Yesterday the Friday Noon Movie Club met for its Christmas week outing: The Adventures of Tintin. That makes it sound like 50-some of us got together for a big party, but in reality, as usual I had the great fortune of having two good friends surprise me, with a total of eight kids among the three of us. We filled up a row, passed around a bag of popcorn, and sat back to enjoy. Before enjoying Tintin, however, we got to enjoy some previews. For some reason, both Hugo and Tintin have included a preview for the reincarnation of Titanic—Titanic in 3D. First of all, why? But more to the point, why at a kids’ movie? Thanks to an old Foxtrot comic book that dealt extensively with Titanic (hilarious, by the way), my kids are already intrigued, but now they’ve pretty much seen all the highlights of the movie, save a few moments that they will not yet be watching. But I digress.
The Adventures of Tintin is two movies. First, it is the movie adaptation of the 1930s comics series, a comic series that continues to be vital in Europe, though lesser known in the US. Many missionary kids I have had contact with knew something about Tintin. Second, it is Steven Spielberg’s revisitation of Raiders of the Lost Ark, in animation form. It’s a very exciting movie, and there were some moments that had us all on the edge of our seats. It’s also a movie with lots of guns, even machine guns, with one scene that is a Raiders throwback, but IMHO really has no place in a movie for children—the man outside the door gets shot, the bullets go through the door, and when the door opens, the man falls in. On the other hand, in spite of the violence, Tintin himself doesn’t resort to murder, and most shooting, swashbuckling and combat happen without us taking a close look at it.
Another odd portion of the storyline was devoted to the alcohol addiction of Captain Haddock. That was an interesting twist, because as a child I saw plenty of alcohol on TV and movies—Otis the town drunk on The Andy Griffith Show, omnipresent cocktails on 70s sitcoms, even the sisters’ special “recipe” on The Waltons. It was generally either the norm or comic relief. In Tintin, alcoholism is both comic relief and recognized as a problem that needs to be changed. Not quite sure what my kids took away from that. Probably more informative than my intense curiosity about a “scotch on the rocks” from the Mary Tyler Moore episodes I watched in reruns after school.
There were some portions of the movie that did a particularly good job of bringing the audience along. One scene had Tintin skimming down a cable, zip-line style. And Tintin is a very likeable character—always ready for adventure, always looking for the story like the reporter he is.
Mostly, my girls were captivated by Snowy, Tintin’s loyal dog and sidekick. There was plenty of humor, and we had a good time. It was a little too long and a little too nonstop. One of my fellow attendees said that the Dove foundation rated it good for 12 and up, due to the violence. I can understand that, but I guess I’d think about the kid you want to take. Some are less affected than others and can handle more than others. Allison, 8, seems to have come away unscathed.
Think I might need to check out some Tintin comics from the library. Maybe then I could actually give a book report on my book blog...(really, I AM reading).
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Doubleheader: Moneyball and The Descendants
You may wonder why a blog called “Book Club Junkie” continues to talk about movies with very few recent book entries. You may rightly surmise that I haven’t been reading all that much lately. True, very true. Apparently I think this will be changing, because I optimistically checked out about 6 books from the library today. We’ll see. Anyway.
At this week’s Friday Noon Movie Club. I was joined by two friends who had never met each other, and we played what some people call Six Degrees of Separation, others Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon and still others Dutch bingo. I call it the Six Degrees of Amy, because I met both of them through my friend Amy. And they each have a popcorn bucket, so I was well supplied. Thanks, ladies!
The movie of the day was Moneyball, and it was great. In theory it is a movie about baseball and the business of building a professional team. Which I, of course, know nothing about. It is also a movie about how a man measures himself, his life, and success.
Brad Pitt is amazing as Billy Beane, the general manager of the Oakland A’s. I read somewhere that he is building a career on movies in which you forget that he is Brad Pitt, a difficult thing for big stars to do. I’d have to say that’s true. Though I know zilch about the real Billy Beane, it seemed to me that Pitt was able to develop a whole physical personality for the character. This year Pitt also starred in The Tree of Life, a much darker role as an abusive father who comes to the knowledge of what he’s been. He was excellent in that as well.
