Wednesday, August 20, 2014

The Game of Kings (review)

by Dorothy Dunnett, 1961 
Lymond Chronicles, #1

Scotland, technically under the rule of a pre-school-aged Queen Mary, is ravaged by constant warfare. The regent of England hopes to carry off the Scottish Queen and eventually marry her to England’s own boy king, Edward VI. Nobles on both sides shift allegiance with the tide of battle (many Scotsman are even forced to request permission from their own side to offer insincere fealty to the English, and must then juggle their duel-status in hopes of preserving some shreds of their estates). Throughout these tides of warfare, an outlawed, dashing figure runs amok. His name is Culter of Lymond. Believed to be a traitor to Scotland, he is pursued with hatred by both sides, and appears to serve only himself while making fools of everyone else. He is an anti-hero with a vocabulary to rival any character in literature, and a gift of oratory that might silence Lord Peter Wimsey himself. In fact, he is in some ways what Lord Peter might have been, had his lordship been born in the age of the sword instead of that of the machine gun.

Mary eventually wed the 
prince of France,
not the king of England.
Word-lovers will revel in the language of this tale. It is definitely a swashbuckler: constant adventure, topsy-turvy shifts of fate, disguises, repartee, and intrigue, all staged among a wide cast of vivid individuals. I myself appreciate the author’s deft handling of her characters. Many of them could easily have been stereotypical, single-dimensional, and annoying; and yet they all manage to come across as eminently human and almost universally sympathetic. This is fortunate, since otherwise, the constant adventure might have been too much for me. As Edith Nesbit’s Oswald Bastable would say, this book is a ripping good yarn. 

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Five Links: Literary Culture and Supporting Good Art

A vibrant, Christian culture is important. Stories and ideas are important. Art is important. Yet how do we craft good stories and real art from a Christian perspective, so as to build and define a vibrant culture? I think that these links are all helpful.


Katie Schuermann talks about the sorry state of Christian fiction, and delivers a call to do better.

“Weekend Fisher” blogs about how one of the things that art and literature can do is to capture, and communicate, what it is to have a religious experience.

Suzannah of Vintage Novels makes some fascinating points about the difference between being an imaginative and an introspective reader.  

I’ve already posted this, but in case you missed it, here is an explanation of why modern critics don’t like old books (and, by extension, why even good Christian fiction might not be considered “artistic” by the critics).


Also, on an almost entirely unrelated note, I got to experience my first (brief) for-the-radio interview today. It was about an article I wrote for Sister, Daughter, Mother, Wife. You can find the interview here.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

An Enticing Idea

I wrote a story this week in the style of a folk tale (I am still in the stage during which I think my story is very, very good indeed, purely out of authorly affection-- critical identification of its flaws will come later). My husband commented that the theme of the tale is actually quite Lutheran.

This gave me an idea.

Wouldn't it be delightful to write a book of original fairy tales from a Lutheran perspective, and see if CPH would publish it?

They would probably look with raised eyebrows at a query letter about fairy tales, but still!

Ha, if I ever write that story about the enchanted Book of Concord, it will of course take a place of honor in this volume.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Seven Literary Lectures of a Very Brief Nature (including, "How to Interpret Mansfield Park")

Watercolor by Diana Sperling (The family at dinner)

1. Let’s not be ridiculous

People call Mansfield Park a “controversial” book because Fanny is passive and quiet, and accuse Jane Austen of suggesting that passivity is the way to get a man. How silly. If we applied this logic to the other books, we should accuse Miss Austen of also teaching that the way to win a husband is to accuse his father of murder (Northanger Abbey), be overly gullible in the presence of flattering fellows who tell lies (Pride and Prejudice), or wait until your crush’s current date acquires a head-wound (Persuasion).

