetrator comes just a little too late, but the young man in compartment B Seven will have justice in the end.

Overall, I loved this mystery and particularly because it ended nothing like I expected. For some reason, the cover information left me thinking this was going to be another of those British mysteries that leads to an "international crime ring" conclusion. Not so, I'm happy to say. The premise is, in many ways, very satisfying and drove me to Google a few things that were new to me (and unrelated entirely to international crime rings). The one thing I didn't love is the ongoing digs that Tey (through Grant) takes at the Scottish Highlands and the people there who remain passionate about their culture and heritage. Not a page goes by, it seems, that some snide remark doesn't appear about kilts, Celtic, or Scottish independence. It all feels like a rapidly dulling axe to grind, but I suppose it was par for the course during this period. This feature wasn't a deal-breaker for me, but I do wish Tey could have softened her own political views to avoid interfering with what was a fairly strong storyline.

Year of publication: 1952
Number of pages: 223

Ballet: The Royal Ballet

2011-10-11T14:49:00.002-04:00

For me, this is one of those videos in which one dancer stands out so much I forget there are other dancers in it. This pas de trois, from the Royal Ballet's Swan Lake, is danced by Yuhui Choe, Steven McRae, and Laura Morera. Truth be told, McRae and Morera are excellent dancers, and it's a treat to see them. But how to see anyone else when Yuhui Choe is dancing?

What to note:

The way she uses her head, her footwork and her overall sweetness. Such a lovely dancer. This is indeed the future, and it doesn't look bleak.

Ballet: Gelsey Kirkland

2011-10-07T21:17:00.001-04:00

Here's Gelsey Kirkland, the great (and maybe the greatest) American ballerina. Her many personal problems aside, Gelsey was always exceptional on stage. This particular video highlights her performance of the Sugar Plum Fairy variation in The Nutcracker, with Mikhail Baryshnikov. Yes, she's very thin, but...oh my goodness, the way she dances. Every movement, every moment is beautiful. She brings out things in the music that might not have seemed so obvious before. I read somewhere a comment that she becomes a three-dimensional representation of the music in this variation, and I can't argue with such a description.

What to note:

Gelsey was a student of Balanchine, but to me she was a more truly classical dancer than he tended to develop. And she stands head-to-toe with any dancer that Russia produced. Those arms, that footwork, that balance, that control. It's perfection.

(Hint: Her variation is the first two minutes of the video.)

Book Review: The Fourth Part of the World, by Toby Lester

2011-10-07T21:05:00.001-04:00

This is certainly one of the most interesting books I've ever read, but in spite of this (or perhaps because of it) I'm having a difficult time figuring out how to explain it. Basically, the purpose is a history of the discovery of the New World through the development of maps. The author Toby Lester focuses on one map in particular -- a map that was produced in Germany in 1507 and is the first to identify part of the New World as "America" -- and explains how Europeans arrived at this point.

Hmm...not exactly a page-turner, you might be thinking. But you'd be wrong. Lester is an excellent writer, and he does more than recount history. He successfully tells a story, pinpointing important moments along the way and highlighting essential people. He might shade the telling with his own opinions from time to time, but what the book lacks in objectivity it makes up for in sheer enjoyment. As a result, The Fourth Part of the World sits on the very edge of true non-fiction and dips its toe occasionally into the feeling of fiction.

For instance, Lester begins the book by discussing the rediscovery of the 1507 map in the early 20th century. He takes the reader there, sitting alongside the Jesuit priest who stumbled upon it while doing research in Wolfegg Castle. The reader doesn't just find out what happens; the reader finds his own pulse racing with excitement as Father Joseph Fischer begins to realize what he's looking at. It's all highly enjoyable, in fact, and keeps the book from turning into a dull series of cartographic events. This isn't to say that Lester loses his way as a conveyor of history. At no time did I, at least, have the sense that the book was not to be taken seriously (in spite of Lester's occasional hint of opinion when discussing medieval religious ideas). It's just that Lester does a great job of balancing the facts with the sense of being there. Never have maps been so interesting.

So what's so important about this 16th century map from Germany, you ask? It's not merely that it's the first map to identify America and name Amerigo Vespucci as the source of this name. It's also that it's the first map to indicate clearly that America might be a completely new continent (or continents). Specifically, the mapmaker surrounded the continent(s) with water, something entirely shocking at the time. Prior to that time, explorers really did believe that they could sail west into Asia. I suppose they could, in theory: they just didn't realize that they'd have to go around a sizable land mass in the effort to get there. It's the information about South America that really startles the Europeans. The information that Columbus sends back about the islands he discovers doesn't raise too many eyebrows. Back home, everyone still thinks he's found islands off the coast of Asia. It's when Vespucci begins describing the coast of South America -- modern-day Brazil and Venezuela (named to identify it as "Little Venice," it turns out) -- that Europeans begin to sit up and wonder. And Lester takes the reader there. I found myself being startled alongside the 15th and 16th century European.

Overall, The Fourth Part of the World proved to be a great supplement to my meager memory of the history from this period. I recall the basic overview: medieval people believed the world was flat; Columbus disagreed and sailed west to find a route to Asia; in the process, he discovered the New World; Vespucci expanded on his discoveries and bestowed his name on the continents. Toby Lester proves that there's a lot more to it than this, and my elementary school learning has now been greatly enhanced. Case in point: Lester notes that the traditional line about Columbus has been that he went to Ferdinand and Isabella for funding after the king of Portugal turned him down because he believed the world was flat. Apparently not. It seems that the king of Portugal was far more knowledgeable and believed that Columbus was, for lack of a better description, blowing smoke with his theories. He claimed that he could sail west and reach Asia in less than 4,000 miles. The scientists within the king of Portugal's court had extensive information about the shape of the earth and the distances in it and believed that it was more than 10,000 miles from Portugal to Asia. It turns out that they were both right, to an extent: Columbus would hit some form of land in less than 4,000 miles, and Asia was more than 10,000 miles away.

Lester also includes a variety of fascinating details that might not be essential but that certainly enrich the understanding of history. For example, the German cartographer's naming of America really stuck with people, but Spain was offended by it. They believed that it undermined Columbus's accomplishments (which they had financed), and as a result Spain refused to recognize the name America until the 18th century.

I love information like this. Again, it's not necessary, but it makes everything about history so much more interesting, because it's a reminder that history is made up of people -- and people can always be counted on for a great story.

I recommend this book. But let me recommend with a suggestion: I think you need to be in a certain mood to read it. As fascinating as it is and as easy of a read as it is, there's still a great deal of history in it, and the history is ultimately about maps. There's also a flow to this book that demands consistency. Pick this up when you can move through it fairly quickly; the story moves along, and if you pick it up and put it down you might find yourself lost. I read it in about 5 days, and that was a good speed. Had I read it over 5 weeks, however, I don't know that I would have enjoyed it nearly as much.

Year of publication: 2009
Number of pages: 462

Ballet: Soviet Style

2011-10-06T13:24:00.000-04:00

I love this piece and the way it's performed here. There's something about Ninel Kurgapkina's smile and the playfulness she brings to the choreography. The dancers never forget that they're playing characters, and they seem to be having a blast with it. (By the way, the male dancer is Boris Bregvadze. And as a note of interest, Kurgapkina's first name was "Lenin" spelled backwards. Apparently, it was briefly popular in Russia.)

Sadly, Kurgapkina died in 2009; she was 80 years old. From what I can gather the Russian press said, she was hit by a car while trying to cross a street in Saint Petersburg. And with her died another of the great Kirov ballerinas who fused style and character so well. Fortunately, the Russian tradition of having older dancers train younger dancers has ensured that her influenced continues to a degree: the lovely Evgenia Obraztsova was one of her pupils.

What to note:

With Russian dancers, it's all about the upper body, but in this case (and since the fan prevents a good look at her Vaganova-trained port de bras) I'll also point out Kurgapkina's lovely footwork and excellent performance style. She captures the feel of the dance and interprets the music beautifully.

Ballet: Cuban and South American Style

2011-10-03T17:03:00.001-04:00

I've seen many different versions of this particular pas de deux, but the version with Fernanda Tavarès-Diniz and Joan Boada remains my favorite due to the sophistication and musicality of the performers. Her variation in particular is something I never tire of watching. I love the way she savors each moment in the music and finds those previous little nuances to present to the audience. I suspect she's enjoying it as much as they are.

What to note:

Her arms have a Russian inspiration, but the overall quality is far more South American with its focus on strong but musical turns and a beautifully uncomplicated core.

(Quick mention: Fernanda is from Brazil, while Joan is from Cuba. Joan, I believe, is currently dancing with the San Francisco Ballet. I'm not sure about Fernanda.)

Ballet: Russian Technique

2011-10-01T18:40:00.000-04:00

If there's a list of reasons not to think ballet is dead, Mariinsky (Saint Petersburg, formerly the Kirov) first soloist Evgenia Obraztsova performing the Carnival of Venice variation should be on the list. I've seen several versions of this, even a different one by this particular dancer, but this is the video that I keep watching. Again and again. I think I've watched it a dozen times now. I can't find anything wrong with it. This is almost technical perfection but without being boring. Now that's difficult to accomplish.

What to note:

Pay attention to her exquisite upper body, particularly the way she uses her arms and her head, as well as her exceptional footwork. Note also her wonderful musicality: she works with the music and makes it work for her. Great musicality is increasingly rare and is a true gift among dancers.

Fall Challenge Update (Otherwise Known as "Ballet and Other Things")

2011-09-30T21:41:00.000-04:00

Before I wrote my review of Apollo's Angels, I took some time to read other reviews, primarily from people familiar with dance, to see if I was the only one who had problems with it. I wasn't. In fact, many people said the same thing that I scribbled down in my notes. (Cuba? Kirkland? Ratmansky? FORSYTHE?!) One of the reviews that I read mentioned other topic-specific books that were a great balance to Apollo's Angels, and among these was Ballet's Magic Kingdom. As it happens, this has been sitting on my bookshelf for several months, so I've decided to add it to my Fall Into Reading Challenge list.

Additionally, I picked up two Josephine Tey mysteries at the bookstore the other day. (That money was just burning a hole in my wallet.) So I'm also adding The Singing Sands and To Love and Be Wise.

And...

Because I love ballet so much, I want to provide a little idea of why I love it and why I think Homans was off the mark in many areas. For the next week or so, I'll add a video each day. Feel free to ignore, unless you're interested. Ballet tastes vary, but you might discover something you like.

Book Review: Apollo's Angels, by Jennifer Homans

2011-09-30T15:06:00.002-04:00

Reviewing a book like this is enormously difficult for me, because there's so much I want to say, but I'm not sure how to organize the information effectively. It's not a simple matter of "I recommend" or "I don't recommend"; the recommendation (or lack thereof) has to be far more nuanced, as the information in the book is itself far more complex. I finished the book yesterday and decided to give myself about 24 hours to think about it, write down notes, come up with some kind of plan. I'm still not satisfied with my thoughts on it, but I want to move on from the book at this point.

As the image indicates, Apollo's Angels claims to be "A History of Ballet." This isn't entirely inaccurate. The first six chapters are devoted to the early years of ballet and include an impressive amount of research on the author's part. She digs into the past and reveals a range of detail that suggest only a passion on the part of a writer for the subject matter. Homans makes an effort throughout to link the development of dance to the cultural influences of the day -- i.e., early ballet in France was the result of steps designed for court dances intended to honor the king -- and in this she manages to keep the book from becoming a dry tome exhausted with information. I should point out that in doing this, she also makes speculative leaps that don't always feel reliable. But at least it makes for great food for thought.

After chapter 6, the book moves on to the early days of ballet in Russia, and after this the rest of the book is more or less devoted to ballet in the 20th century. That's not an unfair balance, to be honest. Except in Russia (and, to a degree, in Denmark), ballet was always a somewhat peripheral activity that did not take off as an important and respected art form worldwide until the 20th century. Homans hones in (I totally had to write that...) on the early modern days in Russia, with Diaghilev's Ballets Russes, as well as on Soviet Ballet, ballet in England, and ballet in America. Oh wait, I'm sorry: ballet in New York. And you might guess that this is where I transition from summarizing the book to reviewing it more seriously.

There's a lot of good in Apollo's Angels. Homans does an exceptional job of providing information about pre-20th century ballet. But what this is not is a textbook about ballet. While this might sound like a good thing, the problem is that many people who are only vaguely familiar with ballet will read it like a textbook -- that is, a solid history of ballet and how it has developed. This book contains that information, but it is always shaping it and guiding it in one direction. It's highly opinionated, flagrantly biased, and containing frequent editorializing. It's no mistake that the last major chapter is about ballet in New York. (Because, you know, that's the only ballet in America that counts?) In fact, it's not unreasonable to point out that the entire book is leading up to the glorious moment when Balanchine arrived in New York to begin developing a ballet company (now the New York City Ballet) and choreographing his works for it. Homans's primary thesis, in fact, seems to hinge on this point. She appears to be using the theme of "Apollo" and "angels" to create a link between the aristocratic history of ballet and its occasionally otherworldly aura. But she makes the latter a necessity, rather than a contextual feature. For her, the courtly dances are no longer relevant, but ballet in the modern era should strip the art form from this background while still retaining the overall impression of the regal and balance it with the ethereal. Everything else, including the much-loved "story ballets" that are still performed, fails to appreciate this need and is a step backwards in the grand forward march of ballet. And only Balanchine accomplished this. Apparently, he gave the world an abstract vision of ballet's purpose, so his greatness is unquestioned.

In case you're wondering, I don't agree. In fact, I disagree emphatically. Balanchine created some extraordinary choreography, but I would simply place him next to many other excellent 20th-century choreographers who developed equally striking and significant work. Balanchine just happened to choreograph a lot, and people who do a great deal of work tend to strengthen their style over time. (He also gets credit for making ballet important in America; I'll give him that one. But he created a specific style that may or may not have longevity. It's a toss-up at this point.) More important, however, Homans fails to mention any of these choreographers, in part, I suspect because their work might conflict with her thesis. The result is a poorly balanced presentation of ballet, written by someone who worked with Balanchine and remembers the "good old days" that are no more. She actually concludes the book with a much-noted epilogue in which she argues that ballet is dead. But her reasons are vague and badly formed, and the impression is that she believes ballet is dead because it doesn't look like what she thinks it should look like. Remember the grand forward march, mentioned above. That's not really how ballet has evolved, after Balanchine's death, so she has only grim visions for the future.

How absurd. Ballet might be in a state of flux, but one of the arguments Homans makes throughout the book is that ballet has repeatedly gone through such stages. It would seem that she has forgotten this, or at least forgotten that a transition takes some time and is often difficult to recognize until after it has been completed. It might very well be that classical ballet is currently struggling to identify itself in this era, but it's still around. Ballets are being performed; people are attending and enjoying them; ballet schools are full of eager young dancers. We can't just throw up our hands and say, "Well, I don't see as much progress as I'd like, so ballet must be dead." That's just silly. Ballet will shape its 21-century identify because people remain involved in it and print their own vision on it.

What is more absurd perhaps is the amount of information that Homans leaves out. I mentioned choreographers above, and after Balanchine Homans only tips her hat to a few but comments that there is no good work being created now. Excuse me? She says this but completely overlooks Alexei Ratmansky and Christopher Wheeldon; both, I should mention, did not come from the New York City Ballet or the school that Balanchine created, the School of American Ballet. Ratmansky is a product of the Bolshoi and Wheeldon of the Royal Ballet. But both are widely regarded among the "first-tier" choreographers of the 21st century. Are all their works great? Of course not. But neither were Balanchine's (a point that Homans tends to pass by with her fleeing remark that even Balanchine had the right to create "kitsch" from time to time). The point is that they're still working and making strides to develop and give voice to the ballet of today.

More shocking is her complete failure to acknowledge the work of American choreographer William Forsythe who did study in New York at one point and even has a Balanchine-influenced past. His work pushes the boundaries, and even he noted that he might very well leave ballet behind at some point, but it should be noted that he has been actively creating vibrant new work for dance. The reason for ignoring him, I can only assume, has something to do with the fact that Forsythe's work doesn't quite fit Homans's thesis about "Apollo's angels." His work tends to be hard-edged and often earthy. Far from skimming the surface of the angelically abstract, it presents a more raw form of abstract that must not be acceptable.

Homans completely ignores the development and popularity of ballet outside her small vision of ballet's modern relevance. Alicia Alonso, the great Cuban ballerina who pioneered ballet in that country, established a tradition there that is still going strong. In fact, several years ago the Royal Ballet (from England) toured Cuba. (One of the Royal Ballet's male principals, Carlos Acosta, is a Cuban native.) The performances were so popular that they sold out, and the Royal Ballet then began erecting large screens outside the theater so that more people could view the dancing. Ballet is certainly not dead in places like that, where it is beloved by the vendor on the street. Beyond Cuba, there is no mention of ballet in China and Japan, which is odd because both countries send dozens of ballet participants to all the major competitions, and they are in the process of creating their own ballet identity. There's no reason to be disappointed by the results.

In terms of dancers, Homans fails to mention two female ballerinas, both of whom justly deserved to be called ballerinas and both of whom had a permanent impact on the aesthetics of 20th- and 21st-century ballet. The great French-born dancer Sylvie Guillem is completely ignored. I have to wonder if Homans does this, because mentioning Guillem might conflict with her argument about French ballet going into a permanent decline after World War II. The omission is startling, however. If nothing else, Homans should have acknowledged the impact that Guillem had and the fact that she's still dancing and being part of the evolving face of ballet. Yes, Guillem is controversial, but she's a major part of ballet history. The other omission is equally surprising and yet somehow not so much. American ballerina Gelsey Kirkland isn't mentioned once. The fact that she might be the greatest ballerina America ever produced apparently doesn't overcome the fact that Kirkland broke off her connection to Balanchine to forge a different path. My understanding is that after this the New York City Ballet removed her from their history, and it looks like the grudge is still being held. Nonsense. Utter nonsense, in large part because none of Balanchine's favored dancers could hold a candle to Kirkland in either technique or style. (Additionally, Homans seems to admire Balanchine's preference for having "no stars" in the company -- he had to be the only star? -- and Kirkland, who appeared on the cover of Time in 1978, was certainly a star.)

I'll wrap things up soon, but I want to make a further comment about Homans's approach in the book that left me very unsettled. She, somewhat begrudgingly, acknowledges the importance of Russian ballet and the contribution of the Russian style. But she seems to do this in large part to (once again!) point the reader in the direction of Balanchine, who was from Russia and to suggest that he really was the highest point in their balletic development. Of course, he then went to create ballets in America, so the focus on greatness must follow him. In terms of Russian ballet today, Homans essentially writes it off and has very little to say. But this too is a terribly biased approach. There are definitely problems in Russian ballet as it has moved past the Soviet era and into the 21st century. Russian ballet companies have created a mess of dancer hierarchies and ill-conceived reenactments. But Russian ballet schools are still producing some of the finest dancers in the world, and these dancers are creating spectacular work in Russia. There's a bit of sour grapes in this. Because Homans views the New York City Ballet during its Balanchine era as the pinnacle of ballet history, she remains fixated on this as the ultimate goal. Unfortunately, the New York City Ballet has recently relied too heavily on its Balanchine past instead of creating more new work, and as a result the company has been sinking into artistic irrelevance for the last couple of decades. Its dancers, though technically solid, don't have the strong classical background that dancers in other companies -- particularly Russian -- have, and they simply cannot handle the technical challenges of traditional ballets as successfully as we are made to believe they should. In other words, if I were Homans and I were coming from her background, I'd be disappointed to. The New York City Ballet, far from leading the way in 21st-century dance, has simply fallen back on regurgitated performances of Balanchine's work as well as adding mediocre productions of traditional story ballets. And their dancers aren't necessarily looking better for it. But in order to make her point, Homans has to overlook the good that's coming out of Russia and also ignore the fact that Russian dancers have taken on Balanchine's choreography much better than the dancers of Balanchine's inheritance can take on the traditional Russian ballets. No, Russian dancers don't always look like Balanchine-trained dancers, and they often get the "feel" of it wrong. But for me, Russians bring context and sense to Balanchine's choreography in a way that no Balanchine-trained dancer has ever done.