About 10 years ago, Billy Beane began to change the way baseball teams operate by looking at team and player outcomes mathematically rather than by intuition. This did not make his team’s scouting group happy, and it didn’t make him popular with Oakland that year. In the movie, his character struggles with his failures—the scholarship to Stanford that he passed on to play major league baseball only to falter in the sport, a broken marriage that leaves him a part-time parent to his daughter, and managing one of the small-revenue teams in the American League.
Beane knows that the baseball world measures his success only by whether his team wins the last game of the season, and he hasn’t pulled that off. As he seeks change, he reevaluates his relationship to the team and to the game. And he reevaluates how he measures his own success.
Pitt was great, but I also really enjoyed Jonah Hill as the statistics-savvy assistant that Beane hires. Philip Seymour Hoffman was a surprise as the shaved-headed coach of the A’s—I barely recognized him. But he is not used to his full potential here, unfortunately. I would have liked to see more depth to his character.
The last few weeks I’ve sat through quite a few male-oriented movies, including Margin Call and The Ides of March. They all had a strong set of actors turning in great performances, but of these three titles, Moneyball is the movie that I could take something away from, the one I would most readily recommend to others.
About four hours later after I walked out of Moneyball, my church movie group met for a showing of The Descendants. George Clooney is at his best as Hawaiian Matthew King, a husband and father who is forced to face up to a family that has hit rock bottom. He is surrounded by strong performances, particularly Shailene Woodley, who plays his teenage daughter. I cannot imagine family members speaking the way that the daughters in this movie speak to their father and to each other, but beyond that, the complex nature of every family relationship rings true. The whole movie is told from the perspective of King, whose wife is in a coma. Everything King believed about his family has been thrown into question, and he has to work through each piece of information that others hand him. Like King, we are limited to the same information. We get no back story, no flashback scenes with his wife fully alive and well.
There is an interesting tangent to the story. King is the sole trustee of Hawaiian property holdings that have been handed down through generations of his ancestors. The majority of his numerous cousins are pressuring him to sell to one of the interested buyers, as they all stand to profit hugely from the sale of the virgin land. One particularly effective scene shows the family overlooking the oceanfront property, reminiscing about years of camping there. The youngest daughter, 10 years old, looks at them and says “What about me?” That is the basic question of the movie. Through all family and societal difficulties, what do we leave for the next generation?
Toward the end, the movie points to the need for forgiveness and grace in order to move on.
The Descendants is really good, but somehow lacks whatever it takes to be great. Still worth watching—and bring some tissue.
At this week’s Friday Noon Movie Club. I was joined by two friends who had never met each other, and we played what some people call Six Degrees of Separation, others Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon and still others Dutch bingo. I call it the Six Degrees of Amy, because I met both of them through my friend Amy. And they each have a popcorn bucket, so I was well supplied. Thanks, ladies!
The movie of the day was Moneyball, and it was great. In theory it is a movie about baseball and the business of building a professional team. Which I, of course, know nothing about. It is also a movie about how a man measures himself, his life, and success.
Brad Pitt is amazing as Billy Beane, the general manager of the Oakland A’s. I read somewhere that he is building a career on movies in which you forget that he is Brad Pitt, a difficult thing for big stars to do. I’d have to say that’s true. Though I know zilch about the real Billy Beane, it seemed to me that Pitt was able to develop a whole physical personality for the character. This year Pitt also starred in The Tree of Life, a much darker role as an abusive father who comes to the knowledge of what he’s been. He was excellent in that as well.
About 10 years ago, Billy Beane began to change the way baseball teams operate by looking at team and player outcomes mathematically rather than by intuition. This did not make his team’s scouting group happy, and it didn’t make him popular with Oakland that year. In the movie, his character struggles with his failures—the scholarship to Stanford that he passed on to play major league baseball only to falter in the sport, a broken marriage that leaves him a part-time parent to his daughter, and managing one of the small-revenue teams in the American League.
Beane knows that the baseball world measures his success only by whether his team wins the last game of the season, and he hasn’t pulled that off. As he seeks change, he reevaluates his relationship to the team and to the game. And he reevaluates how he measures his own success.
Pitt was great, but I also really enjoyed Jonah Hill as the statistics-savvy assistant that Beane hires. Philip Seymour Hoffman was a surprise as the shaved-headed coach of the A’s—I barely recognized him. But he is not used to his full potential here, unfortunately. I would have liked to see more depth to his character.