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Rags-to-Riches, Political Correctness, and Andrew Carnegie’s Autobiography

I am currently reading THIS free edition of Andrew Carnegie’s autobiography. It offers a thought-provoking window into a particular time and place.* Carnegie was the son of poor but respectable parents (his beloved father was a weaver who, in his son’s words, “failed to anticipate” and adapt to new methods of mechanization, and therefore was slowly driven out of business). In hopes of raising their fortunes, the family emigrated from Scotland to Pittsburgh, and thirteen-year-old Carnegie immediately joined the workforce. His third job, that of a telegram delivery boy, put him into contact with the railroad industry that was to make his fortune. Carnegie worked for the Pennsylvania railroad for some time before becoming a rail manufacturer and businessman on his own. His rise to wealth is of course legendary, as is his delight in “giving back” by funding libraries and cultural institutions across the nation and abroad. I have to laugh at the American insularity that resulted in complaints about his generosity to "foreign places" like his native Scotland.

The events of Carnegie's life are illustrative of the business changes that were then remolding the face of America. The book is not overly self-congratulatory (so far-- I'm not finished yet), and freely acknowledges various mistakes that Carnegie made in his career as well as his debt to many partners and employees along the way. Yet it is the sort that P.G. Wodehouse sometimes makes fun of (see “The Man, the Maid, and the Miasma” in The Man Upstairs and Other Stories, available for free from project Gutenberg). Carnegie’s story is part of the narrative that was so popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries—the idea that any truly bright, truly deserving boy, from any class, can (and perhaps will) become a millionaire. He need only guard and develop his moral character, cultivate knowledge by studying in his free time, and always go above and beyond in his job. Eventually, his employers will notice and promote him. Thus his chance will come.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Conflict Between "Art" and "Message" (or, Infiltrating the Arts, Part II)

If you are inclined to read Part II of this series, it is available at Sister, Daughter, Mother, Wife.

Here's a quote.
It is important to recognize that the most important thing is not to set about creating A Book That Will Convert Everyone or a movie That Tells It Right and Silences All Those Annoying Liberals. What we really need is to cultivate and support good art, and to teach and encourage good Christian thinkers. A thoughtful Christian who is writing, painting, composing, or directing will naturally portray truth as he sees it. He will be able to create material that is based on truth, rather than focused on combatting specific, narrow errors. However, if this Christian is shaped by mainstream values, his output will reflect Hollywood, Oprah, or whatever other source has shaped his view of life and truth.

It is perhaps especially difficult to create literature from a Christian perspective in a world that sees cynicism and despair as more true, and more artistic, than joy or goodness. THIS is a thought-provoking article about that very issue.

So-- what is the solution?

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Infiltrating the Arts, Part I

Stories are powerful. Can the arts (broadly defined to include popular forms of storytelling) be used to shape people's beliefs? Can they be used a subtler form of apologetics?

Conflicts about ideas and beliefs tend to be messy. This is in part because, even if ideas themselves are logical, human allegiance to them is based on a chaos of feelings, assumptions, and preferences. Often we are not even aware of the presuppositions with which we approach an argument. Merely being right does not necessarily make a position convincing. When Christians try to engage in the interplay of ideas, we often find that our audience does not just disagree with us—instead, it actually cannot give us a fair hearing, and cannot truly understand what we say. This is observable in many different settings. Missionaries to unreached peoples cannot start with the story of Good Friday and Easter, but must first teach Genesis and the concepts of sin, God, and the soul. Missionary-citizens in the United States are also faced with a culture that is often a barrier to communication. Addressing these barriers is part of what we call apologetics.

Read the rest of the article HERE.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

A Sort of Vacation Notice

Dear Readers,

If you happen to notice a lack of posts for a week or three, that is because I am engaging in the following pursuits.

I am:

Packing baby toys, baby food, extra baby diapers,
and etc., so as to prepare my child to . . . .

. . . . take a plane across the country. . . .

. . . . where we will enjoy many cups of tea
with relatives and old friends. . . . 

. . . . play a Jane Austen-inspired
bachelorette game. . . . 