A final comment. The writing in the book is mediocre, and the overall flow can be choppy to the point of confusion at times. What saves this book is the passion that Homans infuses into her topics and the time she takes, particularly in the early chapters, with easing tiny historical details out of the past and making them interesting in the present. For this, and this alone, I can recommend the book. I want to make a gentle suggestion, however: if you are not a ballet dancer with a background in classical ballet and a familiarity with the different styles, if you see ballet as a beautiful art form and are interested in reading more about it, please read this book carefully. Homans has produced a decent history of ballet as seen through highly biased eyes. She has not -- and I repeat emphatically not -- produced a solid history of ballet that looks at it through purely academic eyes. She is telling the story as she sees it, and frankly as is the case with most writing you learn as much about author are her own views in this "history" as you do about ballet. Perhaps more.

Year of publication: 2010
Number of pages: 643

Book Review: Hand in Glove, by Ngaio Marsh

2011-09-28T14:32:00.004-04:00

Well, it turns out this book was a lot of fun and very much worth the read. It also turns out that I saw the film version of it a while back and just didn't make the connection right away. Fortunately, there are some major differences between the film and the book, so I was able to appreciate the latter even after having seen the former.

What threw me off to begin with was the description on the back:

Lady Bantling had an inspired flair for outrageous parties. A treasure hunt seemed the perfect diversion for a gathering of gentry in the pleasant hills of the English countryside. But when the setting and circumstances inspired someone to murder a well-known barrister in a particularly brutal manner, then Inspector Alleyn from Scotland Yard must query the guests.

This isn't really a good summary. In fact, it's a terrible summary. Lady Bantling is a part of the story, and her party plays an important role, but...hmmm...how to put this without ruining the plot? This description is an imbalanced look at events and places too much weight where it shouldn't be. This is kind of what happens. But not really. This is sort of one way to put it. But putting it this way also puts things a bit out of order.

What's more, there's no mention whatsoever of Mr. Percival Pyke Period ("P.P." to his friends), who is one of my favorite characters from any Marsh mystery -- he also has a great role in the film version -- due to his bizarre obsession with family and ancestry. He's fixated on it, and he loves to tell everyone about his own past. It's actually funnier than it sounds. (Think Hyacinth Bucket, but with real manners and without the bad singing voice.) What is more, the murder victim is anything but a "well-known" barrister. He's just a curmudgeonly older man who was once a barrister in the area. He, along with his ill-mannered dog, has moved into a room in P.P.'s house, and the two (barrister and dog) have managed to irritate just about everyone within the postal code.

The murder is quite brutal, though. Harold Cartell, aforementioned barrister, is found is a ditch outside P.P.'s house. The village has decided to install sewage drains, so there's a handy ditch at the ready for Cartell's murderer. There's also a murder weapon: Mr. Cartell is smacked over the head to stun him and cause him to fall into the ditch, and the murderer then rolls one of the sewage pipes, sitting out while waiting to be installed, on top of him. Nasty business. No pun intended.

So Alleyn has to sort through all of this, as well as a complicated cast of characters that are fairly burdened with motives for killing Mr. Cartell. The "big reveal" wasn't such a surprise, since I'd seen the film (and in this, at least, it remains true), but if I haven't seen the film I definitely wouldn't have guessed the identify of the murderer. All in all, it's very clever and had a similar rhythm to Scales of Justice, which I reviewed a while back.

Another winner from Marsh.

Year of publication: 1962
Number of pages: 239

Book Review: A Mind to Murder, by P.D. James

2011-09-23T15:31:00.002-04:00

Reviewing a P.D. James mystery should always begin with a quick statement:

P.D. James is an excellent mystery writer. Perhaps more important, P.D. James is an excellent writer. Full stop. I recommend this mystery, as well as any other that she's written. You won't be disappointed.

At this point, feel free to take exit the review. Because you know in advance how it's going to end. If you want to get a few tidbits about the book, however, feel free to stick around.

This is the second of James's Adam Dalgliesh mysteries, and it follows Cover Her Face in publication by about a year. There's a measure of continuity as well; in the beginning of the story, Dalgliesh sees someone from the previous case, and he struggles to work through his feelings about the experience. (For the record, I did read Cover Her Face, but I decided to wait on reviewing it while I could ruminate. I ended up ruminating for so long that I felt like the moment had passed me by. So no review. Good book, though, and definitely one worth reading.) Dalgliesh has to put the memories behind him in a hurry, however, because a fresh murder shows up soon.

The Steen Clinic is a psychiatric facility that specializes in helping those who are not dealing with severe mental problems but rather have minor conditions and desire discretion. The clinic tends to focus on wealthier patients, or rather those who some means and the preference for effective but noninvasive techniques. It's set in an old house in London, so the building is meant to be fairly warm for patients, if not entirely inviting for the public.

As the story opens, the body of the Steen's administrative officer is discovered on the floor of the basement. This particular area in the basement holds the facility's files, and she is surrounded by scattered files and documents. She also has a chisel driven into her heart. It's a nasty crime, directed at a woman whom no one really liked. She was overbearing and tended to run the clinic as she liked, to the extent that she pretty much managed to tick off everyone there at some point. In other words, the list of suspects includes...everyone.

Always a great place to start. At least Inspector Dalgliesh isn't short on motives. Within a couple of hours, he's wading knee-deep in them. Of course, no one admits to having a motive strong enough to kill her, so that's where Dalgliesh has to apply evidence and logic to discover who is responsible.

Oddly enough, this is another mystery in which the detective ultimately doesn't get it right. The mystery is certainly solved, but Dalgliesh hones in on the wrong person and gets dangerously close to not solving it. In this story (and unlike in the Tey mystery), the overall chain of events is smoother and doesn't feel quite so clunky at the end. The conclusion that Dalgliesh reaches is nearly correct, and with this he is able to get to the truth of what happened. The whole thing is more seamlessly done. But that's not surprising, because James is, by far, a superior writer.

I've mentioned this before, and I'll bring it up again. P.D. James has a habit of writing mysteries in which rather unlikeable people get murdered. That's the case here, certainly. The administrative officer Enid Bolam is pretty irritating -- at least, she is in presentation, because we never see her alive. There's no reason to doubt everyone's judgment, though. It's tempting to think, "Good riddance," but that is, of course, the wrong response. No one, regardless of how loathsome he or she may be, deserves to be murdered. It's a moral outrage, and Dalgliesh must remove himself from any opinions about the person and remember his responsibility. In a way, I appreciate this approach from James. It makes for a far more complicated story, and it provides more opportunities for revealing the complexities of human nature.

Two thumbs up from me. But then, you already knew that.

Year of publication: 1963
Number of pages: 252

Book Review: The Man in the Queue, by Josephine Tey

2011-09-23T15:03:00.001-04:00

I love mysteries that start with the problem of the impossible and then provide a perfectly logical solution to it. This is one of those mysteries, although I'll acknowledge up front that the "perfectly logical solution" wasn't entirely satisfying. But more on that later.

The premise of this mystery is simple: a group of people are standing in a queue waiting to enter a show. Everyone is crammed in uncomfortably, to the point that no one can move around with ease. At last, the line begins to move, and as it does a man who had previously been standing up begins to sway. He collapses to his knees and then falls on his face. The initial thought is that he fainted, and it would hardly be surprising under those conditions. Those who look a little closer, however, realize that he is actually dead, and with a silver dagger plunged into his back.

Well, so much for the show that everyone came to see. Besides, this is significantly more interesting.

The police are called, and Inspector Alleyn takes over the case. The immediate problem proves to be one of identity. The man has none on him, and no one claims to know who he is. More bizarre, no one really admits to having noticed him, expect in the vaguest way, and no one is certainly admitting to having stabbed him or having noticed the stabbing. And he was stabbed in the back. In a crowded room with hundreds of witnesses. And no one saw a single thing.

Like I said, this can often be the best type of mystery, because it starts by giving the reader the most impossible of scenarios. At the same time, the impossibility of it all isn't necessarily lacking in believability. This sort of thing does happen. People die -- are murdered -- in public places. And no one notices it; no one sees anything. In The Man in the Queue, Inspector Alleyn has his work cut out for him, because he has to start with virtually no information and build from there. It's a challenging case from the start, and it never gets easier. As is noted at one point, the police are facing a serious conundrum: "A man whom no one professed to know, stuck in the back by some one whom no one had seen." The first step, of course, is to decide if the people standing around the man in the queue are involved or not. And if not, then who managed to get into the queue, stab this unknown man, and then disappear without being noticed?

Ultimately, the mystery is solved, of course, but Alleyn can't take all that much credit for it. He does arrest someone, but he has the constant feeling that he's wrong -- this man he arrested should be the murderer, by all rational thinking. But Alleyn grows to believe he's got the wrong man. And if he has, where to go from there? The solution, as I noted at the beginning, isn't the most satisfactory one. Basically, someone has to confess. Someone has to show up and tell the people, "I saw that man you arrested, and I just couldn't live with it. I had to tell the truth."

Well, it's one way of wrapping up a mystery but not necessarily the best way. I think the point of this story, however, wasn't so much to tell the cleverest of mysteries but rather to develop Alleyn's character a little further. The reader sees a little more about him, as a man and as a police officer, working through his opinions and dealing with the information. He gets cocky; and then he realizes he's wrong. It's great for character development, although not so much for the traditional approach to writing mysteries.

Then again, Tey's stories are all a bit unorthodox, so I shouldn't be surprised. She tends to do something a bit different with each story.

All in all, I do recommend this. It's a fascinating story and made for a fun afternoon read. Just don't expect all kinds of bells and whistles at the end. I'll say this, though: I definitely did not expect the person who confessed to be the murderer. In that much at least, Tey wrote a very good mystery.

Year of publication: 1929
Number of pages: 254

Fall Into Reading Challenge

2011-09-22T11:23:00.002-04:00

I've decided to participate into the Fall Into Reading challenge, hosted by Callapidder Days. What with one thing and another, I got a bit lazy in reading and blogging over the summer, and that laziness is now threatening to seep into fall. So I need to light a fire under my derriere, and this challenge just might do it.

The challenge will start September 23rd and end December 21st, and I've made myself of the books I'd like to read (or finish):

Apollo's Angels, by Jennifer Homans. I'm halfway through it, and I've gotten stuck. As I'll explain in more detail when I do get around to reviewing the book, I'm finding myself having mental arguments with the author, so I have to read some and then put it down for a while. I just need to finish it, though, so I'm making this my primary fall reading challenge.

Hand in Glove, by Ngaio Marsh. I started this one some time back but then found myself more interested in other mysteries. The storyline does sound intriguing, however, so I'm adding this to my challenge reading list.

To Join the Lost, by Seth Steinzor. I have been given the opportunity to be part of TLC Book Tours by reading and reviewing this particular book -- a modern-day poetic version of Dante's Inferno. Very much looking forward to it.

The Fourth Part of the World, by Toby Lester. This one is a much-anticipated treat for me. I spotted it at a bookstore a while back and bought it based on the description and the reviews I found. I've been putting it off until I could sit and savor it, and it looks like the time to savor has arrived.

Hallowe'en Party, by Agatha Christie. I picked this up at Costco one day, but I decided to wait until Halloween time to read it. (Ambience, and all that.) Looking forward to it.

The Ascent of Money, by Niall Ferguson. Another Costco purchase. It just looked interesting, and after I saw an interview with Ferguson I decided that his opinion on this subject might be worth reading.

Manon Lescaut, by Abbé Prévost. I'm brushing up on my French this fall, so I'm going to read this little gem in its original language.

Crossing my fingers I'll be successful. Or better yet, buckling down and reading.

***I'm adding three more books to the list***

Ballet's Magic Kingdom, by Akim Volynsky. This is a collection of essays about Russian ballet between 1911 and 1925. I need to get the taste of Apollo's Angels out of my mouth.

The Singing Sands and To Love and Be Wise, both by Josephine Tey. Just (I hope) good mysteries.

Something Fun: Physical Evidence

2011-09-08T16:15:00.000-04:00

I was tempted by Lisa's post, so I thought I'd try this one for myself.

1. What could serve as physical evidence that you sometimes lose focus?

How about the time that I locked the keys in the car with the car still running. Uh, make that both times.

2. What could serve as physical evidence that you are loved?

The pile of books that continues to sit on the kitchen table (where I work). My husband hates, loathes, and detests any kind of clutter. But he loves me enough to look the other way. For a while, at least.

3. What could serve as physical evidence that you’re from wherever you’re from?

Every summer I pull out a jacket to go shopping, because I'm so used to being blasted by the AC every time I enter a store. Tank tops outside; sweaters/jackets/coats inside. That's South Texas for you.

4. What could serve as physical evidence that you went anywhere this past week?

The spice bottle of cardamom, sitting on the kitchen counter to remind me that I'm out of coriander. (It's an alliteration thing.) I went to the market this morning and still forgot to pick up coriander. So the bottle of cardamom remains on the counter.

5. What could serve as physical evidence that you recently caved in to temptation?

The SheerinO'kho summertime face cream in my bathroom. A small fortune. And worth every penny.

Care to join? Consider yourself tagged. And have fun!

Why the Long Hiatus...?

2011-08-26T16:25:00.000-04:00

I'm rocking back and forth between a long book (Apollo's Angels -- fascinating, but not exactly a quick read) and "filler" books that break up the lengthy tome. So there will be some mysteries, and maybe other things, before I finally get around to reviewing Apollo's Angels.

There's also a fair measure of laziness that's kept me from blogging more. But I decline to present an actual ratio.

Quick Review: Scales of Justice, by Ngaio Marsh

2011-08-26T16:22:00.000-04:00

The title notwithstanding, I enjoyed this mystery far more than When in Rome. Marsh seems to be more in her element here, and the story is very interesting. As it turns out, there is a film version of this that I've seen. (I knew it sounded familiar -- about 15 pages into it.) But as it also turns out, I'm extremely stupid when it comes to remembering mysteries, so I had completely forgotten the identity of the murderer.

Scales of Justice is set in the small town (or village) of Swevenings. This is a very old village, its name dating back to the Anglo-Saxon period and its inhabitants long being recognized as being part of the "county set." There is no scandal and no intrigue in Swevenings, so it comes as some surprise when Colonel Cartarette is brutally murdered just a few feet away from the stream where he fishes.

Inspector Alleyn is on the scene, in part because he was requested by one of the residents (who also happens to be a good friend of his aristocratic mother). He sets to work dealing with the clues, many of them washed away by a rain storm the night of the murder, and also reading the character of the people who live there. They prove to be wily set. There is no one closer than the upper classes, particularly when it comes to protecting their own, and they'd rather conceal a crime than acknowledge it publicly. But everyone claims that "none of the Swevenings natives would do this," and it remains to be seen -- by Alleyn -- if this theory holds up. I'll let you guess.

As for the title, I think it's pretty absurd, especially since there are fish involved in helping to solve the murder. Then again, it might not have sounded so ridiculous when the story was printed (1955). In the era before reality shows and a plethora of bad puns, this might not have been quite as offensive. Fortunately, the title does no justice to the actual story, which is quite clever and overall very entertaining.

Year of publication: 1955
Number of pages: 248

Quick Review: When in Rome, by Ngaio Marsh

2011-08-26T16:12:00.002-04:00

Not my favorite mystery, by any means. It wasn't bad; it's just that I'm terrible at guessing the "villain" in a mystery, and if I guess him/her right away that usually makes for a fairly dull read. I guessed this one from the moment the character was introduced. Additionally, this is one of Marsh's mysteries in which Inspector Alleyn has to deal with drug issues. I hate mysteries that involve the drug trade. For some reason, this cheapens the whole thing -- in my perspective, at least.

But perhaps it's just me.

Overall, though, this isn't a terribly complex story, despite the rave reviews on the cover. It's actually quite simple: Alleyn is sent to Rome to find out more about a notorious drug lord whose activities are slapping up against England's shores. He poses as a tourist and joins an elite tour group that is led by a rather obviously sleazy fellow. It doesn't take long to figure out that every member of this tour group has some connection to said sleazy fellow, and it also doesn't take long for someone to end his sleazy activities for good. Like I said, I figured out the murderer rather quickly, so the red herrings all felt a little obvious and contrived.

There is, I'm happy to say, the semblance of a romance in here, so that makes things at least a little interesting. All in all, though, I can't say that I'd place this one at the top of my "to-read-Ngaio-Marsh" list. I had my doubts when I saw it in the bookstore, and it did little to improve upon acquaintance.

Year of publication: 1971
Number of pages: 213

Music Study: Just Something Beautiful

2011-08-26T15:56:00.000-04:00

Book Review: How to Listen to Great Music, by Robert Greenberg

2011-07-29T22:06:00.001-04:00

This was an impulse purchase from Costco. (I know, I know...) I noticed that it has the symbol for Great Courses on it, and as I've had the excellent fortune to experience one or two of the video versions that Great Courses offers, I thought I'd enjoy the book for a fraction of the cost.

Professor Greenberg is obviously a man who knows his stuff, and I'm rather sorry I didn't have the opportunity to watch him in a video course. As it is, I appreciate his style of writing, because he presents the material effectively and avoids sounding stuffy. In fact, he infuses a playful tone into the writing without diminishing the significance of what he's talking about. That's tough to do, but he maintains the balance very well. All in all, it's a fun read, as well as a highly educational one.

I should point out that I'm no novice to classical music, and this book focuses largely on what most readers would identify as classical music. As a child, my parents bought me and my sister classical music selections; my dad used to lie on the living room floor with headphones on listening to Haydn and Vivaldi, and we would have conversations about various pieces; when I was being homeschooled, my mom insisted that we only listen to music without lyrics. In the final case, that wasn't really a problem, because by that point my tastes were honed in that direction. What is more, I took about twelve years of piano lessons and got to know various composers quite well. (For the record, though, I never have and never shall love Chopin. I gave him a try, but I find him drippy and insipid. I acknowledge his genius but have to accept that it isn't to my taste.)

In spite of my knowledge and familiarity, there was quite a bit to be learned from Professor Greenberg. He takes the reader through the history of what he calls "great music" (noting at the beginning that the term is fairly arbitrary but that it will have to do -- in part, since "classical" refers to only one era under discussion). In fact, Professor Greenberg does a great job of setting up the discussion, pointing out that there's no perfect set of terms to use in presenting the information but that if we all agree not to get bent out of shape about imperfect qualifications, we can get down to the real business of learning how to understand and appreciate the exceptional music that spanned several centuries. And for what it's worth, Greenberg sets this as starting around 1600 and ending around 1900 (give or take a few years).

I mentioned it before, but I'll point out again that what makes this book so fun is that Professor Greenberg maintains a conversational tone throughout. He never loses site of his own credentials, of course, so there's no chance the reader will take the man for a fool. But he also sees no need to wave his expertise in front of the reader's face all the time. He's sharing information in the book in much the same way he might in a lecture, and if the book is any indication he's probably a thoroughly enjoyable teacher.

The book is divided into 33 easy readable chapters, and in each chapter there is a "Music Box" selection that is highlighted as a recommendation for listening. Thank goodness for YouTube and the many music fans who add pieces there. I had the chance to discover, and rediscover, exceptional pieces of music to enjoy. And frankly, after listening to great music the contemporary tripe on the radio is almost unbearable. This isn't to say that I've become a snob (as I feel certain I crossed that bridge long ago) but rather to point out that there's a difference in quality and thus in the value of listening to something. In other words, life is short; give Mozart a chance if you already haven't.

And just to wet your whistle:

(I love this piece. Hey, I might as well share my recommendations too.)

Year of publication: 2011
Number of pages: 334

Book Review: Death of a Hollow Man, by Caroline Graham

2011-07-28T19:51:00.003-04:00

Death of a Hollow Man was never my favorite Midsomer mystery, but I went ahead and decided to try the book. Graham's background is in the theater, and I thought there was a chance the book would have more to offer. What it ultimately offers, or rather what it offered for me, was a cleaner plot. Additionally, Graham imbues the story with her own passion for the theater, with a sense of how actors think, how it feels to prepare for a role, how it feels to be on the verge of stepping onstage. The fear, the adrenaline rush -- Graham brings this out with great effectiveness for the reader.

Additionally, it ties up some loose ends that, rather oddly, made their way into the film version but don't make any appearance in the book. For one, the character of Agnes Grey and her murder early in the film. It's not in the book. At all. Not even a whisper of it. I don't know why it's in the film version, but in retrospect it feels a bit unnecessary, and it proves to be completely unnecessary in the book.

The book opens with the Causton Amateur Dramatic Society getting ready for its production of Amadeus. Tensions run high; actors are still struggling with their roles; staging has the potential to be a mess. And the director, Harold Winstanley, is behaving with his usual arrogant high-handedness. Harold is one for whom the quality of graciousness is utterly foreign. He is full of himself, angry with his actors for not being professionals (overlooking, it seems, the fact that he runs an amateur dramatic society), and constantly pointing out how he missed his calling in the big leagues. For some reason, everyone just goes along with this and endures his abuse. I guess it's the call of the stage. Or masochism. Or perhaps the two ideas are connected.