The last few weeks I’ve sat through quite a few male-oriented movies, including Margin Call and The Ides of March. They all had a strong set of actors turning in great performances, but of these three titles, Moneyball is the movie that I could take something away from, the one I would most readily recommend to others.
About four hours later after I walked out of Moneyball, my church movie group met for a showing of The Descendants. George Clooney is at his best as Hawaiian Matthew King, a husband and father who is forced to face up to a family that has hit rock bottom. He is surrounded by strong performances, particularly Shailene Woodley, who plays his teenage daughter. I cannot imagine family members speaking the way that the daughters in this movie speak to their father and to each other, but beyond that, the complex nature of every family relationship rings true. The whole movie is told from the perspective of King, whose wife is in a coma. Everything King believed about his family has been thrown into question, and he has to work through each piece of information that others hand him. Like King, we are limited to the same information. We get no back story, no flashback scenes with his wife fully alive and well.
There is an interesting tangent to the story. King is the sole trustee of Hawaiian property holdings that have been handed down through generations of his ancestors. The majority of his numerous cousins are pressuring him to sell to one of the interested buyers, as they all stand to profit hugely from the sale of the virgin land. One particularly effective scene shows the family overlooking the oceanfront property, reminiscing about years of camping there. The youngest daughter, 10 years old, looks at them and says “What about me?” That is the basic question of the movie. Through all family and societal difficulties, what do we leave for the next generation?
Toward the end, the movie points to the need for forgiveness and grace in order to move on.
The Descendants is really good, but somehow lacks whatever it takes to be great. Still worth watching—and bring some tissue.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Neland Women's Book Club Takes on "Okay for Now"
Neland represented today with a big group, as was to be expected since we were discussing our own Gary Schmidt’s young adult novel, Okay for Now. While I blogged about my reading of this book back in March, hearing the insights of other people always gives me a new appreciation. I scattered chairs around the living room, and people were kind enough to peer at each other around the Christmas tree without mentioning the obvious obstacle it presented!
Our leader tonight was Lisa, who had never even been to book club before, but somehow she ended up leading. Boy are we glad she did!
We were full of praise for this book, not just because every last one of us a secret fan crush on Gary, but because it’s really good. Really good. He ties together the broken state of our lives and the wholeness that we hope for, throwing in love, mercy and forgiveness, plus a good sense of humor, for good measure. What more could you want?
The abusive father was so terrible. We want the mother to step up and do something, stand up and protect. Why did she stay and allow her children to be subjected to this? Also, how could a principal be so awful? We had questions. In the end, though, those are the same questions that we wonder every day when we watch the news. How could a wife stand by a man who has been abusing children? How could a teacher have an affair with a student? How could children bully each other online to the point of one committing suicide? It goes on. That’s the broken nature of the world.
And Doug Swieteck’s world is broken. His father is abusive, his brother is in Vietnam, his other brother is getting into trouble, and Doug himself is newly stranded in a new town that he hates, a hatred augmented by his attitude and a learning deficiency. Vietnam plays such a crucial part of both the times (late 1960s) and the story. It’s a symbol of the broken nation that we live in, of broken humanity, and broken bodies. Things are not going well.
Okay for Now brings a bit of wholeness back to the world, just as Doug is attempting to make whole both his life and an Audubon book that is being taken apart. Using Jane Eyre and the art of John James Audubon to broaden Doug’s life, Schmidt illustrates the need we all have for a hope and a future. He discusses art and composition knowledgably and brings in a multitude of various characters in the small town who help Doug take steps toward wholeness.
One memorable moment in the book is when Doug’s brother is finally called by name. His name is Christopher, and our friend Karen brought up the fact that St. Christopher is remembered for his strength in carrying people across a raging river. You’ll have to read the book to see how this fits with the Christopher in the novel.
We always spend a portion of our time talking about the things we didn’t like about the book. We couldn’t skip that just because we know the author, right? So we tried to get critical. Yes, a lot of things happen very quickly to this young man. And yes, there are a few coincidences that, if we think too hard about them, seem contrived. But the overall effect is that of redemption and forgiveness, beauty and hope, in the face of great difficulty.