. . . . hope that my son sleeps,
despite the time change, and does
not insist on getting up at 3 a.m. because
he thinks that it is 6 a.m. . . . 

. . . . get my dear sister married. . . . 

. . . . fly back home. . . .

. . . . where we will load up our belongings . . . .

. . . . transport them. . . .

. . . . move into our new house . . . .

. . . . and then, write more blog posts!

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Does Modern Respect for Artists Undermine Art?

People used to respond to art with strongly-worded judgment. They might declare a particular piece to be good, bad, dangerous, correct, incorrect, beautiful, or overwhelming. They put their fists were their words were, too. For instance, a calculated and bloody riot occurred over one of Victor Hugo’s new plays, and it included beating up critics who opposed his Romanticism. People would also incur financial losses for the sake of their artistic judgment. For example, Theodore Roosevelt refused to sell a large screen of Tiffany glass back to its creator and instead ordered that the “decadent” piece be smashed.* I am struck by how seriously people once took art. How many of us today would riot about an offensive painting or drama? How many of us would take a fist to the mouth for literature, or strain our throats heckling a playwright? Imagine the scandal if we did! Nowadays, simply criticizing the ideas behind a work of art can be enough to earn one the reputation of an uncouth, would-be censor.

I find it curious, as well, that so much great art was created by people who were viewed as craftsmen and, in a sense, merely well-trained laborers. Leonardo da Vinci worked during an era in which artists did not even sign their work, and when many pieces were the work of a studio instead of an individual. Johann Sebastian Bach was a mere church organist whose workaday compositions happened to be rather brilliant, but which were not seen as particularly artistic (he did not fit the mold of an Enlightenment musician). Nowadays we have elevated the status of artists. We tend to speak of art and artistic creativity as something romantic, high-brow, and rebellious. Artists must be uncensored and unfettered. They cannot be “wrong.” They should challenge prevailing notions. They must not follow any specifications but their own inner vision. They should wear their hair differently from everyone else. Their work is seen as different from workaday, useful, mechanical skills and endeavors. It is at once freed from the practical sphere and the moral sphere (this is a change from the day in which Roosevelt would smash a stained-glass screen because of its supposedly immoral effect).  

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

When a Historian's Opinions Don't Come With Citations

Reviewed: Creators: From Chaucer and Dürer to Picasso and Disney by Paul Johnson, 2007

Paul Johnson profiles a diverse range of individuals by assessing their creative work and, in some cases, providing “the dirt” on their personal lives. He certainly piqued my interest and left me with a desire to read Chaucer, but I was also frustrated by the difficulty of interpreting how much of his material was opinion and how much fact. I am all for historians allowing themselves to possess and display lively opinions. However, I also appreciate knowing their evidence and their reasoning. Because he speaks so authoritatively, Johnson’s work becomes less convincing as soon as one realizes that some of his unequivocal statements are debatable. For instance, he discusses the tragedy of Jane Austen’s death from Addison’s disease, and shares his frustration over the fact that, had she lived today, she could easily have been cured. However, according to Wikipedia, Austen’s diagnosis with Addison’s disease is only one tentative modern theory among several. Johnson also delivers announcements such as his claim the elderly Louis Comfort Tiffany was sexually active until the end. Yet I cannot help wondering whether Johnson has a witness to this, or merely theorizes it from the presence in Tiffany’s house of his mistress. In addition, Johnson tends to credit his “creators” with all subsequent similarities to their work, but I must counterclaim that, for example, Americans would still have delivered “one-liners” had Mark Twain never written.

As I read the book, I found myself increasingly inclined to discount or accept Johnson’s interpretations somewhat at random, based solely on my own preconceptions, which is not exactly a desirable way to learn history. I am ready enough to swallow his account of Pablo Picasso’s despicable and loathsome personal life because I myself do not care for the man’s art, but I question whether the portrait of Victor Hugo as an idiotic, egotistical hypocrite and turncoat is entirely fair, because I do admire Les Miserables (and surely the man that Johnson describes could not have written such an exploration of law versus mercy?).