Anyway, Inspector Barnaby's wife Joyce is part of the dramatic society and has been cast as Salieri's cook in the play. (The running joke, of course, is that Joyce cannot cook at all. As in, flavor flees from her efforts, and meals that she prepares tend to be inedible. Joyce does, however, have a background on the stage and particularly in singing, something that is never mentioned in the film version to my knowledge.) Barnaby hangs around the theater during rehearsals, assisting with stage details and offering what assistance he can. Usually, he's consigned to moving things around and touching up backdrops. He's happy with that.

Opening night finally arrives -- though not until around page 100, I should add; Graham takes her time setting up this story -- and everyone is as ready as it is possible to be. The whole play moves toward a stunning climax when Salieri is supposed to cut his own throat. The stage assistance has carefully prepared a shaving razor with tape to ensure safety, and the lead actor, Esslyn Carmichael, is ready for his big moment.

Well, it's stunning all right. It turns out that the tape has been removed, and Esslyn cuts his own throat on stage in front of the audience. Quite ghastly. Barnaby is, naturally, in the audience, and he springs into action. As far as fresh murders go, this one is literally still bleeding right in front of him. In fact, Esslyn dies in the arms of Barnaby's sergeant Gavin Troy who is also in the audience (and who, I'd like to point out, is far less lovable in the books than he is in the films). Barnaby goes to work asking questions, and the immediate consensus is twofold: (1) the tape wasn't secured properly, or (2) Esslyn must have killed himself. After looking into things more closely, however, Barnaby has to rule both ideas out. In the first place, the tape wasn't just on the razor badly; it was completely gone, as though someone had taken the trouble to remove it altogether. In the second place, Esslyn has little obvious reason to commit suicide. He's a man "of a certain age" who has recently married for the second time to the young, attractive, perky (ahem) nineteen-year-old Kitty. They also announced her pregnancy.

So Barnaby is left with the far more plausible explanation of murder. The challenge in this case, though, is that the cast of possible murderers is made up of people he has known for years. He counts them among his friends, and now it looks like one of them has murdered Esslyn Carmichael. The plot thickens.

I totally had to do that.

Moving on, I would have to note again that the book is far more satisfying than the film version. That's interesting enough, but I don't know that it does the book much justice. There's a lot of "play within a play" in the book; Graham interweaves the theatrical at every opportunity, but it's so skillfully done that it's not absurd or painfully self-aware. The one thing that I'm not sure I loved is the way that Barnaby solves the mystery to everyone by taking the stage himself and presenting the solution. That one pushes it a bit, especially since he's not naturally the most dramatic of characters. At the same time, the whole story leads up to the inevitability of such a conclusion, so I can't really fault Graham for following through.

Another excellent read. When I ordered the books, I selected 1, 2, and 4, because I remember that I didn't love the third story in the series (Death in Disguise). But reading Death of a Hollow Man has given me hope that Graham can infuse that story too with more sense than the film version did.

So are you ready yet to join me in Midsomer? Murder and mayhem aside, I definitely recommend the experience.

Year of publication: 1989
Number of pages: 307

Book Review: Written in Blood, by Caroline Graham

2011-07-28T17:24:00.001-04:00

This is actually book four in the series, but I accidentally read them out of order. (In my defense -- not that it's terribly important -- the TV series has this episode second, just after The Killings at Badger's Drift. The second book in the series, Death of a Hollow Man, doesn't come until later in the series.) It was actually this particular episode that made me think I needed to start reading the books. There was just a little too much missing. Essentials were glossed over, and the conclusion was wrapped up quickly. A number of things always felt wrong to me, and I had questions. I wanted to see if the book answered those questions. And, boy, did it ever.

Written in Blood is the story of a writing group, the Midsomer Worthy Writers' Circle to be exact. The writers invite published authors to speak at their meetings, and until they invite Max Jennings they usually find themselves short on luck with respected authors. But for whatever reason Max Jennings says yes. And for whatever reason the group's secretary Gerald Hadleigh is opposed to the idea from the start. He forcefully argues against Jennings; he claims that it's a bad idea, that the group should come up with someone else. But there really isn't anyone else, and Jennings, it turns out, has recently moved into the area. So a trip to Midsomer Worthy won't be that difficult, and there's a good chance of his agreeing to attend. Gerald remains against the plan, and he even recruits one of his fellow Circle writers, Rex St John (who does not appear in the film version, by the way), to stay with him during the entire meeting that Jennings attends. Gerald doesn't say why; he just mentions vaguely that he knew Jennings from before and that he doesn't want to be left alone with Jennings. Rex senses Gerald's emotional struggle and agrees to stay with him the entire time.

The best laid plans...

The evening progresses without incident, and everyone eventually begins to file out. Jennings is also on his way out; Rex accompanies him to the door; and then Jennings claims to have forgotten his gloves. He goes back inside and slides the bolt shut, leaving Rex out in the cold. Not knowing what to do, Rex lingers for a bit and then finally goes home. And the next day it's discovered that Gerald has been brutally bludgeoned to death.

The news comes as a shock to everyone in the Writers' Circle. Several of them take it very hard indeed. Rex, for one, sinks into a serious depression at the thought that he failed in his charge. The others try to make sense of it, and no one can seem to think of single reason someone would have wanted to harm Gerald. He was, himself, harmless. He was kind, gracious to everyone, kept to himself; a little bland, perhaps, but all in all a very likable man. Of course, there is always a public front that people put on. Of course, there is always something below the surface that isn't as picture-perfect.

And of course, Inspector Barnaby is on the scene to scratch away the veneer and get to the truth that it conceals. For one, he has to find out what happened between Gerald and Max Jennings, why Gerald was so afraid. This isn't easy to discover. Max Jennings, it turns out, is nowhere to be found. His wife thought he was going to Finland for a book signing, but there's no record of him on any flights. Meanwhile, Barnaby sets to work uncovering more about Gerald Hadleigh. It isn't easy. The house is a showcase of bland anonymity. Whoever Gerald Hadleigh was, he didn't indicate it in his home, his belongings, or even his writing. (The others comment that Gerald's stories were always correct in their style and composition but easy to forget.) So Barnaby is left with a mystery murderer, as well as a mystery victim. Gerald had always told people that he was a retired civil servant, yet the civil service people have never heard of him. No one in the village can quite pin down his character or his personality. He was, all in all, a "nice" man -- which really isn't such a great description for someone. It certainly doesn't tell you anything about that person.

What I loved about this book is that Graham's writing style has really developed from the first book I read. The story is more complex, the characterization more apt, the plot more seamlessly woven together. What was more difficult to appreciate was the reason for the disparity between certain elements of the storyline in the book and in the film version. They're really not that similar. And I can't figure out why. Then again, that makes the book just a little more interesting, because things were switched up just enough to keep it from being predictable. I do want to reiterate, though, that there are things within the book that explain missing details from the film. In these elements, there was enough similarity to create a useful link and provide the answers I needed.

All in all, this ranks as my favorite of the Midsomer books I've read (and there is one more that I've read and am still waiting to review). It's a lush, complicated story with fascinating characters at every turn. And if nothing else, I think Graham had loads of fun with the character of Brian Clapton. These are some of the most memorable descriptions of a character I've come across: "the sort of man whose personality was out of print before the ink was dry on his birth certificate" and "about as deep as clingfilm but not nearly so useful."

A highly recommended read.

Year of publication: 1994
Number of pages: 435

Music Study: Andante Con Moto

2011-07-26T15:37:00.000-04:00

My entire body throbs at the frequency of this music. Like, seriously: heart palpitations and weeping. Who knew A flat major was so powerful?

Art Study: Paradisaical Greens

2011-07-18T09:52:00.000-04:00

Urutaú, by José Gamarra
Oil on canvas, 1983

I like the greens. I'm not sure I want to find out what the symbolism is, particularly with the men on horseback carrying flags (in what I assume is Uruguay, since the artist is from there). But the vivid use of greens was just too lovely, so I decided to post the image. By the way the urutaú is a type of bird.

From the Met.

Music Study: Or At Least That's My Excuse for Posting This

2011-07-12T14:24:00.000-04:00

Can't. Get. It. Out. Of. My. Head.

Care to join me? :)

Book Review: The Killings at Badger's Drift, by Caroline Graham

2011-07-05T12:42:00.001-04:00

I am a huge fan of Midsomer Murders. I get my hands on every episode I can find, and I enjoy each one immensely. Even the mediocre episodes, of which there are inevitably a few, still make for a fun evening of murder and mayhem. My husband has gotten into them as well. (He particularly likes the Christmas episodes -- something about mulled wine, hot mince pies, and overall aura of "ye olde England," I guess.) Despite the fact that Midsomer Murders can always be counted on to deliver a grisly murder, the program manages to provide an ongoing sense of the cozy.

At times, I wonder how many people are left in the Midsomer district to murder, especially considering that the program is well past its tenth season, but the filmmakers always find someone new to bump off. Happily, for all eager viewers.

My point in mentioning all of this is that I finally decided to wade into the books that inspired the films. I've known Caroline Graham's name for a while now, but the books are a little hard to find in the U.S. Most libraries don't carry them, and I was never sure if I wanted to commit to ordering them. I recently discovered, though, that Netflix has loaded several seasons of Midsomer Murders on the instant view, and after watching a few of them I realized it was time to try the books. Happily, for me.

The Killings at Badger's Drift is the first of the books, and I'm glad I went ahead and read it. The film version was never my favorite -- a bit on the icky side -- but I re-watched it last night after finishing the book and found that it made a lot more sense. I can see where the writer(s) and director had to tweak the story; I can fill in the confusing spots (as there always are a few) with what I know from the book; and ultimately, I can enjoy both much more.

The story opens with the elderly Emily Simpson on her way into the woods to locate a rare orchid. She and her friend Miss Bellringer (whose first name escapes me, and now I've loaned the book to my mom) have an ongoing competition each year to see if one of them can find the orchid. The one who finds it must give an elaborate tea for the loser. It's been several years since the last spotting of the orchid, so Miss Simpson has high hopes of being the one to locate it. She's already planning that special tea in her mind when she sees it near an old tree. Her elation knows no bounds. And then she sees something that she certainly wishes she didn't see. A few feet away, unusual sounds draw her closer, and her eyes catch sight of the last thing in the world she would expect. It is a young couple, engaged in (shall we say) carnal delights. It is the identity of the couple that shocks Miss Simpson. And it is the identity of the couple that remains a mystery until the end of the story.

Miss Simpson runs home as fast as possible, and then she makes a phone call to the local help line. She rambles on about how she's seen something, that it's shocking, that she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't say what, but she does murmur, "Poor Annabella!" Well, that makes no sense, especially since there's no one named Annabella in the village. Before the person on the other end can get more information, there's a knock on Miss Simpson's door, and she hangs up. Soon after, Miss Simpson is discovered dead of an apparent heart attack. She's eighty years old, so it doesn't surprise anyone, however sad it might be.

The only person who raises the issue is Miss Bellringer who believes that something is very, very wrong. She saw her friend return from the woods without a word, saw her leave her bicycle against the fence (when she normally chained it up), and heard her slam the door. That, she insists, is not like Emily. She continues to believe that Miss Simpson was murdered, and she demands that the police take a closer look. Fortunately for Miss Bellringer, Inspector Barnaby is on the case and is willing to nose out strange events. When he requests a post-mortem and the results reveal that Miss Simpson died of hemlock poisoning, the investigation goes into full swing.

Caroline Graham has been compared to P.D. James, and I can see the similarities. James's books tend to be a bit richer, stronger in the psychological side of murder, and featuring a somewhat more complex character in the form of Adam Dalgliesh. Tom Barnaby isn't much like Dalgliesh, and there's something decidedly more "normal" and more of what you'd expect in the police officer about him; but that makes him, in some ways, the constant center of good sense and strong reason that is necessary in the often nefarious and occasionally bizarre world of the Midsomer villages. What Graham does that reminds me of James, though, is bring out the peripheral characters and discuss them rather extensively. For instance, in Badger's Drift she devotes a full chapter to talking about Barbara Lessiter, the wife of the local doctor and for all intents and purposes a minor character. But the chapter doesn't feel as much like a deviation as the reader might expect, and the whole story is richer for it. In other words, Graham reminds us (again, like James) that everyone has a story, and beneath the surface of the respectable there's often something very strange, very corrupt, or just very sad about that story. This could have turned into another Miss Marple-esque series: life in the seemingly idyllic English village is rife with murder and intrigue. Ho-hum. It's been done. But in Graham's hands, something new, something fresh, something fascinating appears.

The ending to this one is just plain shocking -- at least it was for me the first time I saw the film version. But Graham minimizes the ickiness of it by focusing on the motivation instead of offering unnecessarily lurid detail. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. What could have become a fairly inappropriate description of bedroom activities turns into food, albeit somewhat distasteful, for thought. Graham keeps things balanced by remembering that ultimately she's telling a story. And if you want my opinion, it's quite a story.

Year of publication: 1988
Number of pages: 272

Quick Note: Blog Addition

2011-06-30T12:14:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I did some minor revamping, and I added a section for "Reactions" to the end of each post. Feel free to select one, if there's one that applies. The standard reactions from Blogger -- things like "fun," "cool," etc. -- were mundane in the extreme, so I created the options for "whimsical," "perspicacious," and "scintillating."

I haven't yet decided on the best words for negative responses, but given that I'm still getting stupid, you-have-no-taste-in-literature, you-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about comments on that review I did of Ender's Game ages ago, I'm not sure I want to just yet. (Seriously: it's an opinion. Let me try again: it's my opinion on my blog. I'm allowed to lambaste the book if I so choose.) With that in mind, I've also removed the option for anonymous commenting. If you have a comment, take credit for it with some kind of screen name.

One more thing, still along the vein of this being my blog: I'm happy to engage in discussion with people who (not anonymously) post thoughtful remarks. These remarks don't even have to be positive, if you have a different opinion. I don't mind if you disagree with me or feel like you have something to add that I overlooked. That's great. It's called a dialogue. What I don't like are passive-aggressive comments from immature twits who feel the need to undermine my opinions without offering anything substantial of their own. Go away. I reserve the right to delete any comment I don't like. It's not a democracy; it's a personal blog.

Once again, I love dialogue. I loathe borderline ad hominem attacks that are wrapped up in the victimized overtones of the passive-aggressive. I also know how to recognize the difference.

Book Review: The Franchise Affair, by Josephine Tey

2011-06-28T22:10:00.004-04:00

This was an impulse read. I saw it; I was interested in reading more Tey; this one jumped out at me as potentially fascinating. And it turned out that expectation lived up to reality.

When I picked up the book, this was the description I read on the back:

Robert Blair was about to knock off from a slow day at his law firm when the phone rang. It was Marion Sharpe on the line, a local woman of quiet disposition who lived with her mother at their decrepit country house, The Franchise. It appeared that she was in some serious trouble: Miss Sharpe and her mother were accused of brutally kidnapping a demure young woman named Betty Kane. Miss Kane's claims seemed highly unlikely, even to Inspector Alan Grant of Scotland Yard, until she described her prison -- the attic room with its cracked window, the kitchen, and the old trunks -- which sounded remarkably like The Franchise. Yet Marion Sharpe claimed the Kane girl had never been there, let alone been held captive for an entire month! Not believing Betty Kane's story, Solicitor Blair take up the case and, in a dazzling feat of amateur detective work, solves the unbelievable mystery that stumped even Inspector Grant.

I read this description, and, oh yes, I had to read the book. I don't know why it fascinated me, but I suspect it's because I like finding out that the impossible can be made logical. This teenage girl, Betty Kane, claims that Marion Sharpe and her mother lured her to their run-down home, attempted to persuade her into working for them as their maid, and then beat her and imprisoned her when she refused.

The whole thing sounds fairly absurd. Then again, it sounds so absurd that it raises the question of why someone would make it up. According to all reports, Betty Kane is not made of imaginative stuff: she's the adopted daughter of a couple who took her in during the war (the book was published in 1949) and then made her part of their family after her parents died. They have a biological son to whom Betty is devoted, and for all intents and purposes she seems to be a normal girl of minimal interest.

So why make up such a thing? That's the question that faces Robert Blair as well as Alan Grant. For Grant, it's Betty's word against the Sharpes', and with no corroborating information he lets the case drop. Blair isn't sure what to think until an area tabloid gets hold of the story (courtesy of Betty's adopted brother Leslie) and turns the event into a character assassination of the Sharpes. In other words, how dare the police do nothing, see the photo of this innocent young thing, what evil is in the world -- that kind of nonsense, from journalists who themselves have almost no moral compass. (It's amazing how journalists apply ethics at will. But that's a rant for another occasion.)

Grant remains in a spirit of delayed action, not sure what to think, inclined to believe Betty's lying but willing to accept any support for her story if it comes along. Meanwhile, the Sharpes live in an atmosphere of terror. They claim vociferously that they have done nothing wrong, that they don't know the girl, that they have no idea why she's telling this story. The locals don't believe them and proceed to torment them with graffiti, personal attacks, and the such. The police do what they can, but they have limited numbers. So it's up to Blair to offer his support, as well as his friendship. He also determines to do what he can to find out the truth. For him, it's a question of where Betty Kane really was. As far as her adopted parents knew, she was visiting an aunt. But that aunt proves to be a poor chronicler, and Blair discovers that Betty spent most of her time riding buses and visiting the cinema. And then there was the pesky period of a few weeks when Betty would have been traveling back to her family. The mail is slow, and the letters passed slowly. (Ultimately, Betty's adopted parents didn't think much of her disappearance until she came back disheveled and bruised.) In other words, Betty could very well have been at the Sharpes'; she could also have been doing, well, goodness know what.

The story starts out with Robert Blair acknowledging a certain boredom in his life. He's a village solicitor, so he spends his day drawing up wills and doing other minor legal work. The Sharpe case infuses a much-needed excitement into his life, and he discovers just what he's made of, as a lawyer and as an amateur sleuth. He journeys around the area, asking questions and piecing together a riddle that confuses everyone. It boils down to two things: why did Betty Kane disappear, and what was she doing? For Blair, it's not enough to prove that the Sharpes had nothing to do with it. The real goal is to find out where Betty really was and to make a public meal out of it. It's difficult to fault him entirely. Yes, there's an attitude of vengeance about it, and, yes, he takes on the Sharpes' case with vim and vigor. But he believes, without a shadow of a doubt, that Betty is lying and that she's doing so to cover her tracks. Basically, he concludes that she decided to pick on the Sharpes because they're an easy target: a strange mother-and-daughter combo who live alone in a strange house far outside of town. It doesn't look like anyone can prove Betty wasn't at The Franchise, so Blair wants to show where she actually was.

And, yeah, it's pretty good :)

The case goes to court, and Blair delights in the chance to undress her (metaphorically, of course) in front of those who have supported her and abused the Sharpes. In the end, the victory proves to be less than sweet, but at least there's victory. And don't worry if it sounds like I've given something away. At no point in the story did I believe the Sharpes were guilty, and I suspect Tey intended it that way. The real mystery isn't in their actions but rather in Betty's, as well as in the development of the case as a whole. It's worth waiting for. I packed this book in within a couple of days, and only because I couldn't put it down. This is what I get for starting a mystery in the evening before going to bed. (In addition to weird dreams.)

I'm becoming more and more a fan of Tey, and I definitely recommend this one. I'll need to read a few more before becoming a member of the fan club, but I'm on the way. Her writing is unlike that of any other mystery writer that I've read, and I like her interest in discussing facial features as a clue to a person's character. It might not be the most scientific method, as far as some are concerned, but it certainly supports the idea that you can look at someone and be able to say, you can always tell. Well, I don't know about you, but I've had good luck with this.

Year of publication: 1949
Number of pages: 300

Book Review: The Rest Is Noise, by Alex Ross

2011-06-16T22:22:00.003-04:00

This isn't the sort of book about which one has a conventional "book review" opinion. It's not about whether or not I liked it, whether or not I recommend it. Of course, I liked it; of course, I recommend it. This is an exceptional book that everyone who has the slightest bit of inclination toward the subject matter should read.