And Lisa read from the review that Richard Peck (yes, that Richard Peck) published in the New York Times. In the midst of a gushing review, he said this: “’Okay for Now’ is crowded with more incident and empowerment than any eighth-grade year or novel can quite contain. Events stretch credulity. At one point, Doug turns up briefly on the Broadway stage, playing a female role, no less. But Schmidt is a master of the unlikely.” If Richard Peck can overlook a few things, who are we to say otherwise?! Not to mention the book was a finalist for the National Book Award, and looks to be a favorite for the Newbery.
How dark should a novel for middle school and early high school students be? This novel has some very dark moments, but we also felt like some of the things that might “stretch credulity” make it more accessible and more appropriate for the target audience. And the end result a novel full of hope and restoration, even though things are not all neatly wrapped up. I just finished reading this book aloud to my 12-year-old, and I felt like the novel went about as far to the dark side as she could handle, and yet it left her happy and hopeful. It also mirrored the emotional ups and downs of this period of her life.
Okay for Now is simply a wonderful book, and we wholeheartedly recommend it.
Our leader tonight was Lisa, who had never even been to book club before, but somehow she ended up leading. Boy are we glad she did!
We were full of praise for this book, not just because every last one of us a secret fan crush on Gary, but because it’s really good. Really good. He ties together the broken state of our lives and the wholeness that we hope for, throwing in love, mercy and forgiveness, plus a good sense of humor, for good measure. What more could you want?
The abusive father was so terrible. We want the mother to step up and do something, stand up and protect. Why did she stay and allow her children to be subjected to this? Also, how could a principal be so awful? We had questions. In the end, though, those are the same questions that we wonder every day when we watch the news. How could a wife stand by a man who has been abusing children? How could a teacher have an affair with a student? How could children bully each other online to the point of one committing suicide? It goes on. That’s the broken nature of the world.
And Doug Swieteck’s world is broken. His father is abusive, his brother is in Vietnam, his other brother is getting into trouble, and Doug himself is newly stranded in a new town that he hates, a hatred augmented by his attitude and a learning deficiency. Vietnam plays such a crucial part of both the times (late 1960s) and the story. It’s a symbol of the broken nation that we live in, of broken humanity, and broken bodies. Things are not going well.
Okay for Now brings a bit of wholeness back to the world, just as Doug is attempting to make whole both his life and an Audubon book that is being taken apart. Using Jane Eyre and the art of John James Audubon to broaden Doug’s life, Schmidt illustrates the need we all have for a hope and a future. He discusses art and composition knowledgably and brings in a multitude of various characters in the small town who help Doug take steps toward wholeness.
One memorable moment in the book is when Doug’s brother is finally called by name. His name is Christopher, and our friend Karen brought up the fact that St. Christopher is remembered for his strength in carrying people across a raging river. You’ll have to read the book to see how this fits with the Christopher in the novel.
We always spend a portion of our time talking about the things we didn’t like about the book. We couldn’t skip that just because we know the author, right? So we tried to get critical. Yes, a lot of things happen very quickly to this young man. And yes, there are a few coincidences that, if we think too hard about them, seem contrived. But the overall effect is that of redemption and forgiveness, beauty and hope, in the face of great difficulty.
And Lisa read from the review that Richard Peck (yes, that Richard Peck) published in the New York Times. In the midst of a gushing review, he said this: “’Okay for Now’ is crowded with more incident and empowerment than any eighth-grade year or novel can quite contain. Events stretch credulity. At one point, Doug turns up briefly on the Broadway stage, playing a female role, no less. But Schmidt is a master of the unlikely.” If Richard Peck can overlook a few things, who are we to say otherwise?! Not to mention the book was a finalist for the National Book Award, and looks to be a favorite for the Newbery.
How dark should a novel for middle school and early high school students be? This novel has some very dark moments, but we also felt like some of the things that might “stretch credulity” make it more accessible and more appropriate for the target audience. And the end result a novel full of hope and restoration, even though things are not all neatly wrapped up. I just finished reading this book aloud to my 12-year-old, and I felt like the novel went about as far to the dark side as she could handle, and yet it left her happy and hopeful. It also mirrored the emotional ups and downs of this period of her life.
Okay for Now is simply a wonderful book, and we wholeheartedly recommend it.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Friday Noon Movie Club: Margin Call
Loss and gain. I gave up two hours, and I got some interesting education in finance plus a good conversation afterward with two lovely friends who joined me. If the three of us start cursing like sailors anytime soon, you can blame the movie.