However, I was fascinated by the author's interpretation of Picasso's role in art history. Johnson sees Picasso as transforming art from a representation of nature into something purely introspective, based entirely on fashion and therefore on continual change (he says that because Picasso is so easy to copy, even the artist himself did not always know which works were his own, and that the value of his pieces depends entirely on proper authentication: they have no intrinsic beauty or value). The idea that art, like couture, is now based on fashion is illuminating and provides a way to understand the modern art movement. The flow of fashion can be mystifying ("Why are intelligent girls wearing tights as pants?"), and so can the flow of modern art ("Why is that particular canvas/string cheese/bottle on a pedestal considered art by intelligent people?"). 

Creators is interesting. Johnson makes it so. Some would argue that my desire for further research proves the book to be a success. However, for me, at least, he did not make it entirely satisfying. He reminds me of various people I have known who were good storytellers. Their accounts of personal experiences were always fascinating and entertaining, but the details tended to change with each telling. They were not the sort of people who would lie, but they were also not the sort of people who always restricted themselves to facts of which they were fully certain.

Is this fair? Or am I maligning Johnson?

Read more reviews at the Housewifespice linkup!

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Could You Write a Book Review Without the Letter “Z?”


No doubt you could. Probably you could write quite a good review while avoiding any other particular letter of the alphabet, or even, if you were attentive, several letters. Yet what would be the effect on your composition? You might focus on each word in a new way, noticing and enjoying its sounds, and vocabularizing creatively, but the effort of constantly redirecting around forbidden words would surely also sap your will to write. Especially if the penalty for “slipping” was prohibitively severe.

In Ella Minnow Pea, a progressively lipogrammatic epistolary fable (or, in paperback, Ella Minnow Pea: A Novel without Letters), Mark Dunn’s 2001 story, the nature of language and censorship are explored. This YA, epistolary novel is set in the fictional island nation of Nollop. The inhabitants of said island eschew technology and revel in language. They revere Nevin Nollop, creator of the pangram, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” and have in fact erected a statue to that celebrity with a tile for each letter of his famous sentence. When, one day, a letter tile falls down, the council of Nollop reaches a strange decision. They announce that Nollop is speaking from beyond the grave, and that he wants the islanders to ban the letter that has fallen. Anyone caught writing the letter or speaking a word in which it is found will be subject to severe penalties. Of course, the rest of the tiles do not stay put, and the council’s decrees become more and more paralyzing to the culture and daily life on their island.  

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Participation Trophies and the Value of Human Life

Yesterday I read an opinion piece in the New York Times that was modified from the book, The Myth of the Spoiled Child: Challenging Conventional Wisdom about Children and Parenting. In the adapted excerpt, the author, Alfie Kohn, argues that popular disdain for children’s “participation trophies” (and the like) comes from an unhelpful desire to emphasize competition and to ensure that kids experience repeated failure. He discusses this focus on winning and losing, and claims that it teaches a child to believe that his parent’s love as well as his own value as a human being are conditional. They must be earned through success. In fact, Kohn says:
“A commitment to conditionality lives at the intersection of economics and theology. It’s where lectures about the law of the marketplace meet sermons about what we must do to earn our way into heaven. Here, almost every human interaction, even among family members, is regarded as a kind of transaction.”

He contrasts this conditionality with the strong need of children to receive unconditional love and to develop unconditional self-esteem. Leaving aside his unfortunate understanding of Christian theology (which actually teaches the impossibility of earning one’s way to heaven), it is fascinating that the heart of his argument is about raising children who feel that they are inherently valuable. The same theme is echoed constantly in discussions of body-image. It is one of our cultural values that girls and women ought to be told that they are all beautiful, not because anyone truly thinks that all females are equally gorgeous, but because “You are beautiful” is another way of saying, “You have value.”

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