So why review it? Honestly, it's more because I need to get some thoughts out of my system. This book has been part of my reading routine for the last month or so. It's long, close to 600 pages (without the index), and it's pretty dense. The focus, as the book cover indicates, is the music of the 20th century. If you think about it, that's a pretty tall order. Consider everything that has happened in the 20th century, and think about the evolution of music over the decades. I'm rather happy to say that Ross focuses specifically on the music that might be generally referred to as "classical," so don't expect to see much from the Beatles and Def Leppard in here. Even with this narrowed focus, however, there's a lot of ground to cover. And Ross doesn't scrimp.

He starts out strong with Mahler and Richard Strauss. Mahler, for me, was the most interesting discovery, partly because I hadn't really listened much in the past. (And partly because my most immediate reference comes from Frasier: "Niles, you hate Mahler! Apart from Maris, who doesn't?") From here, Ross winds the reader through the decades, taking one step forward and a couple of steps backward, as necessary. In some cases, there is overlap when one composer meets another, but then Ross must go back and discuss the overlapping composer in more depth. The result is a well-organized and rich appreciation of the overall development of music during the 20th century. Ross interweaves the applicable moments in history as they occur, making the music fit relevantly into what is happening over the years. In other words, it makes sense for Stravinsky, Copland, and Messiaen to write what they do, when they do. Of course, there are always the slight anomalies (Messiaen fitting somewhat into this category), but even in this Ross makes sense of it all.

My personal favorite discovery was Shostakovich, whom I have roundly ignored for decades, assigning him to the category of "Soviet composers who wrote propaganda to appease the Communist authorities." To some extent, this is true, but as with the majority of history there is more to it -- much more. In fact, Shostakovich jumped off the page to me as someone who struggled intensely with his own musical interests as they were pitted against the political duties expected of him. This is a tough place to be, particularly if you hope to survive. At various times in Shostakovich's life, several people close to him died at the hands of Soviet policy. That certainly makes one consider the value of discretion and sacrificing a little of the personal to the collective.

But Shostakovich is only one chapter, and there are many others that work toward creating the larger tapestry. I'll admit that the last few chapters, those indicating the progress of the century toward the '60s and beyond, lost my interest. This isn't Ross's fault, of course, and he does a good job of getting what minimal value he can out of much of this music (much of it in the personalities of the composers rather than their compositions). Those atonal composers who worked toward the destruction of any kind of form or even purpose in music left me wondering why I should even care. So you composed a piece of music that required you to shatter a violin...great. (Hope it was insured.) So you presented a composition that was entirely made up of four minutes of silence...um, congrats. (Apparently, many have pointed out to the composer of the latter piece that anyone could have done that, to which he responded that they could have, but didn't. Pompous idiot.) I have the feeling that I should give pieces like this more of a chance, like there must be something more to them, and I'm just very stupid for not getting it. But then I try them out, and they give me a headache, attacking all of my HSP qualities and leaving me feeling physically and emotionally ill. Maybe I'm asking too much, but I don't go out of my way to hunt down music that does this. I like some semblance of structure, focus, or anything resembling a basic concept. If not tonal, then occasional harmony. Something. Let me know that you didn't just vomit out a composition and call it art because...you came up with it? Yeah, this doesn't do anything for me.

On the other hand, there were a few composers featured toward the end of the book that I feel like I should consider listening to, and I appreciate Ross's painstaking effort in explaining their role in developing 20th-century music. I'll give him particular credit, because it felt a little like he was scrambling toward the end. Whether or not you like Mahler, it's difficult to discount his value; it's a little tougher to find value in some of the music that's more recent, but Ross at least indicates its relevance and significance within the 20th-century psyche.

At the end of the book, Ross wraps things up with a brief epilogue that left me a little unsettled, not so much because I think he's wrong but because it was strange to see someone admitting frankly what I've suspected for some time. In short, Ross suggests that we can't go back. He gets this close to saying the best of classical music is behind us for good. The beauties of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Chopin, etc. -- they've had their day, and that day is unlikely to return. Music like that belongs to a different day, and we might never see anything like that again from a modern composer (modern, in this case, suggesting someone of our time). I'm not suggesting, of course, that people are incapable of reproducing what those composers did but rather that people today don't have inside them what it takes to create that kind of beauty that surprised and moved the listeners of their day: in other words, the qualities that made them pioneers in their day aren't a part of the modern mindset, and the current pioneers will always produce a different kind of sound, darker and more intense but without the hint of good underlying it all.

And then I started to think about the modern mind and what that means. Think for a moment about what happened during the 20th century. How can we look at that and blame people for seeing the glass half empty? I can't say that my life has been anything but largely free of drama, but I'm old enough to remember some of the fears that lingered from previous decades. I turned thirty this year. I was eight years old when the Berlin Wall came down, and I remember the anger that led up to that moment. I was ten years old when the Soviet Union collapsed, and I recall the suspicion with which we viewed Russia before and for a few years after. I remember the shift from when Leningrad became St. Petersburg again. This was only twenty years ago. It seems like a lifetime now, like we should be able to move forward and not look back. But those things are still there, the events, the moments, the potential. It's not as simple as turning a page and forgetting the past. When my sister was still dating her current husband, I recall when she introduced him to my grandparents. They were happy to meet him, but my grandfather's first question was whether or not his last name is German. It might seem silly, but it's not so silly to someone who remembers.

Ultimately, I realized that I can't blame modern composers for what they write. Were I a composer, I probably wouldn't be much better. Some time back, I watched a documentary about Beethoven, and one of the commentators noted that part of the impact of Beethoven's music is the belief he had in such intangible qualities as hope, love, freedom. And joy. Beethoven didn't just say he believed them; he believed them to the extent that they inhabited his music.

O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!

Sondern laßt uns angenehmere an stimmen,

und freudenvollere.

Freude!

Freude, schöner Götterfunken

Tochter aus Elysium,

Wir betreten feuertrunken,

Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Deine Zauber binden wieder

Was die Mode streng geteilt;

Alle Menschen werden Brüder,

Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt. (And so on...)

Do I believe these things? I believe in the possibility for them, and I love the idea of them. I have no doubt in their potential, their reality in some contexts, their significance. But I think that the events of the past, and the 20th in particular, have left people suspicious of getting too excited about such qualities. I also suspect that any music I wrote, apart from being mediocre to the point of absurdity, would also incline toward the ambiguous. I want to believe in such ideas as love, peace, and joy. But the conviction can be difficult to manifest.

Despite everything I've just written, the book really isn't a total downer, and it's eye-opening to much about the 20th century that I hadn't considered. Equally important (to me, at least!) is the fact that Ross is a highly skilled writer. He tells his story thoughtfully and effectively; he employs great metaphors, includes solid examples, and knows when to stop. This ensures that The Rest Is Noise is as enjoyable as it is informative. Just keep in mind that it doesn't necessarily have the happiest of endings. But neither does the century.

A final note, the Third Movement of Shostakovich's Fifth Symphony. This was his response to the political struggles that he faced, but for me it's also the voice of a century.

(And if you're not interested in the music, at least give it a try for the sake of seeing the conductor. He really gets into it.)

Year of publication: 2007
Number of pages: 695

Giggle for the Day: How Do You Celebrate Easter?

2011-06-15T12:43:00.001-04:00

This is several months old now, but I couldn't help posting it. Apparently, a news team in Norman, Oklahoma, decided to find out about the traditional Easter celebrations at the local Orthodox church. They interviewed several people there and discovered a number of interesting things. As it turns out, they also got some of these things wrong, perhaps making them even more interesting.

See if you can spot the typo in this quote from one of the church members, Edward Adwon:

"During Holy Week, starting with Palm Sunday, we will have services every night. On Holy Friday, we will reenact the burial of Christ. We do that by having a beer, which is the representation, and we will come outside and we will make a procession around the building. We also do that on Palm Sunday. That is representing Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, which he did on the Sunday before his Resurrection,” Adwon said.

Did you catch it? I laughed for a good 15 minutes. Boy, those Orthodox Christians sure know how to celebrate!

A quick note to the well-meaning news people in Norman, Oklahoma: homophone gaffes can make for great giggles.

Music Study: A Little Wagner

2011-06-13T13:34:00.000-04:00

"This present opera was Parsifal... The first act of the three occupied two hours, and I enjoyed that in spite of the singing...

"...In Parsifal there is a hermit named Gurnemanz who stands on the stage in one spot and practices by the hour, while first one and then another character of the cast endures what he can of it and then retires to die."

~Mark Twain

I'll agree with Twain on one thing: the music itself is very beautiful. I've never been a huge fan of Wagner, but I have to admit that this particular piece, the Prelude of Parsifal, is worth hearing (even if enjoying the rest of it requires a little more effort from me).

Book Review: Eden, by Frederic Bean

2011-06-10T23:07:00.000-04:00

This isn't usually the type of book that I'd go for, but my grandmother recommended it, and the premise sounded interesting. The writing isn't the best, the storyline gets repetitive in a hurry, but it has just enough in it to keep the reader going and to offer a hint of a cliff-hanger toward the end.

What fascinated me the most is the set-up. This is a story about a wealthy cattle-ranching-turned-oil family in Texas. Their last name is King. This may or may not mean much to other readers, but it got my attention. I grew up in South Texas, fairly close to the King Ranch. This isn't a story about that King family, nor do there appear to be any intentional similarities, so I haven't quite decided what to make of it. The author is from Texas, so it's unlikely he's unfamiliar with the King Ranch. I have to assume that he decided to use the name for his own purposes. What's more the name of the ranch in the story isn't King (that's just the family name); it's Eden. And it's meant to be ironic in some ways.

To put it bluntly, this is a completely dysfunctional family. These people don't get along. They don't love each other. They don't like each other. They wish they did, but their upbringing made it impossible for them to develop anything other than indifference for one another. Five children of Lee and Helen King, and not one of them cares much for the others. The majority of the problem, at least from the perspective of the King children, lies with their mother. Lee King died fairly early, so it was up to Helen to take up the responsibility of raising her children. It would seem that she was more concerned about ensuring their long-term well-being than on ensuring their ability to emote, so she avoided emoting as much as possible and just spent what money it took to take care of them. In all fairness, her children want to love her, to love each other, to live normal lives. But they don't know how, and now they're all adults. The opportunity is long past. All they have for one another is an annual Fourth of July visit to Eden, which they endure with large volumes of alcohol.

The story opens with the final Fourth of July visit, when Helen informs her children that she's dying and explains to them the contents of her will. Helen King is a wealthy woman, and the number $200 million is bandied about from time to time. So there's money to be had, and the King heirs want what's theirs. It turns out that Helen isn't yet ready to quit controlling them. Rather than dividing up her wealth equally among her children, she gives it to them and the grandchildren in the form of trust funds. The rest of it is locked up in investment accounts, with her eldest son Howard acting as administrator.

Even before Helen King has died, her children are arguing among themselves about this plan. Several of them try to have her declared legally insane, but the judge throws this out. One of them, Tommy Lee, threatens his eldest brother, claiming that Howard is simply trying to control it all and keep their money from them. Then it's discovered that Howard just might be up to something shady after all. There are hints of embezzlement, with Martha digging around and finding some questionable investment choices among Howard's activities, and there's a final confrontation over the phone as Matthew, next in line to administer after Howard, tells his brother that he knows about the embezzlement. And then Howard is murdered.

This is where shades of Dallas appear, with Howard shot mysteriously in his Dallas home and the police at a loss to explain who is responsible. Well, they know who it might be -- any of the King siblings who were angry at their brother. But they cannot seem to pin down which one or how it happened.

All of this is told in the first person and through the voice of Matthew. He's the gentle one in the family, an attorney by trade and one of the few who has managed to carve out a measure of normalcy for himself. The author manages to find the balance between having Matthew tell the story to the readers and having him keep the juiciest bits of information to himself, for a while at least. I wouldn't call the writing in the story all that great; it's artless in some places and just downright repetitive in others. Ultimately, though, it's a clever story with a nice twist of an ending. For some readers, I suspect there might be the question of whether or not justice is done. In purely legal terms, probably not. But for the family and what it needs, the ending seems like the best -- and maybe the only -- way to wrap things up.

This was fun, entertaining, a bit dark in places, and all in all a great filler book when I needed a break from deeper things. It had meaning for me, because I'm from Texas, and the places mentioned were familiar. For other readers, though, it's hard to say. If the storyline strikes your fancy, go for it. It might be a little too Texan for others, though :)

Year of publication: 1997
Number of pages: 269

Book Review: A Mountain of Crumbs, by Elena Gorokhova

2011-06-10T17:53:00.001-04:00

It's probably just as well that I started reading (and became engrossed in) this book before I found out that it was an Oprah recommendation. I would certainly have missed out. Come to think of it, maybe I've overlooked other great Oprah recommendations. Maybe I should give her another chance. I just might learn to love myself, discover my own authenticity, find divinity in the wonders of my soul...*cough gag retch*

Or maybe not.

Anyway, Oprah notwithstanding, this is an exceptional read. And on this one point (and probably this one point only) I'll agree with the mighty O. A Mountain of Crumbs is beautifully written and well-paced from start to finish. Gorokhova is the type of writer who hands her readers a thoughtful metaphor on each page. I aspire to this kind of writing, because honestly it's not easy. There are good metaphors and bad metaphors. Bad metaphors are painful for me, almost physically painful in some case (unless they make me laugh). Good metaphors give me an adrenalin rush. This book had me on an adrenalin high from the moment I opened it.

If the author's name didn't tip you off, she is Russian and is writing about growing up in the Soviet Union in the '60s and '70s. But she doesn't just tell a story about what was certainly a difficult life: she creates an extraordinary parallel in the description of her relationship with her mother. Russia, the Motherland, becomes a counterpart to Gorokhova's own mother. She (in both cases) is controlling, overbearing, desperate to keep an eye on everything that is going on, excessively protective to the point of stifling, and so forth. Gorokhova loves her mother; she makes that clear. She also loves Russia and being Russian. But at some point, it becomes too much. Ultimately, she does the only thing she can to get away. She marries an American and moves to the United States, where she now lives.

But the end of the book is not what captures the reader's attention. It is the development of the story over time. If truth is stranger than fiction, then sometimes it's also more interesting. Gorokhova starts the story long before she was born. In fact, the opening statement is about her mother's early years:

I wish my mother had come from Leningrad, from the world of Pushkin and the tsars, of granite embankments and lace ironwork, of pearly domes buttressing the low sky. Leningrad's sophistication would have infected her the moment she drew her first breath, and all the curved facades and stately bridges, marinated for more than two centuries in the city's wet, salty air, would have left a permanent mark of refinement on her soul.

But she didn't. She came from the provincial town of Ivanovo in central Russia, where chickens lived in the kitchen and a pig squatted under the stairs, where streets were unpaved and houses made from wood. She came from where they lick plates.

Lest readers think that thus begins a diatribe against the failings and cultural naivete of Gorokhova's mother, that's not the point of this statement. Instead, it is to embed in the reader's mind from the start the differences between them. Gorokhova's mother is not from Leningrad, but she moves there, and her daughter is born there. Thus, her daughter inherits and absorbs the tastes of the city that her mother can never really understand or care to pursue. But more than that, it's about a chasm that is always between them, a difference that the mother cannot appreciate and that the daughter cannot explain or explain away. Over time, Gorokhova develops a fascination for things her mother finds worthless, namely the study of English. She attends an English school in Leningrad, gets a degree and teaches English to other students, and finds herself drawn to something unfamiliar. Those who know the call of wanderlust cannot ignore it; those who don't know it can never understand. Gorokhova's mother does not understand and could not care less.

This is also a story of identity, of the individual against the collective, of finding a way to stand out in a society that revolves around the concept of everything for the good of everyone. I'm all for helping your neighbor, but there really is something asphyxiating about the way that the ideas of Communism imprinted themselves on the Soviet Union. As Gorokhova comments:

...neither my mother nor my motherland knows anything about the important things in life: the magic of Theater, the power of the English language, love. They're like the inside of a bus at a rush hour in July: you can't breathe, you can't move, and you can't squeeze your way to the door to get out.

(I particularly love this description, so I had to work it in somewhere.)

In addition to these motifs, Gorokhova also speaks frequently of the culture of vranyo that is embraced in the Soviet Union. It is a world of make-believe, of saying one thing when you know it means another or of pretending yes is no or black is white because that's what everyone does. It's basically like the story of "The Emperor's New Clothes." Everyone knew the emperor wasn't wearing anything, but they knew they were expected to pretend that he was, that they could get in trouble for saying anything, that the truth was not as important as the obligation to be part of the game. Vranyo. The title of the book reflects a version of vranyo. During a great famine in 1920, Gorokhova's grandmother had to use creativity to feed her children. Two of them accepted their meager slice of bread and small cubes of sugar with no questions, but the youngest in his hunger demanded more. So his mother ground the bread and sugar into crumbs and announced that he had more than the others: a mountain of crumbs. Apparently, this small deceit worked. And Gorokhova plays the game of vranyo with everyone, with her mother, her other family members, her colleagues, her nation. There's no choice, of course. One badly timed joke could have the authorities knocking on the door. One incorrect comment could end everything. We're not talking about discretion; we're talking about marching to the same beat, to avoid any hint of individuality.

Here's a thought: during the Soviet era, there was no word for privacy in the Russian language.

So if you can look past the Oprah recommendation, I certainly have one of my own: A Mountain of Crumbs is worth reading. It's sweet, charming, dark, frustrating, and occasionally agonizing. But ultimately, it's very satisfying without ending in simplicity. My favorite kind of book.

Year of publication: 2009
Number of pages: 305

Art Study: Swirling Greys

2011-06-06T12:51:00.002-04:00

Eugène Isabey, Sunset on the Normandy Coast

Enjoy it online, because the Metropolitan Museum of Art doesn't have it on view at this time. Other Isabey pieces at the museum.

Book Review: The Daughter of Time, by Josephine Tey

2011-05-27T16:11:00.005-04:00

This book was exactly what I needed this week. I've been working my way through the very long (though very interesting) The Rest Is Noise, and I was getting sidetracked. The length and subject matter make it such that you need to be in a certain frame of mind to sit down and take it all in. I haven't really been in that frame of mind lately, however much I wanted to keep reading. I decided that I needed a head-clearer, and I stopped by the bookstore to see what they had. No Ellis Peters, no Ngaio Marsh, and not even a good selection of P.D. James. But Tey was there, and the plot description of this book intrigued me.

The Daughter of Time is the first Josephine Tey mystery that I've made it through. The author was recommended to me last year when I visited a used bookstore in Marquette, MI. As I was checking out, my arms full of P.D. James and Ngaio Marsh, the clerk asked if I enjoyed British mysteries. Well, obviously. But she was kind enough to recommend another author that I might enjoy, and she wrote Tey's name on the back of the free bookmark that the store gave out to customers. Tey's not easy to find, and the one book that I grabbed in the library a while back just didn't do much for me. I think it just wasn't the right time, and I made the mistake of dismissing the author as one I wouldn't enjoy.

I'm glad I gave her a second chance. This book absolutely captivated me. I picked it up on Wednesday, thinking I would spend Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday reading it. I finished it on Wednesday. I couldn't put it down. Forget everything else. I shut myself in the bedroom, curled up in the new armchair, and gave myself over to a really fascinating story.

The premise is fairly unique, at least when compared to others mysteries that I've read. Inspector Alan Grant (Tey's primary "mystery-solving" character who appears in several of her books) is laid up in the hospital with a broken leg. His friends stop by to drop off a selection of silly novels that don't interest him, and he is getting more and more irritated by the day. At last, one of his friends stumbles on the idea that he should try to solve a mystery from the past -- way in the past -- and she brings him a collection of prints with the faces of various people from history. As he goes through them, he becomes fixated on the image of Richard III, the humpback king accused of murdering his nephews, the so-called Princes in the Tower. Grant is a man who enjoys a fascinating face, and he has a knack for being able to identify a person's character from his face. But he seems to get it all wrong with Richard. Far from being a cold-blooded monster, the king appears to Grant to be a man torn by the problems that he faces -- sad, slightly depressed, consumed by a distant problem, perhaps even remorseful about something. But Grant does not see a heartless man driven by greed and the desire to rule. Here is the picture:

This might seem like nothing, as though Grant just got it wrong, but it rankles at him. He starts showing the image to others: the nurses who are taking care of him, the doctor who stops by to check on his progress, the sergeant who visits to keep him apprised of what's going on in the police world. All of them come to a similar conclusion. The picture is that of a man who has faced a great deal of wrong, but no one pegs him for what history has labeled him. This is enough to get Grant's investigative engines going. He requests history books to see what he can find out about Richard III. He starts reviewing them closely and discovers that there are anomalies he did not expect, anomalies that seem to have been brushed aside over time. His friend who brought him the prints recommends a student she knows who is studying at the British Museum, and Grant enlists the young man's aid in tracking down historical fact. Grant decides to dispense with the history books and start looking at the actual records -- those details mentioned in historical chronicles, legal documents, even account books -- to see what they reveal. And together, Grant and his new friend try to solve a very old mystery.

I know I mentioned this before, but I enjoyed this immensely. It's worth noting that Tey's conclusions are not exactly the same as history's, that historians seem pretty confident about the traditional story. But then again, this is part of Tey's point in the book. Over time, the tales of history become rather fixed, and when you try to budge them with ideas that undermine the tradition and suggest other options people begin to dig in their heels. For instance, it always amazes me how quickly Shakespeare scholars are to claim that he was definitely, without a doubt just some really clever guy, with a limited education but a quick mind, from Stratford-upon-Avon. I'm not saying he wasn't, but there are a lot of holes in the story that get glossed over in a hurry. And when you persist in bringing them up, you get a pretty huffy response, followed by the suggestion that you must be some kind of renegade literary scholar. (Speaking from experience here.)

My point is that just because a story has been told a certain way for a really long time doesn't mean it's true. It's just means it's accepted as being true, and that isn't the same thing. Tey brings this home in The Daughter of Time, and she makes what seems to me to be a really strong case for an alternative to the story of Richard III (as he has always been portrayed). After all, Churchill's comment, "History is written by the victors," has a great deal of truth in it. In some cases, our first question shouldn't be, what happened, but rather, who's telling us about what happened.

Year of publication: 1951
Number of pages: 206

Blog News: A Few Things

2011-05-17T17:46:00.000-04:00

Well, for one I'm still reading! I promise!

Really, I am. But I've been reading a couple of things I wasn't sure I wanted to blog about. One was another study on Orthodox Christianity -- very interesting but not necessarily something to intrigue blog readers. I'm also working on a longer book that might take some time. With any luck, I'll have something posted by the end of this week or next. (I'm not crossing my fingers, though. One nice thing about this blog is that I refuse to place pressure on myself to post. If I do, great. If I don't, the Realm of Blog will continue.)

In other news, today is my 9th wedding anniversary. Last year, I posted a list of the things I love about my husband. Since those haven't changed, I'll just add one more:

I love that my husband loves me. I know this sounds a little absurd, but I'm not the easiest person to live with. I'm temperamental, occasionally flaky, and inclined toward petulance. Granted, he has his moments of making life a challenge, but I suspect I'm the more difficult one to live with. And yet he puts up with me and, after nine years, still loves me. The real test came when he got out of the military, because there were no deployments to separate us for long periods of time and keep things fresh. We've seen each other day in and day out for the two years, and we're still going strong. I've grown more and more grateful for the beauty that is love.

Miscellaneous: It Made My Day

2011-05-13T22:28:00.000-04:00

This week, I overheard the following portion of a conversation while standing in a line:

"Our motto on vacation is 'No urgent care.' Remember when Cousin Ethan got that piece of bologna stuck up his nose?"

I was sorry I didn't stop these people to ask them more. I'm still trying to figure out how this is even possible.

Book Review: The Horror of the Heights & Other Strange Tales, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

2011-04-29T16:21:00.003-04:00

My best attempts to read and review one book a week are fairly fragile, at least in the sense that the idea works as long as I can get through one book each week. If a book slows me down, I can kiss that plan goodbye.

This book slowed me down. No, let me amend that comment: this book brought my reading to a screeching halt. I just couldn't finish it. I couldn't motivate myself to pick it up and keep reading. Every time I saw it, I heaved a sigh and thought, "Maybe I'll take some time to read this evening." And every evening I found a good reason not to. It took me something like four weeks just to get halfway through, and then I gave up. I skimmed a bit more and decided it wasn't worth the effort. I want to point out for the record that I'm not a slow reader. I read Lord of the Rings in 18 days. I read Anna Karenina in 8 days. I read Moby Dick in one week. I can pack in a well-written book in good time. It just has to be interesting.

This book is not interesting.

I would have liked to enjoy it. The title is pretty fun. The book is actually a collection of short stories by Conan Doyle, and the title of the entire book is taken from the title of one of the stories. What is more, I like Conan Doyle. I read feverishly through Sherlock Holmes in my teens and still appreciate the quality of the stories. These just...aren't the same. For one, the writing has too much of that "stodgy Victorian" sound to it. It could be argued that the writing in the Sherlock Holmes stories is similar, but the characterization of Holmes and the warmth of Dr Watson's voice make the stories highly readable. These are just mediocre short stories that have little to set them apart.

What is more, these stories embrace the mysticism and spiritualism toward which Conan Doyle leaned in his later years. Where Sherlock Holmes used practicality and logic to find tangible explanations to the crimes that confronted him, the characters in The Horror of the Heights all face unnatural, intangible problems for which there are no practical solutions. Yeah, it's a collection of Victorian horror stories, so I should have figured that out. Yeah, horror leans toward the supernatural, for which reason I usually avoid it. I'm not a fan of non-living, beyond-the-dead crap coming after people. I'm not one to be content with a solution that requires magical elixirs or mysterious incantations. These things make for unsatisfying mysteries, as far as I'm concerned.

On a slightly unnecessary tangent, I also want to point out that the most distinguishing feature of this book (for me, at least) is that everyone had three names. It seemed like in almost every story I read, the characters were saddled with this ridiculous collection of names. It wasn't just John Cowles. It was John Barrington Cowles. It was John Vansittart Smith. It was William Monkhouse Lee. It was John McAlister Ray. I'm being halfway facetious here, but it got to be a little silly after a while. Then again, this is a collection of short stories written by a man named Arthur Conan Doyle, so perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. My point, however, is that in a group of stories that aren't very good it's hard enough to keep up with the characters (because it's hard enough to care about any of the characters). Add to the mix longer-than-average names, and you have a recipe for confusion.

It's entirely possible that I'll pick this up at some point in the future -- since I bought the book without bothering to consider its contents -- and enjoy some of these stories. Faced with the pressure of reading cheesy 19th-century horror stories in one week, however, I just couldn't make it through. As noted above, I couldn't make it through it four weeks. I won't dismiss it entirely as a bad book. I'll just note that you should know what you're getting into before reading (or buying) it. If you want Sherlock Holmes, fling this away from yourself in a hurry; you'll receive nothing but disappointment from it. If you want a bit of nonsensical Victorian horror, though, this might be more your thing.

Year of publication: [latest publication, from Fall River Press -- yeah, that Fall River...] 2010
Number of pages: 334

Fact of the Day: How Many Babies Could You Have?

2011-04-19T20:27:00.003-04:00

Apparently, between 1725 and 1765, the wife of Feodor Vassilyev (of Shuya, Russia) gave birth to 69 children.

Hang on. I think I just hallucinated.

Nope. It appears to be accurate. She was pregnant 27 times and had 16 pairs of twins, 7 sets of triplets, and 4 sets of quadruplets. Of these pregnancies, 67 of the babies survived infancy. Even more surprising, Feodor Vassilyev is described as having been a "peasant." What do you want to bet he spent most of his time expanding his hut? (We certainly know how he spent the rest of his time.) And that's one serious backyard garden to maintain.

Somewhat sadly, this woman's name was never recorded, so we can only give her an historical pat on the back vicariously through her husband (who may or may not deserve one).

So here's my question: how on earth do you choose names for all of them? After number 20 or so rolls around, I think I'd just start saying, "Geez, who cares. Flip open the phone book and see what you come up with."

Book Review: Tatiana and Alexander, by Paullina Simons

2011-04-08T21:40:00.001-04:00

For me, this is the sort of book you read because you read the first one and feel like finding out what happens next. In fact, I was a little irritated to get all the way through 800+ pages of The Bronze Horseman and find out the story didn't wrap up. Give me an ending. Even an unhappy one. Just don't ask me to read another book, for goodness' sake.

But of course I did. Because I needed to know what would happen.

And of course, the ending was fairly predictable. This is a romance novel, so I shouldn't have expect anything too shocking. (I'll admit that part of me wanted Simons to surprise me in the end.) It certainly took Simons to get to that happy ending, however. This one isn't 800 pages -- thankfully -- but it clocks in close to 600. Let me point out now that's 600 pages of the hero and the heroine trying to get back to each other. Over and over again. What The Bronze Horseman offered in love scenes, Tatiana and Alexander provides in missed opportunities for escape and reunion. By the end of the story, I had lost track of just how many prison camps poor Alexander had been incarcerated in.

For a quick synopsis:

At the end of The Bronze Horseman, Tatiana has been told that Alexander is dead. She is 18 years old, pregnant, and has just managed to escape the Soviet Union and make her way to America. She tries starting a new life, but she is always haunted by the sense that her husband might still be alive. His death just didn't quite make sense to her, but then there's that pesky death certificate that she was given. She makes something of a home for herself working as a nurse in Ellis Island, always looking for a familiar face among the soldiers that pass through there. She also begins making friends in America and connecting with Alexander's family, as well as those who can assist her in finding any word about him.

Tatiana goes so far as to contact someone in the State Department (or some other confusing government agency) who takes the time to do a little digging. It turns out that the Soviet Union hasn't exactly given her up. They strongly believe that the man calling himself Alexander Belov is, in fact, the Alexander Barrington who hurled himself off a train many years before, and they also believe that Tatiana plans to request asylum in the United States. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to use a different name when entering the U.S., so her presence hasn't registered officially. And the government agent who tells her all of this points out (off the record, of course) that she would be wise to stick with this new identity.

There is no word on Alexander, and Tatiana finally accepts that he must really be dead. Meanwhile in the Soviet Union, he isn't. (But of course...) He's not exactly in the best situation, however. The Soviets cannot prove that he's Alexander Barrington, but they're unwilling to allow him to continue as an honored Red Army officer. They put him in charge of a penal battalion -- meaning that he leads former prisoners into battle to take the brunt of the charge and leave the "real soldiers" to follow them -- and he ends up in Germany. And then he ends up in a German prison camp. And then he ends up in another German prison camp, I think. And then he ends up in a Soviet prison camp. In Germany. Confused yet? All of this moving around took some of the edge off the experience, because I was so befuddled by the details. Yes, life in a post-war prison camp was horrendous, but by the last one I almost started rolling my eyes. How much more could the man take? How much more could the reader take, for that matter?

Eventually, Tatiana receives word that Alexander might be alive. And this is enough to galvanize her into action. She leaves her young child with a friend in America and joins the Red Cross as it heads into Germany. Not surprisingly, she finds Alexander, and there is quite an escape scene. Make that several escape scenes. Even this gets dragged out a bit. I just wanted it to end, because by the time it need I already knew what was going to happen. It's like listening to some obnoxious foghorn tell a story and wanting to snap, "Just get to the point already! I could see the ending from the beginning!"

With all of that being said, I want to give Simons a little credit for one thing. To me, this book has (marginally) better writing. There's far more exposition in it, and we get a more extensive back story regarding Alexander's history and what it was like when his family moved to the Soviet Union. We understand him and his motivations more. To me, the reader needs this. There's some repetition from The Bronze Horseman, but it didn't irritate me too much. Some of the scenes managed to reveal another element about the characters, so as far as I'm concerned this is a good reason. I can't help but wonder if some of the information in Tatiana and Alexander wasn't included to counter questions leveled at Simons after the publication of the first book. There's a lot in there that raises questions, and I suspect she felt like she needed to explain some things better. Or maybe not. But all in all, there's stronger writing in this story, and I enjoyed the chance to see Alexander from a better angle.

I only recommend this one if you've read the first story and need to find out more about what happens to the characters. Apparently, there's a third book, not yet available in the U.S. I haven't yet decided if I'll read it. Reviews on Amazon don't excite me yet, and the story wraps up pretty well with Tatiana and Alexander. I've heard that there are talks for making a movie (or more than one movie). I really hope the film(s) end(s) after book two. That's where the story ends.

As a quick final note, the book Tatiana and Alexander was apparently published as The Road to Holy Cross outside the U.S. Much better title, in my opinion.

Year of publication: 2003
Number of pages: 576

Movie Review: Sherlock

2011-04-06T20:05:00.004-04:00

I'm reviewing this series because I love it. Because I think it's brilliant. Because I ordered the DVDs last week, and I've already watched the three episodes on it twice since then.

If you don't like modern remakes, go ahead and stop here: that's what this is. If you're open to the idea of very good story telling from writers who love the original and want to make it relevant for modern audiences while still being true in substance, read on.

The premise of this series is simple: the writers have taken the original stories and set them in modern London instead of Victorian London. Watching the "Special Features" section of the disc, I discovered that they originally shot a 60-minute pilot but that BBC liked it so much they had to go back and make three 90-minute episodes. Each one is excellent in itself (with the second of the three being good, although not quite great, and the other two being exceptional).

Benedict Cumberbatch (his real name) plays Sherlock Holmes, and I can only imagine the thrill that the writers felt the first time they heard him reading the lines. He is Sherlock Holmes for the modern era: young, vibrant, brilliant, and utterly captivating. Martin Freeman plays Dr Watson, and while some have been a little unsure of this casting I love it. Freeman brings the empathy to the story; he's gentle but not a pushover and makes for a perfect foil for Holmes. Like the original Watson, he's a former Army doctor, wounded in Afghanistan, and recently arrived back in London to start his post-Army life when the story begins.

The other characters are performed with equal excellence: Lestrade (pronounced here as "Les-trahd" instead of "Les-trayed") manages to express his need for Holmes's brilliance without looking like a total idiot. And I particularly love Mark Gatiss's rendering of Mycroft Holmes, since it is just a little more dangerous than any other interpretation that I've seen.

There are three episodes in the first season (and here's hopes for many more to come!), and they are A Study in Pink, The Blind Banker, and The Great Game. I saw the last of these first when it played on PBS, but I was glad to go back and see the others. A Study in Pink, in particular, just might be my favorite of them. The writers really do successfully bring the modern world into the stories, rather than the other way around. It's as though Holmes and Watson are the anchor points, and the writers alter what is around them instead of altering them. When Holmes affixes the nicotine patches to his arm in A Study in Pink and announces that this is a "three-patch problem," I wanted to do a fist-pump in excitement. (Then it occurred to me that the last time I attempted such a thing I pulled a muscle, so I limited myself to a mental fist-pump.)

For a quick synopsis of each story:

A Study in Pink is ostensibly a play on the title of A Study in Scarlet. It's not really the same story, but it brings in elements from the original stories (several of them) quite well. In the beginning, a series of unusual suicides have rocked London. Three people were found in "places they shouldn't have been," having taken poison -- clearly by their own hand. The key is that the poison is the same in all of the cases, so the police know that there is a connection. But since these appear to be suicides, there is no reason to assume murder. Then there's a fourth death, but this one is different: the dead woman leaves a note (of sorts) by scratching into the wood floor just before she died. Sherlock notes immediately that there is at least one enormous problem with this death (I won't spoil it :), and he is on the case. Watson joins him to decipher the mystery, and the two work together to bring it to a close. After watching this the first time, it occurred to me that the solution was rather obvious, but I'll give the writers credit by saying that it only seemed this way upon second viewing.

The Blind Banker is perhaps the weakest of the three, but I enjoyed it all the same. As the story opens, Sherlock receives an email from a university friend at a large London bank. The night before, there was a break-in at the bank, but the burglar did not take anything. Instead he/she spray-painted a painting and the wall with some unusual symbols. As there was no clear way for the intruder to get in without triggering the alarm system -- which he/she didn't -- so Sherlock is called in. The mystery takes him and Watson deep into the world of international smuggling, and things become far more serious than either anticipate.

The Great Game is a great way to wrap up the season, and it's one of the more complex episodes. The distant Moriarty rears his head, and an unexpected clue leads Sherlock to realize that this mysterious figure has decided to challenge Sherlock to a game: Moriarty presents his adversary with a series of mysteries that Sherlock has several hours to solve. The catch is that each mystery is driven by a victim attached to an explosive; if Sherlock fails, the victim will die. The episode ends with a cliff-hanger, sure to keep viewers wondering what is next.

In short, great remake, thoroughly interesting, a little predictable (perhaps) in retrospect, but all in all very satisfying for viewers who want to see a modern Sherlock.

A clip from the DVD, discussing the development of the series:

Book Review: The Bronze Horseman, by Paullina Simons

2011-04-01T22:54:00.008-04:00

I really didn't plan to read this. The name had popped up a couple of times online, but I didn't pay much attention. I finally went to Amazon to read the summary of it and decided that it sounded vaguely interesting, so I downloaded it to the Kindle software on my computer. Of course, I did that without bothering to note that this is an 800-page book (over 800 actually). As a result, I ended up punching my way through it by hitting the down arrow on my computer repeatedly. Let's just say my poor down arrow got a lot of exercise.

I have really mixed feelings about this book, and to sort through them I'm going to start by explaining the problems within it. I might as well just let you know what's wrong with it up front, because I'm ultimately going to recommend it. But my English major background is poking at me and making me feel guilty, so I don't think I can get away with not explaining that there are some serious problems with the story.

I've made a list in my head, so I'm going to present these things in a list:

1) The writing is pretty poor. It's sad to say that someone could write a novel of more than 800 pages and only string a few really good sentences together, but that's the case. This is the ultimate in the dreaded telling instead of showing, and the author has an obnoxious way of indicating things to the reader that should be a little more subtle. The in-your-face descriptions in some cases suggest a very weak writing style.

2) The overall character development is weak. I finally decided that the problem with this is the author's reliance on dialogue for much of the character development. She's a much better writer of exposition, and it is in the exposition and the occasional strong metaphor that she succeeds. In dialogue, though, it fell very flat much of the time. The characters seldom say things effectively enough to show us their characters. And the author tends to rely on fairly familiar follow-up descriptions to the dialogue that don't do enough to reveal the characters fully. Those common expressions that always come after a comment from the characters: he said grimly; she said coolly; they sighed. I don't have a problem with these in theory, but I do have a problem when they're all I'm getting. I made it all the way through this book, and I felt like I knew the main female character only through the way that other characters kept describing her. It was more like hearsay; the clear shaping of her character just wasn't there as well as it should have been -- especially for a character that has the potential to be exceptional.

3) The repetition of events is almost appalling in places. I wanted to dial 1-800-EDITOR-PLEASE. Honestly. In the beginning of the story, the characters take a number of walks together. It kind of feels like the same walk over and over again. I get that the author is attempting to reveal different elements about the growing relationship in their walks, but she's not a good enough writer to get away with this. When writers do this, they have to make each description count or offer something new. There wasn't enough of either, so it got really repetitive really quickly. In the middle of the story, the characters make love. Again. And again. And yet again. I checked over the Amazon reviews, and someone actually took the time to count. There are 33 love scenes in this part of the book. Let me type that again: 33. That's a whole lot of lovin', and we get all the details. How did this even make it to print? In all reality, a stronger writer could have presented the first scene and used nuanced descriptions to carry the reader through the rest of this part of the story, turning it into an opportunity to develop the characters a little more effectively. This, uh, doesn't really happen as well as it should.

So why am I recommending this? In spite of its flaws, this is the kind of story that is still interesting, still moving, still touching. It got into my head and stuck there, and I couldn't help but accept that there's something good in it regardless of the weaknesses. After 800+ pages, even weak writing can make a point. After 800+ pages, even flat characters start to feel a little multi-dimensional. (I don't have any good explanation for the repetition, however.)

In terms of summary, let me give it a shot. The story opens in Leningrad as the Soviet Union enters World War II to fight Germany. The German army is on its borders, and the Soviet government is preparing for the massacre that will follow. It's still early days, however, so the residents of Leningrad believe that they will be safe, that the Germans will be repelled quickly and that the war will be over well before winter. (The story opens in June.) In the midst of all this, Tatiana Metanova is turning 17 and is on the cusp of womanhood. She is the youngest of three, with a twin brother named Pasha who is a few minutes older and a twenty-four-year-old sister named Dasha. The family is protective of Tatiana, and she is seen as the baby of the family, naive, silly, unreliable. A dreamer. A reader who keeps her head in Tolstoy and Pushkin instead of spending the evenings meeting boys like her big sister.

Recognizing vaguely that the declaration of war is a bad sign, Tatiana's father gives her some money and sends her out to buy food. There is a line in front of every market, and after spending several hours standing in line at several grocery stores, Tatiana thinks she will have to give up and go home. She knows that this will make her family angry, however, so she hesitates. In the midst of her hesitation, she spots an ice cream vendor and decides to give herself a treat. She plops herself on a nearby bench and eats her ice cream while singing a popular song of the day. And then she looks up and realizes that she is being watched. A tall soldier is staring at her from across the street, and there is something about his stare that leaves Tatiana staring. Call it love at first sight, the two are fixated on one another: she is tiny, blonde, and extremely pretty; he is tall, dark, and (as Simons keeps telling us) beyond handsome. They meet, and she learns that he is Alexander Belov, an officer in the Red Army. And this is where everything begins -- and, in some way, ends -- for both of them. It is a moment that they cannot go back and erase, and once their paths cross their fates are joined. It's definitely a twinge of "star-crossed lovers," but it's not necessarily a bad motif. It certainly makes for a great premise to shape a romance novel.

Tatiana and Alexander could not have found a worse time to fall in love. The war has begun for the Soviet Union, and in only a matter of months these two will find themselves struggling through the Siege of Leningrad. But that's the way the cards are played for them, and they have to work through this. Besides the prospect of horrific war, things are not so good at home for Tatiana. It turns out that Alexander is actually her sister Dasha's lover. Dasha is one of the "fancy women" (a nice name for "cheap tart" apparently) who frequents the soldiers' bar. For his part, Alexander has not been unwilling to spend time with Dasha, but he is certainly not in love with her. Dasha, however, is in love with him, and Tatiana is unwilling to get in the way since she feels too loyal to Dasha. But Tatiana and Alexander cannot get away from how they feel about one another and how their feelings continue to grow, even when they try to back off and stop spending any time together. Their time together remains perfectly chaste, if you're wondering, but that only makes things more difficult in some ways.

Alexander does what he can to get the Metanov family through the siege, but things don't go well. It's not a huge spoiler to mention that everyone but Tatiana dies. (Well, of course, you know.) He gets her out of Leningrad and sends her off to relatives in a small village in the countryside. When he has the chance, six months later, in fact, he takes several weeks of leave and heads that direction without having heard a word from her. He doesn't know if she's alive; he doesn't know anything. He just knows that he needs to find out. It turns out that Tatiana is alive (again: well, of course, you know), and they try to sort through the past and see if they can embrace some kind of future. Lying to everyone has taken a toll on the relationship, and both realize that they aren't completely sure of their feelings. After all, Tatiana lied to the very end to her sister -- to avoid breaking her heart -- and Alexander's parting words to Dasha were that he never loved Tatiana (with Tatiana in hearing range). Naturally, they get through this, and the inevitable follows. See item #3 above. For what it's worth, they do get married.

Eventually, Alexander has to accept that this is an impossible situation. He's a Red Army soldier on leave, and he cannot take her back to the besieged Leningrad where she is sure to die. There's also another problem that is revealed earlier in the story and that continues to complicate things for them. Alexander isn't Russian. He was born Alexander Barrington in Massachusetts to American parents who were also devout Communists. They chose to deny their American citizenship and move to the Soviet Union when Alexander was a child. The decision -- not surprisingly -- was a spectacularly bad one. Regardless of their intentions, the Soviets never trusted them. When Alexander's mother attempted to get him back to the United States, the Soviet government arrested her for treason. Both of Alexander's parents were ultimately executed, and he was sentenced to time in a labor camp. He managed to escape, but I won't go into all the details of what happens. Suffice it to say, he's in the position of creating a new identify, lying about his past to save his life, and doing what he can to get out of the Soviet Union. And now he's married. If he leaves Tatiana behind, she will be penalized as the wife of a traitor, deserter, and potential spy. If he tries to take her, he runs the risk of creating too many complications. He attempts the former but realizes that he cannot bring himself to do it. Eventually, he decides that the goal should be to get her out and accept whatever fate is left for him in the Soviet Union.

And this is where I'll leave the summary hanging. The rest of the story is the two of them dealing with the challenges of war, the dangers of politics, and the hope of a better future. Alexander has to realize how much he needs Tatiana and her quiet strength, and Tatiana has to realize that Alexander understands the gravity of their situation and the impossibility that they have created for themselves. There's not as much of a resolution as one might like, but for those who need more there's a sequel! I read that as well, but that's a review for next week :)

So...there are problems in this story. There is weak writing and poor character development. There is too much repetition and not enough substance where there should be. And yet, in spite of all this, there is enough heart to make the story worth reading. I don't recommend it for everyone, of course. This is historical fiction and a true romance novel (and I don't necessarily mean that in a glowing way). I enjoy historical fiction, especially historical fiction that covers a period in history not well represented in literature (like the Russian perspective during WWII). I can accept a romance novel as long as there is enough in it that keeps me interested, and that's the case here. It's sweet at times; it's agonizing at others. It's full of life at unexpected moments; it's uncomfortable where it should be. Best of all (for me, at least), it doesn't have an impossibly perfect ending. Overall, it works.

Year of publication: 2000
Number of pages: 832

Art Study: Van Gogh

2011-03-24T16:50:00.000-04:00

This particular beauty was part of the exhibit I attended today. It's rather small but far more vivid in person. Those red flowers just pop out as you approach it.

Exquisite.

Book Review: Death of a Peer, by Ngaoi Marsh

2011-03-18T18:13:00.001-04:00

Another winner for me. Maybe I'm just in more of a Marsh mood these days than I was when I read her before, but I enjoyed this book immensely. I brought it with me on a recent trip to see my parents, and I'm glad my husband was driving: you couldn't have pried this book out of my hands if you wanted to.

What makes this story particularly worthwhile for me is that I was totally surprised by the ending. I just didn't see it coming, all the way through. And what makes this story work so well is that Marsh actually reveals all of the information in the statements that characters give police, but it takes the very clever Roderick Alleyn to it all together (and the not-so-clever me to be surprised by it). In some ways, I'm the ideal reader for books like this.

Initially, I wasn't quite sure what I was getting into. The story opens in New Zealand, with the character Roberta Grey becoming friends with the aristocratic Lamprey family. (Apparently, the story is titled Surfeit of Lampreys outside the U.S., as a reference to the way that King Henry I died. Kind of a joke on Marsh's part, I think.) The Lampreys are a mess. They are wealthy but always spending too much, openhearted but a little unreliable; and Roberta (or Robin, as they call her) adores them. She's particularly close to the eldest Lamprey girl Frid and the eldest Lamprey son Henry. Eventually, the Lamprey's move back to England, and Roberta loses touch until she makes her way there after the death of her parents. They enthusiastically invite her to stay with them for a month before she goes to live with her aunt, and she -- with equal enthusiasm -- agrees. Had she known what she was getting herself into, it's difficult to say if she might have been quite so enthusiastic.

Charles Lamprey is the younger brother of a marquis (and I'm not even going to pretend I understand how the titling system works in Great Britain; apparently, this makes him a "peer," and that's important). The marquis is a cantankerous, penny-pinching old blighter, and he has little use for his younger brother and his large family. He cannot deny, however, that as he has no heirs of his own this brother will inherit the title and the wealth of the family estate. It can't come fast enough. Charles and family are spendthrifts in the extreme sense. They have absolutely no sense of balance, of accounting, and of what things cost. What is more, there are eight of them in total (husband, wife, six children), and they all spend like money is going out of style. Charles desperately needs a loan from his brother, and shortly after Roberta's arrival the marquis also arrives with his wife to discuss the matter.

The discussion doesn't go so well. Charles and his brother quarrel angrily; the marquis loudly refuses to give his brother a dime (or whatever they call it in British currency); and the marquis prepares to leave. He yells for his wife, makes his way to the elevator...and somehow is attacked before he makes it to the first floor. His wife is the one to raise the alarm. She scream hysterically, and the rest of the Lamprey's come running. Apparently, someone has driven a meat skewer through the marquis's eye and into his brain. Ghastly. I'm nauseated just typing it. What's worse, the poor man doesn't die at one. He lingers for a few hours as the family watches anxiously. And when he dies, it's officially a case of murder -- as Charles himself points out.

Roderick Alleyn is called on the scene, and he must deal with the eccentricity of the Lampreys in addition to a variety of confusing evidence. Everything happened on an elevator ride, and no matter how bizarre the late marquis's wife may be -- and trust me, this woman is bizarre -- it's difficult to pinpoint the killer. But Alleyn is on the scene, and the mystery is solved. Quite satisfactorily, I must say.

I don't know if this is the one to jump into if this is your first foray into Marsh, but it might be one to read early on since it's so enjoyable. Out of the 32 mysteries that Marsh wrote, this is the tenth, so it suggests a well-honed craft infused with a fertile imagination. Overall, it's a jolly good romp, so go for it.

Year of publication: 1941
Number of pages: 320

Book Review: Clutch of Constables, by Ngaio Marsh

2011-03-10T21:05:00.000-05:00

Ngaoi Marsh's mysteries have been somewhat hit or miss for me. I like them in theory, but I don't always understand the progress of events very clearly. I have a feeling that this has something to do with my complete failure when it comes to spatial reasoning skills. Marsh's stories tend to be loaded with directional descriptions, and I just don't follow them very well. Additionally, there are moments where the detail tends to be implied rather than explained, and I get lost when I'm supposed to understand the meaning. For instance, the title of this story reflects a comment made by one of the characters. She refers to a landscape that she sees as a "clutch of Constables," referring to the artist and his typical style. I totally didn't get it; as the reader was meant to infer the meaning, I was more or less flummoxed for a while.

All in all, though, I'm going to give this mystery a big thumbs-up. Apart from my confusion at a few moments, the overall flow of thought made sense and get me interested. In fact, I picked up up yesterday and read through most of it in one sitting. I finished it today, and I'll admit to being pretty impressed with the solution. I had basically guessed it before the big reveal, but I was still pleased by how clever the whole thing was.

As for summary, here goes:

The story is told in two tenses, as events occur and in the past tense, as Superintendent Roderick Alleyn explains things to a group of police officers for training purposes. Alleyn's wife Troy (actually, Agatha, but everyone calls her Troy, since that was her maiden name) decides to go on a five-day river cruise while her husband and son are busy with other tasks. The cruise is limited to about eight passengers, so the group can expect to be intimate and to get to know each other well. Soon after arriving, Troy gets the impression that something is a bit odd, but she can't put her finger on what it is and chalks it up to her the influence of her husband's profession. For his part, her husband is busy chasing after an international art-forger who is accused of having murdered several people.

The first day is spent in everyone getting to know one another, and the passengers quickly divide themselves into groups of who gets along as who doesn't. Troy tends to be a loner, so she finds her gravitating toward the other loner in the group, the half-Ethiopian Dr Natouche. (Several of the other passengers indicate a degree of distaste about the doctor's skin color, so they prefer to leave him alone.) Much to Troy's frustration, the empty-headed Hazel Rickerby-Carrick follows her around, leaving inane chatter in her wake. The other passengers tend to be fairly standoffish, so Troy knows only what they reveal about themselves. As the story progresses, Troy discovers that her cabin was originally sold to a man who has just been murdered (and thus, however, involuntarily, gave it up). She decides not to mention it to the others, but she lets her husband know in the letters that she is sending him. Then, Hazel Rickerby-Carrick disappears suddenly from the cruise. The official announcement is that she heard from an ill friend and went to meet her. A message arriving the next day corroborates this, but Troy is still unsure. What concerns her is that Rickerby-Carrick had behaved oddly the day before leaving. She had revealed to Troy that she owned a Faberge piece she always wore around her neck, and then she indicated that she wanted to discuss something serious with Troy. Unfortunately, Troy had a migraine the evening before and was unable to meet with the other woman.

Initially, everyone accepts the message about Hazel Rickerby-Carrick until her dead body floats to the surface of the river -- tethered to the heavy weight of her suitcase. The Faberge piece is nowhere to be found. At this point, Troy gets truly nervous. She has been stopping to communicate with the local police at each stop along the river, and now they realize that there's more to the small details she's mentioned than had at first appeared. What complicates things is that two of the passengers on the boat have come across what appears to be a possibly authentic painting by John Constable. They were antique hunters and found the piece rolled up in a mess of other worthless prints. Troy, who is herself a recognized artist, mentions the connection to Constable but also points out that it might very well be a forgery.

Eventually, Superintendent Alleyn makes his way to the boat to assist -- and, as he has come to believe essential, protect -- his wife. He also considers the serious possibility that the very art forger he has been chasing down is actually a passenger on the boat with his wife. He recommends that Troy leave the boat immediately (which she is happy to do), and he stays around to solve the mystery. This is where my own summary has to end, in order to give away too much.

To wrap things up, this particular Marsh mystery was immensely enjoyable and very clever, and I would definitely recommend it as a great choice for those interested in reading more Ngaoi Marsh.

Year of publication: 1968
Number of pages: 222

Because I Love Doing These: Homemaking Memes

2011-03-03T16:47:00.000-05:00

Nicked from Carrie at Offering Hospitality, who got it from Barbara at Stray Thoughts. It's not exactly book-related, but I'm a meme fan.

1. Do you make a plan for the week? The day? Or just go with the flow?

Always, a plan. I keep a notebook with an overall weekly plan, with a schedule for each day. Then, I add these notes to my day planner. Things change, of course, so I don't tend to add this standard schedule to my day planner until the day before.

2. When is your best planning time?

In the evening. I like to sit down at the table after dinner and add my schedule for the next day.

3. Do you clean room by room or task by task (e.g., do you dust the whole house at one time, or do you clean the living room completely before going on to another room?)

Usually, by task. It's a little tricky with the way my house is laid out, but I prefer to use the specific supplies and products while I have them out.

4. Do you do certain tasks every day every week, like a shopping day, a laundry day, etc.?

Oh, yes. Once I get in the habit, I found that I needed to continue following that habit. In other words, since I tend to clean on Monday, I find that I have to continue cleaning on Monday since my house starts to look pretty dirty after a week. Laundry's a bit different, though. I like to do it when I have a good sized load, so I don't mind putting it off for a couple of days to add to it.

5. What’s your least favorite housecleaning task?

I'm not a huge fan of cleaning the wood floors.

6. Do you have a favorite housecleaning task?

Ironically, my favorite task is also my least favorite. I hate the time and energy required to clean the floors, but I really, really like the way they look afterward.

7. What do other family members do in the way of cleaning the house?

Um, nothing. Last night, my husband asked me to make him some espresso. I pointed out that the dishes needed to be cleaned, and I suggested that he take care of the dishes. He hemmed and hawed, offered to move a few things to the sink, and then basically disappeared. Guess who did both tasks.

8. What, if anything, do you do to make housecleaning more enjoyable, (e.g., play music, set a timer, etc.).

I can't think of anything. I prefer the silence while I get household tasks done.

9. What things make a room seem messy or unclean to you?

Clutter. Dust. Things in the wrong place. Things uneven. Lack of symmetry. You know, all of those Monk things.

10. What are particular areas that are standouts to you that other people miss?

The whole toilet. Inside, outside, around.

11. How do you motivate yourself to clean when you don’t feel like it?

It's part of my schedule, so I kind of enjoy it. Familiarity can be a good thing.

Book Review: The Tuesday Club Murders, by Agatha Christie

2011-02-22T16:36:00.001-05:00

After finishing the intensity that was Unaccustomed Earth, I needed something a little frothier, and who better to provide froth than Miss Marple. What's more, I finally got a library card and went over to the nearest branch -- which, it turns out, is quite petite. This was the only Agatha Christie book there that I hadn't read. After completing it, I figured out why I'd been avoiding it.

On the whole, this isn't a bad book. It's fun, engaging, and requires minimal attention to complete. As mentioned above, it's also a Miss Marple story, so if you're a fan of Miss Marple as a character (I am) it's great to see her in action again. The Tuesday Club Murders isn't so much a full-length story as a collection of short stories. On two separate occasions, a group of friends (each group including Miss Marple) gathers together to visit, and in the course of the visit decides to tell each other a murder mystery from their own experience. That is to say, they aren't telling stories about murders that they committed but rather stories about mysterious events during which they were present and also during which someone died. Later on, they found out that the death was more than an accident. Each person in the group must present the story in the form of a mystery and leave it to the listeners to see if they can solve it.

It's a fairly clever premise, but unfortunately the mysteries themselves are all a bit obvious. I figured most of them out for myself, and I count myself as a fairly stupid mystery reader -- I never figure it out. So if I can figure these out, they're pretty transparent. I'll give Christie some credit. She has to assemble twelve separate mysteries that all feel quite unique. With that much, I have no problem. I just wish she didn't have the characters seems so stumped by the obvious in order to give Miss Marple a fighting chance.

I've always believed that Christie was, all in all, an exceptional story teller but poor writer. Some of her books succeed better than others in terms of writing style. This one doesn't. My biggest complaint is that most of the mysteries are presented in dialogue (since a character is telling the story to the other characters), and dialogue like this tends to be tricky. Nine times out of ten, you have to make a character say something that he probably wouldn't say. For instance, the elderly clergyman Dr Pender makes the following comment in describing the dramatis personae within his story:

There was also a young Dr. Symonds and there was Miss Diana Ashley. I knew something about the last named. Her picture was very often in the Society papers and she was one of the notorious beauties of the Season. Her appearance was indeed very striking. She was dark and tall, with a beautiful skin of an even tint of pale cream, and her half-closed eyes set slantways in her head gave her a curiously piquant oriental appearance. She had, too, a wonderful speaking voice, deep-toned and bell-like.

May I just point out that no man talks like this. If he did (and particularly if he were a clergyman), we'd be concerned. If I were among those present listening to this description, I'd be sure to move my chair several feet away and preferably closer to a door. An external door.

Additionally, this would be pretty bad writing if it weren't dialogue. As dialogue, it's absurd. But given the nature of the genre, Christie's weak writing skills make it difficult for her to surpass its limitations.

It's not a total loss, of course. It has some cute moments, and a couple of the mysteries are borderline clever. If you're a fan of Agatha Christie and the Miss Marple stories, I'd recommend giving this one at least a quick pass-through. If you're on the fence, I don't really recommend it as there are far better Christie stories to track down.

Year of publication: 1933
Number of pages: 256

Book Review: Unaccustomed Earth, by Jhumpa Lahiri

2011-02-17T20:34:00.005-05:00

This was a recommendation from my mom. Around New Year's, I saw my parents at my grandma's house (hi, grandma!), and while I was there my mom plopped a pile of books into my lap. "You'll love these! My book club read them, and I think you'll really enjoy them!"

Several of the books that she foisted upon me are still sitting on the floor and will probably remain unread (sorry, mom!). This one, however, intrigued me. India fascinates me, and I don't mean that in the way that a Westerner puts on the "intrigued" glasses and says (in a tone of condescension): "how interesting to read about a new culture." It really does fascinate me. There is a history here that surpasses my immediate appreciation and a culture so rich that American culture seems laughable in comparison. And, whether we like it or not, the people of India are now a part of American life. Case in point: I just experienced a problem with Amazon. I contacted the company yesterday and today, and in both cases the corporate response came from India. (If you need to ask how I know, you haven't spent enough time dealing with customer service from a large corporation.) In another instance, my husband contacted HP customer service about 18 months ago to deal with a printer issue. The customer service representative was in India. (I knew this, because in the course of dealing with the printer problem my husband struck up a chat with the rep. I was sitting on the other side of the room when I heard him asking about the elephants that walk down the streets in her town. I'm not a genius, but I'm pretty sure this doesn't happen too often in the US.)

All of this to say, Unaccustomed Earth is essentially about the culture clash of East and West. Most of the characters in the book experience Westerners intimately (through significant friendships) or forge romantic relationships with them. What's fairly refreshing is that there's no immediate "moral" to these stories. Lahiri doesn't conclude that Indians should avoid falling in love with or marrying non-Indians in the US. She also doesn't conclude that it's a really good idea. And here comes the thrust of my review...

This book is beautifully written. It's a collection of short stories about various characters, and in each one Lahiri's exquisite writing skills draw you in. But each one ends in such a way as to be ambiguous or even verging on depressing. One or two of these, and I was intrigued and appreciative. An entire book? I was in need of Prozac. Perhaps that's a sign of how skilled Lahiri is as a writer. She pulls you into the plots that she weaves in each story. She shapes each character and his experience so effectively that it's difficult not to get emotionally involved. I read most of this book in one sitting. I couldn't put it down. And then I needed something to make me happy -- because, goodness knows, Unaccustomed Earth didn't.

Yet there it was. This perfectly written book of short stories with these fascinating characters. And at first I loved the fact that the stories didn't have happy endings. All things considered, the happy ending is kind of cheap. It forces to a conclusion something that might or might not realistic. As readers, we love happy endings, of course, because the happy endings can create the very fantasy we're not sure exists in the reality of our lives. At the same time, an unhappy ending -- while honest and realistic -- can also be difficult. There is no fantasy; there is no sense that "maybe I can experience what this person experienced." Life just, more or less, sucks. There's a lot of that in this book. It's great at first, because it's different. But, as I mentioned above, I got tired of it by the end. I just wanted it to be over. I was so sick of unhappiness, of the permanent chasm between East and West, even of people dying. Please, I though, just let one have a "fairy tale ending." It didn't.

Read at your own risk. Know in advance that the writing is exceptional. Writing a short story is a unique skill, and a good many writers fail at it. Lahiri succeeds. But there's a cost. The stories are so well written that it's difficult to find the distance from them as a reader. I knew each one of these characters by the end of the stories. I experienced their frustration, even pain, alongside them. And I wanted things to be better. If you're looking for better, pass this one by. If you're looking for interesting, effective, and insightful, give this one a try. Just give yourself plenty of time to read it.

Year of publication: 2009
Number of pages: 352

Book Review: In Siberia, by Colin Thubron

2011-02-11T16:38:00.001-05:00

Whew. What a read. Thubron takes you along with him on his travels of Siberia, and it's one of the most fascinating books on location that I've ever come across. Beautifully written, each moment exquisitely captured, In Siberia is also fairly sad. It's the kind of sad you almost expect -- this massive land of ice and snow, peopled with a range of ethnic groups, with its large, industrial cities that were carved out of the landscape during the Soviet era and its horrifying labor camps that snuffed the light out of millions (perhaps tens of millions). It's difficult to read it at times, because you can see all of this coming with each turn of the page, and yet it's impossible to put down. At the same time, I don't think it could have been any longer, but this is the kind of book that is exactly the right length. Thubron sets out to talk about his experiences; he focuses and narrows everything to craft his story; and then he concludes.

Thubron is a masterful writer. The book would be worth reading for the writing style alone. I've found that with many books I can read at a fairly brisk pace: I move through the words and ideas rapidly, not pondering every single one because it's not necessary for me to do so. I get it all with a quick sweep of my eyes. It's not so much skimming as just...gliding. I couldn't do that with this book. Missing words tripped me up, and I found myself having to go back and read paragraphs (or pages) several times. For instance, here is part of the chapter on Lake Baikal:

I climbed a bluff high above the lake, to an old place of Evenk sacrifice. Beneath me Lake Baikal became an ocean. Its headlands multiplied to the south, fainter and fainter, while all around me the whole northern curve of its water spread kingfisher-blue, edged by a phantasmal range of mountains, sometimes a mile high. All colour, from here, had refined to this drenching blue -- even the blue-tinged white of clouds -- as if blue must be the colour to which all others purified in time.

It is the peculiar clarity of Baikal which elicits this. As the transparent and slightly alkaline water deepens, other colours are filtered from its light spectrum, until only blue, the least absorbent, remains. Lying over the fault-line of two tectonic plates, whose separation is gradually dropping its floor lower, the waters plunge to a depth of over one mile: by far the deepest lake on earth. Its statistics stupefy. It harbours nearly one fifth of all the fresh water on the planet: equal to the five Great Lakes of America combined, or to the Baltic Sea. If Baikal were emptied and all the world's rivers diverted to its basin, they would not fill it within a year.

This is exceptional writing, and it's like this throughout the book. I can only think to compare it to eating a chewy candy, like taffy. You can't chew fast: instead, you chew slowly and deliberately, savoring everything about it because you really have no other choice.

Thubron also demonstrates a useful amount of discretion in putting the stories together. This isn't a travel book in the sense of being pure description of locations. Yes, he offers beautifully written descriptions of each place that he visits, but he also gives the reader a glimpse of the people. A very personal glimpse, in fact. He meets people, talks to them, tries to understand them. He reaches out to hear their stories, to make sense of the person who lives in Siberia. This person isn't one person at all, it turns out, and Thubron manages to provide an impressive diversity in describing the inhabitants. How easy to lump them all together as "people in that cold place." And yet how inaccurate that proves to be.

I mentioned the sadness before, but it's worth touching on again. This book isn't full of happy, if I'm allowed to say it that way. It verges on depressing. Thubron visited Siberia in the years after the fall of the Soviet government, and it's clear that things are looking somewhat worse for many people, instead of better. They aren't necessarily sorry to see the oppression of the Soviet decades disappear, but they would really like jobs. And paychecks. And enough food to feed their families. And the chance to save money without inflation turning it into nothing. (One woman tells Thubron that her mother spent years saving 6000 roubles on which to retire. At the time, the 6000 roubles would have been enough to buy a nice car, and then she would have her pension to help her out. Now, those 6000 roubles will only buy her two loaves of bread, and there's no guarantee of a pension.) What most people emanate isn't even unhappiness but rather resignation. There's nothing they can do about it. They might as well just keep going and hope for the best as the political problems sort themselves out. And on the bad days, there's vodka. It sounds like a stereotype, but it appears to have some truth to it.

In spite of the unhappiness, though, there's a surprising amount of optimism from people. So, the government might stink. So, there's not enough money. We're alive; we have good health; we have our children; we have our heritage. And we keep moving forward, keep smiling. The people in Siberia are proud of their past. In so many of the towns and cities Thubron visited, he found a small museum, often maintained at the sheer determination of one person, in which was detailed as much of the past and as many as the artifacts as could be provided. With all of the various ethnic groups across the region, this means that Thubron made a number of museum stops, but in each one there was something fascinating to learn (for him, as well as the reader). What is more, the people are unexpectedly friendly. One night Thubron stops at a small station house in a tiny town that is struggling with fuel shortages. The station master knows that Thubron needs a lift, so he gladly gets on the phone to ask his friends if they have any gas in their cars. It takes a while, but he finally finds someone who does and gladly takes him to his next stop. On another occasion, Thubron runs across a group of mafia who offer to drive him around town. They show him the sights, provide a little editorial about life there, and then drop him off at a place to sleep for the night -- after paying his bill. It's a "Russian gift" to a visiting Englishman. No expectations placed on him in return.

I read this book over the course of two weeks, and I enjoyed taking my time with it. I also read with a computer close by, because I found myself wanting to jump up at the end of a chapter and start searching. These places were all so unfamiliar to me, and here they came alive on the page: Krasnoyarsk, Khabarovsk, Irkutsk, Novosibirsk, Butugychag. These names rolled off my tongue (at least in my mind), and I needed to know more: Evgenia Ginzburg, Maria Volkonskaya, Princess Trubetskaya, Sakharov, Shelikhov, Kolchak, and so forth. I spent two weeks learning about a place that had previously just been a big chunk of land on the map. Almost nothing about Russia in general, and Siberia in particular, is familiar to Americans like myself. It's just this huge, distant part of the world with a tongue-twister language and a forbidding climate. Thubron doesn't necessarily make it familiar to Western readers. But I think he successfully makes them want to know and appreciate a little more.

Year of publication: 1999
Number of pages: 285

Book Review: The Productive Writer, by Sage Cohen

2011-02-04T14:04:00.001-05:00

I bought this on a whim -- one of those "featured books" shelves at Barnes and Noble. I had been looking for a writing reference guide for a while, and until I came across this one I had been pretty universally disappointed. Most of them are suffer from excess cheer or overwhelming seriousness. Or they turn writing into a philosophical experience that verges on the absurd.

Cohen's book does none of these things. As a writer, she offers a strong balance of encouragement and practicality that stems, no doubt, from her own varied resume. Sage Cohen has dual writing roles: one as a marketing writer and the other as a poet. As a result, she can see writing from the angle of something that people must do, as well as the angle of something that people do to pay the bills. Let's be realistic, she basically says. The whole image of the "starving artist" is pretty ridiculous.

I like this approach. I also like that offers some truly useful tips. The best point that she makes is one that has occurred to me time and time again: there are writers who get published and whose writing is equivalent to mine, if not worse. But they're getting published, because they're sending out their work. Additionally, I've always struggled with the fear of writing and the problem of being something of a perfectionist. How can I try to publish until I'm confident that my work is perfect? I can't. So, Cohen points out that the goal should be professional instead of perfect. I don't know about you, but this takes a huge weight off my shoulders. This doesn't remove the obligation that I have to make sure my writing is as good as possible, but it does remove the burden of perfectionism that I'll never achieve.

Some of the information in here was less useful to me. Cohen talks about writers needing to be out there with their work -- in their communities, teaching workshops, posting on Facebook, and Tweeting. (I loathe the fact that this is now a verb, by the way.) This kind of thing isn't as necessary for me, and I suspect part of its value applies to writers who work by contract and need an influx of clients. Since that isn't the type of writing I plan to do at this point, I'm in no hurry to establish a Facebook account. And with any luck, hell will freeze over before I set up a Twitter account. That being said, she makes great points for those pursuing certain types of writing.

The book is fairly short, but it packs in a great deal of excellent information. And Cohen's style of refreshingly accessible. Her own writing is professional but without being stuffy, and she gets writers motivated to pick up their pens or hit the computer. She reminds readers that writing should be viewed as a job and that there's no reason not to set up a schedule and go for it. (She is, however, practical enough to point out that there's nothing wrong with doing something else for a while if the words don't arrive on schedule.) The chapters are brief but complete, and everything feels very concise and to the point. I like writing that wastes no words and gets to that point. Which is why I should wrap up this review pretty quickly:

Great book.
Worth the time.

Year of publication: 2010
Number of pages: 204

Daily Giggle: Veit

2011-01-28T14:42:00.001-05:00

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

2011-01-28T14:29:00.001-05:00

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

2011-01-14T12:58:00.001-05:00

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

2011-01-13T14:23:00.001-05:00

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

2011-01-08T00:17:00.004-05:00

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

2011-01-06T09:40:00.001-05:00

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

2011-01-05T16:23:00.002-05:00

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

2011-01-05T15:40:00.004-05:00

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

Blog Resolutions -- 2011

2010-12-30T13:46:00.003-05:00

***Update: Since I didn't want to clog the blog with double posts, I linked this to Booking Through Thursday's January 6th meme about New Year's reading resolutions.***

It's that time of year again, when I make blog resolutions I doubt I'll be able to keep. But I love the idea of written goals, even unattainable ones, and I like to have some sense of direction as I begin reading for the New Year.

Ongoing Reading (Incomplete from 2010)

-- I am still working my way through the Brother Cadfael books by Ellis Peters, picking them up where I can find them. I have discovered all over again just how much I like the writing and plots of these stories, so I'm in no hurry to complete them. As I think I mentioned before, the books are apparently out of print now, so I have to buy them used where and when I can find them. That makes it all the more fun, though.

-- I need to finish and review Heaven Is a Place on Earth, by Michael Wittmer. I've liked what I read so far, but I keep getting side-tracked by events in life. And I've discovered that having the Kindle software on my computer isn't necessarily conducive to easy reading (especially since I put the computer away at night, when I do most of my reading).

-- I also want to read and review The Breaking of Eggs, which I won (mentioned previously) and still need to complete. I'm excited about reading it, but I need the time -- which I haven't had lately -- to sit down and enjoy it.

New Goals for Reading

-- I have an almost embarrassing amount of books that I own and haven't so much as cracked open. Among these are the lofty biography of John Adams by David McCulloch and several shorter books by C.S. Lewis (The Screwtape Letters, The Four Loves, and Miracles). Once I get through a few more boxes, I suspect I'll find others.

-- I recently ordered two books that have have been sitting in my subconscious for a while -- Apollo's Angels, by Jennifer Homans, and In Siberia, by Colin Thubron. I read intriguing reviews/discussions of each, and as a result they got into my mind and wouldn't leave me alone until I decided to buy them. I hope to begin working on these soon, and I expect to add reviews to the blog.

Perhaps my biggest goal for 2011 is that I'll return to a schedule I followed for a number of years but gave up after life got in the way a little too much. For a long time, I consistently read one book a week, and since giving that up my reading muscles have become a little flabby. I want to exercise them again, so I'll start with the one-book-a-week goal except when the length of the book requires more than a week.

So, that's a start for my blog resolutions. I'm not going to make any serious lists or real resolutions of what I'll read and when -- as long as I can keep reading (and reviewing!) a book each week, I shouldn't have any trouble getting through a good number of books this year.

Unless we get transferred, of course...

Art Study: Steaming River

2010-12-16T09:41:00.001-05:00

I brought this image over from an article on The Arts Desk (photo taken by Ismene Brown). The photo is of the Yenisei River in the Siberian city of Krasnoyarsk. With temperatures hovering around negative 26 degrees, the river has begun to steam. Rather impressively, as I think you'll agree. (You can read more in the article that is linked above.)

A few interesting points about Krasnoyarsk in particular, and Siberia in general. Siberia encompasses approximately 10 percent of the land mass on earth but only has 36 million inhabitants. (Russia in its entirety represents about 12.5 percent percent of the landmass on earth.) Krasnoyarsk is also pretty far east -- east of Novosibirsk and perched above Mongolia. There are 4000 kilometers (about 2500 miles) between Krasnoyarsk and Moscow. Ultimately, that's not saying much in terms of distances, though. To get from Russia's far-eastern city of Vladivostock to Moscow takes nearly 10,000 miles. All of Europe can fit inside Siberia. Back to Krasnoyarsk, the city is a blend of the many cultures that have collided and found a way to live together there -- European influences from the western parts of Russia, Chinese influences, Arctic Siberian influences, and Turkic influences (distinct from Turkish).

Learn How to Do the Double Dream Hands!

2010-12-15T17:48:00.003-05:00

Not to mention Jazz Hands and Rain Hands.

I dare you to do this at the next party you attend. Any takers? If so, I'll develop some kind of prize for going through with it. (Pictures and/or video required, of course.)

Don't forget to rock out.

E-book Review: The Orthodox Church, by Timothy Ware

2010-12-13T16:38:00.004-05:00

I've been putting this review off for a while now, largely because I wasn't quite sure how to approach it. This is one of those books that does exactly what it advertises: it provides a "clear, detailed introduction to the Orthodox Church...for the non-Orthodox as well as for the Orthodox Christians who wish to know more about their own traditions." While some books promise one thing but deliver another, this book provides exactly what it claims to provide, making a review a little tricky. I'm not here to review the Orthodox Church, but rather a book about it. In reviewing a book about the Orthodox Church, however, I'll certainly end up reviewing the theology to some degree.

So I've decided just to offer my thoughts after reading the book. I chose this after searching for a good overview of Orthodoxy written for someone who knows little about it. Ware's book was recommended in other places (that I can't remember now), and it was a fairly inexpensive download, so I decided to go for it. All in all, I was pleased. The writing is thoughtful and certainly takes into consideration the questions that non-Orthodox Christians have about Orthodoxy. The tone was gentle and the purpose informative. There was nothing of a sanctimonious tone (as in "we're right, and here's why"), and I appreciated the way that Ware pinpointed and explained specific elements of doctrine that non-Orthodox Christians would want to discuss. This isn't a long book, and I can't advise this for anyone who wants an in-depth study, but those looking into Orthodoxy for the first time are more likely to be overwhelmed by anything lengthier.

My own reasons for reading about Orthodoxy are a little difficult to explain, in part I suspect because I haven't yet sorted them out for myself. I just know that I needed to know more. All in all, I found myself in agreement with the vast majority of Orthodox doctrine, so there's not as much of a difference as some might think. (It certainly looks different to non-Orthodox believers, but at its core it's largely the same.) I also appreciated the explanation that Ware provided for two points of doctrine: sin and the path to salvation and the role of the Virgin Mary. From what I can understand, the Orthodox Church embraces the idea of free will in the sense that Adam had the ability to choose good and evil and rejects the idea of original sin to the extent that St Augustine argued. That being said, humans are still born with the propensity to sin and will definitely sin and remain in sin (to the point of spiritual death) without the effects of salvation. ("Each new being is born into a world where sin prevails everywhere, a world in which it is easy to do evil and hard to do good. Our will is weakened and enfeebled by what the Greeks call 'desire' and the Latins 'concupiscence.' We are all subject to these, the spiritual effects of original sin.") But as Ware notes, the Orthodox Church does not believe all humans are infected with Adam's sin but instead born with the tendency to sin as Adam did. I don't think I'm doing a very good job of explaining this, but basically the Orthodox version recognizes original sin and the need for Christ's grace in salvation (due to the barrier that sin creates between God and man), just not to quite the same extreme as parts of the Protestant (i.e., Reformed) and Catholic Church. The result is that the Orthodox Church believes man's will to play a role in salvation. Ware addresses the question of predestination:

The west, since the time of Augustine and the Pelagian controversy, has discussed the question of grace and free will in somewhat different terms; and many brought up in the Augustinian tradition -- particularly Calvinists -- have viewed the Orthodox idea of "synergy" [that is, the idea of cooperation, of believers as "fellow workers" -- Greek synergoi] with some suspicion. Does it not ascribe too much to human free will and too little to God? Yet in reality the Orthodox teaching is very straightforward. "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in" (Revelation iii, 20). God knocks, but waits for us to open the door -- He does not break it down. The grace of God invites all but compels none. In the words of John Chrysostome, "God never draws anyone to Himself by force and violence. He wishes all to be saved, but forces no one." "It is for God to grant His grace," said St Cyril of Jerusalem (died 386); "your task is to accept that grace and to guard it."

I can certainly come up with the Reformed rebuttal to this, but I also find myself in agreement with much of it. The issue of predestination concerns me on many levels, in part because it feels too logically extreme -- as though the development of the idea came about through a series of logical steps: because we believe this about original sin, therefore we must believe this about the will of man. And because we this about the will of man, we must believe this about salvation and man's role (or lack thereof) in it. But as any logician can tell you, it's possible to make a completely logical argument that is also inaccurate. Don't get me wrong: I'm not saying that the Reformed fathers (and St Augustine before them) arrived at their views as a purely logical exercise. I am, however, suggesting that it's possible to start with one point and to paint oneself into a corner by carrying it that point to its logical conclusion. I'm also not to the point of saying the Reformed argument is inaccurate, but I'm not averse to thinking outside its logical strictures and, as always, studying Scripture more closely. (Frankly, it's more important to me that I'm a Christian than it is to worry about whether or not the word "Reformed" defines my belief in Christianity.)

On the role of Mary, I had a harder time with it, but I accept that it's just very foreign to me as a Protestant. I'll quote Ware's explanation, rather than butchering it with paraphrase:

...Orthodox honour Mary, not only because she is Theotokos, but because she is Panagia, All-Holy. Among all God's creatures, she is the supreme example of synergy or co-operation between the purpose of the deity and human freedom. God, who always respects our liberty of choice, did not wish to become incarnate without the willing consent of His Mother. He waited for her voluntary response: 'Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be as you have said' (Luke i, 38). Mary could have refused; she was not merely passive, but an active participant in the mystery... If Christ is the New Adam, Mary is the New Eve, whose obedient submission to the will of God counterbalanced Eve's disobedience in Paradise...

I'll admit that his makes sense to me, although I'm not sure I fully agree with it. That being said, I should point out that the Orthodox Church does not accept the Roman Catholic doctrine of Immaculate Conception (that is, the doctrine that Mary was herself born without sin). They believe she lived a life "free from actual sin" (as Ware points out) but not free from the potential for original sin that all humans inherited from Adam. That is, she had the ability to sin but did not, living a life in obedience to God. I don't know if this is even possible, but I like the Orthodox distinction between original sin and actual sin.

On a final note, Ware also touches on the role of art, and particularly icons, within the Orthodox Church (its Russian branch in particular). Quoting Nicolas Zernov, Ware explains that icons "were for the Russians not merely paintings. They were the dynamic manifestations of man's spiritual power to redeem creation through beauty and art." I love this description. Once again, I don't know to what extent I agree with it, but I also think the Protestant Church has done a fairly poor job of contributing to art. And as a lover of art and as someone who feels that Christians should be active in "redeeming creation through beauty and art," I find this idea one that Protestants especially can learn from. (And if you dare to point out that someone like Thomas Kinkade should be mentioned in connection with "beauty and art," prepare to exit my blog with a flea in your ear.)

Wrapping things up, I recommend The Orthodox Church if you are interested in learning a little more about Orthodoxy. Given the chasm that seems to exist between this branch of the Church and the others, it wouldn't hurt for more Protestants and Catholics to read about the Orthodox Church, if only to understand their brothers and sisters in the Eastern tradition a little better. If nothing else, a book like this can help to challenge currently held beliefs and force all Christians to study their beliefs and the doctrine governing those beliefs a little more closely.

Cracking the Nut: Which One to Watch?

2010-12-13T15:13:00.005-05:00

The Nutcracker is a holiday favorite, and for those who can't make it to a performance (or those, like myself, who have spouses that would rather endure a root canal than a ballet) there's always the DVD option. What is more, there are a number of good versions to choose from, with most available from Netflix or Amazon. If you're facing the quandary of which Nutcracker to watch, here are some tips.

(Before getting started, I should admit that these are entirely my opinions and are based on my experience as a dancer and what I expect to see in a performance.)

Royal Ballet Productions

The Royal Ballet has two productions currently available on DVD. The first is a 2001 production with Alina Cojocaru as Clara.

Despite Anthony Dowell's slightly creepy face (in the role of Drosselmeyer) on the DVD cover, this is a great production. What makes it special is the fact that Dowell, a former Royal Ballet dancer and the former Artistic Director of the Royal Ballet, is part of the performance. He has tons of stage presence and owns the role. Additionally, Alina Cojocaru is perfection in the role of Clara. She's a Royal Ballet principal and a teeny-tiny dancer who manages to fill up the stage in the way that only great dancers can. Her dancing is fairly minimal, but her performance is memorable.

The other production is the 2009 version, released just a couple of months ago.

This is another good production that has been running on Ovation TV for the last week or so. (They are advertising the Royal Ballet production as the one with Cojocaru, but that's incorrect.) The role of Drosselmeyer is played by Gary Avis (I think?). He's good, but not as good as Dowell. The role of Clara falls to the charming Iohna Loots. Loots is a strong dancer with very good stage presence. She's a long-time soloist with the Royal Ballet and the go-to dancer for Clara, primarily because she fits the look and style needed for the role. She's not as good of a dancer as Cojocaru (the latter has better lines and a more articulate upper body), but the role of Clara requires more sparkle than technique.

What I didn't like about this production, however, is that the dancing and the casting leave a little to be desired at times. The dolls in Act I feel slightly unrehearsed, and as lovely and precise a dancer as she is Laura Morera does nothing for me in the Waltz of the Flowers. Her head is a little large and her legs too short to create the exquisite lines that are needed to match the music. (If you view this production, you can see what I mean when she and Loots dance together. Morera's proportions are so odd that she almost looks like a cartoon figure next to the nicely proportioned Loots.) Besides, Morera can't compare to the perfection that is Zenaida Yanowsky's Waltz of the Flowers in the 2001 production. (See below.)

For the most part, the two productions are similar in style. In fact, Miyako Yoshida plays the Sugar Plum Fairy in both, so you're not missing out in one over the other. The benefit to seeing the 2009 production might be that this is one Yoshida's final performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy before her retirement from the Royal Ballet, and she absolutely glows in the role. She's a consistent dancer, though, so you'll appreciate her equally in the 2001 production. (I'm not sure how I'd feel about seeing Yoshida in other roles, but I'm also not sure anyone performs the Sugar Plum Fairy with quite the grace and delicacy that she brings to the performance. Seriously, she barely hits the ground the entire time.)

Baryshnikov/Kirkland Production

This is an older production but one worth mentioning. It's a little bizarre as far as a traditional Nutcracker goes, but it still has the charm that a Nutcracker performance requires. The primary benefit to this one, of course, is the fact that Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland perform in it. As a quick word of warning, Kirkland is very thin here. She struggled with an eating disorder and drug use for years, and it shows in her appearance. Where it does not show, however, is in her performance. I'm not sure I've ever seen so ethereal a Sugar Plum Fairy.

Kirov Production

This production dates from 1994 but is not out of date (not yet, at least !) -- particularly since the Kirov (now known as the Mariinsky) currently performs a more modern version. If you want to see a Nutcracker that reflects the style of traditional Russian ballet, this '94 performance is the way to go. Perhaps best of all, the lovely Larissa Lezhnina, with her immaculate Vaganova technique, performs the Sugar Plum Fairy in a production that overall has the feel of finely spun cotton candy.

I've yet to find a Bolshoi production in full that I really like and feel like recommending. You can locate snippets on YouTube, and that might be the best way to go. There's a production with the legendary Ekaterina Maximova that is worth catching if you find it, but the one I'd really steer viewers toward is the production with Nadezhda Pavlova -- if you happen to run across it. She's just beyond charming and was one of the few real child prodigies of the ballet world. (She actually won the Grand Prix at the Moscow International Ballet Competition, beating out much older dancers for the prize, when she was just 16.)

As a final note, while I appreciate Ovation's commitment to bringing the fine arts to television, I advise that you locate a DVD (or older video) version instead. For some reason, Ovation decided to ask Sarah Jessica Parker and former NYC Ballet dancer Damian Woetzel to host, and viewers have the misfortune of listening to these two gas on about the most mundane things before and after commercial breaks. Obnoxious and unnecessary doesn't begin to describe their comments. If they had actually said something useful, I might not have minded. But they decided to point out the obvious to viewers ("This is such a sumptuous production!") as though they were revealing something unexpected.

E-book Reviews: Yoga

2010-11-29T21:02:00.003-05:00

I'm a yoga girl, so I was excited to find a couple of yoga e-books for a good price at Amazon. (For the record, I'll note that I don't have a Kindle, but I have the software on my computer, so I downloaded it that way.) I like the idea of e-books for those books I don't really want to purchase as a hard copy but can't otherwise get from the library.

The Women's Yoga Book, by Bobby Clennell

As the title suggests (rather obviously), this book offers women tips on yoga, providing details about how yoga affects and can help women's bodies. In particular, The Women's Yoga Book lets readers know how to approach yoga throughout their cycles and how to perform certain positions throughout the month. For instance, women should avoid standing poses while menstruating, because standing poses create too much internal heat by requiring that women tighten their uterus. These results interfere with the natural flow (my apologies if you find this a bit too descriptive...but it is what it is).

Beyond this, Clennell provides information on diet and the specific benefits of each yoga position. As with many yoga books, she recommends that women consider looking into an ayurvedic diet. I've looked into this, and while I don't see myself following it faithfully I am intrigued by the extent to which my particular "dosha" reflects. Clennell also explains the specific benefits that yoga offers women who struggle with certain physical problems, and she provides useful details on the breathing that is involved with yoga and how to breathe properly (and why).

For those who are interested in yoga and would like to know more about how it can benefit women specifically, this is a great book. For those already advanced in yoga, this might be a bit of preaching to the choir, but for those who are still learning about yoga (this would include the average yoga practitioner) there's a great deal to learn in here.

Yoga Chick: A Hip Guide to Everything Om, by Bess Gallanis

This book felt a little sillier, but I was tempted to see what the author had to offer. Basically, this is a simple overview of yoga and its benefits. There's not a lot of in-depth analysis to be found, but at the same time the author makes yoga accessible for those who think it's a little too much of a tree-hugger activity. The author gives readers a bit of the tree-hugger stuff, but she also gives them some very good reasons to look into yoga and to embrace a daily yoga routine that fits comfortably into a busy schedule. There's a hint of the flippant in here, but it's not necessarily intentional. The author is aiming to help readers see the value that yoga has to offer instead of requiring that they turn it into a religion.

So, if you're interested in yoga (and I do recommend it as a great activity), here are some books that I found useful for understanding and exploring the activity a little further.

Meme: "How Many of These Books Have You Read?"

2010-11-18T20:23:00.011-05:00

I snatched this from Sarah at Library Hospital.

BBC READING MEME:
Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here.

Instructions: Bold those books you've read in their entirety. Italicize the ones you started but didn't finish or read an excerpt. Tag other book nerds. Then, tag me as well so I can see your responses!

1. Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series – JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four – George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials – Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations – Charles Dickens (listened to an audiobook version; that counts to me :)
11. Little Women – Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 – Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare (read quite a lot of the plays but not all of them)
15. Rebecca – Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit – JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong – Sebastian Faulks
18. The Catcher in the Rye – JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger (how did this make the list?)
20. Middlemarch – George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House – Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams (please see #19 above)
26. Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows – Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina – Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield – Charles Dickens (feeling like I might have, but then again I usually tune out Dickens)
33. Chronicles of Narnia – CS Lewis
34. Emma – Jane Austen
35. Persuasion – Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – CS Lewis (pretty sure this is part of #33 above...)
37. The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – Louis De Berniere
39. Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh – AA Milne
41. Animal Farm – George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code – Dan Brown (not if you paid me)
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney – John Irving
45. The Woman in White – Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies – William Golding
50. Atonement – Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi – Yann Martel
52. Dune – Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm – Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility – Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time – Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck
62. Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History – Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold (never read it; received it as a gift; donated it to a bookstore because the summary made it sound like a Lifetime movie)
65. Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas (started it; not sure I can say I read it really well, but I did get through it)

66. On The Road – Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure – Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones’s Diary – Helen Fielding
69. Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie (started it; couldn't finish it; couldn't make sense of it)
70. Moby Dick – Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist – Charles Dickens (can't remember if I read this or not; it must not have made much of a dent if I did)
72. Dracula – Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden – Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses – James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons – Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal – Emile Zola (phenomenal book; highly recommended -- even though I had to read it for the college class with the instructor who received his PhD in 19th-century German coal-mining)
79. Vanity Fair – William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession – AS Byatt (saw the movie; no motivation to read the book)
81. A Christmas Carol – Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple – Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance – Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte’s Web – EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection – Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince – Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory – Iain Banks
94. Watership Down – Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice – Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers – Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet – William Shakespeare (uh...part of #14 above -- who created this list?)
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables – Victor Hugo

I count 45 completed. Not too bad. Some of the books on the list don't interest me in the least, so I feel no shame for passing them up.

I Laughed

2010-11-10T13:25:00.003-05:00

I laughed really hard. That might make me a terrible person. But I laughed.

Blog and Reading Update

2010-11-01T12:39:00.003-04:00

So, where am I now with the reading? Well, still reading.

We've had some (ahem) upheaval lately, so I'll be reading and blogging sporadically. I still have a few Cadfael books to finish, and some are fairly difficult to find -- out of print now, it would seem -- so I'm setting a tentative goal of completing them by the end of the year. I'll also be working on the Wodehouse books here and there, and I plan to read The Breaking of Eggs, which I won from a giveaway on Carrie's blog (Reading to Know).

I also have a few e-book downloads on my computer that I'm working on: Heaven Is a Place on Earth (by Michael Wittmer, and recommended by Page Turner) and The Orthodox Church (by Timothy Ware). I'm pretty much through The Orthodox Church, but I think I need to read it again before reviewing it.

There are always things to do, aren't there? Always new goals to meet.

Perhaps that's a good thing.

Quick Review: The Heretic's Apprentice, by Ellis Peters

2010-11-01T12:27:00.001-04:00

The Heretic's Apprentice represents one of those Cadfael books I'm glad I read a second time. I had only the vaguest memory of it from before, and I recall not thinking much of it. Upon a second reading, it made more sense and was far more enjoyable. Not, perhaps, one of the best in the series but certainly worth reading.

This is the 16th book in the series and is set in 1143. William of Lythwood has died after a long pilgrimage, and as he requested to be buried at the Abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul the abbot decides to honor his request. There were some initial concerns about the soundness of William's theological beliefs, but these are addressed and laid to rest -- as is William.

Returning with his master's body is William's servant Elave, a one-time resident of the area and now a widely traveled and seasoned young man. One night after a bit too much to drink, Elave expresses some of his views about theology and raised questions that were deemed potentially heretical. For instance, Elave doesn't understand why baptism is a necessary for salvation. He points out that very human beings could toss infants into a fire; how are we to believe that the God Who created them could do that very thing simply because they weren't baptized? He also disagrees with St Augustine on the issue of predestination, arguing for a much stronger role of human will in salvation. (I struggle with this one as well.)

In any event, a few locals hear Elave's comments and accuse him of heresy. Somewhat unfortunately for the young man, a high-ranking canon is visiting and decides that such heresy must be wiped out. He has recently been dealing with the Albigensian issue in France and, in a clear case of making a mountain out of a molehill, sees Elave's simple questions as a similar threat. Then, the man who made the accusation of heresy is found murdered, and Elave is accused of murder as well as heresy.

This is one of those stories in which Cadfael's role is largely peripheral, but that might be wisdom on the author's part. Sometimes, he just needs to be there and quietly tying up a few loose ends while the larger story develops beyond him. But Cadfael is instrumental in helping to sort out Elave's problems, and the young man is ultimately cleared of both accusations, with the real criminal -- the murdered, that is -- discovered and dealt with.

What might be most interesting about this story is the way in which the theology is handled and discussed. These are important questions that Elave raises, and as he points out it's not enough to say, "Don't worry about understanding that. Just follow what the Church says." Elave wants to know, and he's willing to learn as long as someone will address his questions and explain the meaning of these issues. Wise man.

Year of publication: 1991
Number of pages: 256

Quick Review: The Raven in the Foregate, by Ellis Peters

2010-11-01T12:06:00.001-04:00

If The Rose Rent is a must-read, The Raven in the Foregate is...not so much. It's not a bad book by any means. It's just not one of the best. If you're interested in completing the series, go ahead with it. If you want the "Best of Cadfael," give this one a pass.

And with that glowing summary, let me actually provide some context for the story. The Raven in the Foregate is the twelfth book in the series (just before The Rose Rent, but I had already started the other review before I realized that; oh well) and is set in late December of 1141. The priest of the foregate at Shrewsbury, Father Adam, has passed away, and Abbot Radulfus is charged with selecting a new priest. He travels to spend Christmas with the king and returns with Father Ailnoth. Much to the dismay of the foregate parish.

Father Ailnoth has his strengths, but mercy and kindness are not among them. Where Father Adam was kind and gentle in goading his parishioners toward Christian obedience, Father Ailnoth is determined to beat it into them -- quite literally at times. Abbot Radulfus quickly realizes his error, but there is little he can do. The appointment has been made, and in all required matters Father Ailnoth is correct. He just doesn't have even a drop of the milk of human kindness in him. For instance, he refuses to baptize a dying newborn because he is busy at his prayers (and that, apparently, must come first), and he refuses absolution to a young woman who has fallen and had a child outside of wedlock (because she declines to name the father but asks only absolution for her own sin).

It comes as little surprise and even less sorrow when the man is found dead, floating near the mill pond. The large bruise on his head suggests that he didn't merely slip into the pond, so Cadfael sets out to find who, if any, is responsible. Along the way, he befriends one of Father Ailnoth's servants and discovers there is more to this young man than meets the eye. He also -- somewhat as usual -- plays a role in encouraging a bit of romance with this young man and a local girl. The solution to the mystery comes as a surprise to everyone, but perhaps for the best it doesn't end up being as dire as Cadfael initially expected. All's well that ends well here. Except for the rather unworthy Father Ailnoth apparently.

Year of publication: 1985?
Number of pages: 240

Quick Review: The Rose Rent, by Ellis Peters

2010-11-01T11:54:00.000-04:00

I have never entirely understood why I don't love The Rose Rent. Reading it again recently, it occurred to me that this might be one of the better novels in the series. It's a bit quieter and less frenetic (in terms of events in the story) than some of the other books, but it's beautifully written and has extremely well-developed imagery.

The story opens in the spring of 1142, with the abbey preparing to pay its annual rose rent to wealthy merchant widow Judith Perle. The annual presentation of this rent dates back a few years for the Abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. Judith Perle established the tradition after her husband died: she gave the Rose Cottage that she and her husband had lived in to the abbey on one condition: a monk from the abbey pay a rent each year in the form of one rose from the rose tree that gives the cottage its name.

This year, however, there's a snag. Brother Eluric, who has been commissioned to present the rent, confesses that he has developed a romantic love for Judith, and he begs to be released from the duty. The abbot agrees and gives the job to someone else. But just before the rent can be paid, a tragedy is discovered. Brother Eluric is found dead next to the hacked remains of the rose tree. It is initially thought that he tried to destroy the tree and then killed himself, but Cadfael proves that this was instead murder.

And Cadfael is once again on the trail of a killer. At his side are Judith Perle and Niall the Bronzesmith who currently lives in the Rose Cottage as a tenant of the abbey. Judith then disappears -- believed to be the victim of one of the scheming local men who want to marry her for her money -- and Cadfael has two mysteries to solve. As with all Peters mysteries, things work out in the end; the criminal(s) is/are caught (I won't reveal who and how many are responsible for the crimes :), and a romance blooms. Oh, yes, I totally just did that.

It really is a lovely story, a bit slow in pace but still worth reading and an excellent addition to the series. I'd add this one as a must-read among Cadfael books.

Year of publication: 1986
Number of pages: 240

Reading Update

2010-10-10T13:49:00.000-04:00

I'm still here! And I have three or four Cadfael reviews waiting to be written. I'm just a little overwhelmed with grading and other teaching fun right now, so I've put blogging on hold until I can sit down and spend some time writing.

Additionally, having been inspired by the delight that is Jeeves and Wooster on DVD, I picked up the Wodehouse books again and will try to write about them at some point in the future. If I can stop laughing long enough to form a complete sentence. And I mean that entirely as a credit to Wodehouse.

Appreciation Post

2010-09-16T16:24:00.002-04:00

Costco membership: $50.

The Entire Jeeves and Wooster series (with Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry): $24.

A rainy afternoon: priceless.

Guess what I did today :)

Book Review: Dead Man's Ransom, by Ellis Peters

2010-09-16T16:03:00.001-04:00

Dead Man's Ransom is one of those stories that tends to start out strong for me but then wanes after a while. I think it's because the conclusion is fairly obvious from an early point, if only the reader applies a little critical thinking. I also think that the romance angle is somewhat less touching than I wanted it to be. Try as I might, I didn't appreciate the girl who represents the female portion of the love story; and the peripheral elements are much stronger. This means, however, that the story doesn't hold together all that well and, frankly, that it's harder to work up a give-a-darn about it.

But that's just me. I never loved Dead Man's Ransom.

The story is set in February of 1141, with Hugh Beringar and the other men of Shrewsbury returning from the failed Battle of Lincoln. King Stephen has lost power on this occasion, and more importantly for Shrewsbury the sheriff Gilbert Prestcote has been captured. In a more unexpected twist, the sheriff's captors are the Welsh. For the most part, the Welsh prince Owain Gwynedd stays out of England's problems and minds his own borders, but his troublesome brother Cadwaladr ap Gruffydd, along with Madog ap Maredudd (from Powys) decided to get involved and side with the empress.

Shortly after Hugh's return, he receives word that there might be a chance to fetch the lord sheriff home. The Welsh got a little too excited by their successes at Lincoln and made inroads into the forests near Shrewsbury. They made the mistake of attacking -- of all people -- the nuns at Godric's Ford. The ladies were ready for them, rejecting the invaders and capturing one of them. The possibility of an exchange arises, since the Welsh captive is clearly well born and his family will want him returned. So, Hugh requests Cadfael's assistance in a trip to Wales, and Cadfael heartily agrees (with the abbot's approval, of course).

Naturally, a little hitch arises in the process. During his captivity, the Welsh prisoner Elis ap Cynan has actually fallen in love with the sheriff's daughter Melicent. Unfortunately for Elis, he is already betrothed to a girl in Wales, but he will gladly give her up to pursue Melicent. Unfortunately for both of them, the sheriff is unlikely to give his daughter to a member of the very group of people who recently captured him. So, Elis is miserable and eager to find a path through the tangle of his and Melicent's situation.

What happens next isn't exactly surprising: the sheriff is murdered. At first, it looks like the sheriff's death might have been the result of natural causes: after all, the man was very ill from his battle wounds. But a closer look reveals that someone's hand is responsible for tipping the man toward death. The automatic assumption is that Elis is the guilty party, particularly since he is known to have entered the sheriff's room while he was resting, and Melicent also jumps to that conclusion. She rejects Elis outright and then requests admission to Godric's Ford. Elis is mortified, but he certainly didn't kill his love's father. Barring his inability to convince her otherwise, he continues moping around Shrewsbury.

Then, the Welsh return to wreak havoc on Godric's Ford again, and Elis is off to save Melicent. Along the way, things start to get very complicated. Fortunately, Cadfael is able to sort through the tangle and place the guilt where it belongs. The sad part is that the resolution doesn't really make the reader feel much better, and I'm not sure much is actually resolved in the end. It's just kind of...there. At least Elis and Melicent overcome their problems. But the weakness of their romance just doesn't do enough to make the story work as well as others do.

Year of publication: 1984
Number of pages: 288