How many people do you know who actually gained during the heavy losses of the 2008 financial meltdown? Because apparently some people made a whole lot of money in the process, but I don’t know any of them. One of the reasons I don’t know any of them is because they live in the world of investment banking, an area of the economy I do not rightly understand.
Kevin Spacey and Jeremy Irons play two of the senior decision makers. Each of them comes across as jaded and slightly sinister, though Spacey also has a likeable everyman quality that comes through. Kevin Spacey is excellent, as he usually is. His character is nicely textured. The movie opens with mass firings of his fellow employees, and Sam, Spacey’s character, can only be bothered to think about his dog’s ill health. He can disagree fundamentally with what is happening, and he still has the ability to be the slick leader who smooths over all the rough spots. Good acting all around, including Paul Bettany and Stanley Tucci, with the possible flat note of Demi Moore.
A Forbes article criticized this film for whitewashing the situation, making viewers like the bankers and even putting some blame on the victims. It’s an interesting point of view, but I can’t say watching this made me like them more or blame them less. It did humanize them, which allows me to identify with them, in turn allowing me to examine myself. Villifying them completely would allow me to hold myself apart, seeing them only as the bad guys. Contrary to the old Wall Street words, greed is not good. But it is something most all of us have experience with on both sides—as perpetrator and as victim.
Zachary Quinto plays the young banker who figures out that things could go very badly. In college, he studied rocket science. He’s a symbol of all the brainpower of the 90s and aughts that ended up in the financial sector because that’s where the money was, illustrating one of the flaws of capitalism. He is also the conscience of the movie, a conscience that you can only believe will be squelched in good time.
Spacey’s character instructs the young team to have faith that they have done much good, that their “talents have been used.” This is language we often use when dealing with the long view of religious faith. It seems no coincidence; these are people who have dedicated their lives to money and the pursuit of it, and their god comes in from above (in his helicopter), in the form of Jeremy Irons. While they face payoffs in exchange for stunted careers and broken business and family relationships, he looks into the future and sees more money to be made for himself.
One effective scene shows the scrambling office and ticking clock while we hear the phone conversations of one of the bankers, trying to swing some deals with his customers. You can tell he’s worked these relationships a long time, and you get a sense of the cost to him if he loses those relationships because of unscrupulous selling. One character compares investment banking to gambling; this seems apt as both tend to end with a few big winners and a lot of people who lose everything.
The Forbes article also mentioned that J. C. Chandor, the movie’s writer and director, is the son of a 40-year Merrill Lynch employee. The author felt that the movie was Chandor’s attempt to justify the world he grew up in. If this is the sympathetic view of his father’s work, I’d hate to see what it’d look like if he really wanted his dad’s vocation to look bad.
How many people do you know who actually gained during the heavy losses of the 2008 financial meltdown? Because apparently some people made a whole lot of money in the process, but I don’t know any of them. One of the reasons I don’t know any of them is because they live in the world of investment banking, an area of the economy I do not rightly understand.
Kevin Spacey and Jeremy Irons play two of the senior decision makers. Each of them comes across as jaded and slightly sinister, though Spacey also has a likeable everyman quality that comes through. Kevin Spacey is excellent, as he usually is. His character is nicely textured. The movie opens with mass firings of his fellow employees, and Sam, Spacey’s character, can only be bothered to think about his dog’s ill health. He can disagree fundamentally with what is happening, and he still has the ability to be the slick leader who smooths over all the rough spots. Good acting all around, including Paul Bettany and Stanley Tucci, with the possible flat note of Demi Moore.
A Forbes article criticized this film for whitewashing the situation, making viewers like the bankers and even putting some blame on the victims. It’s an interesting point of view, but I can’t say watching this made me like them more or blame them less. It did humanize them, which allows me to identify with them, in turn allowing me to examine myself. Villifying them completely would allow me to hold myself apart, seeing them only as the bad guys. Contrary to the old Wall Street words, greed is not good. But it is something most all of us have experience with on both sides—as perpetrator and as victim.
Zachary Quinto plays the young banker who figures out that things could go very badly. In college, he studied rocket science. He’s a symbol of all the brainpower of the 90s and aughts that ended up in the financial sector because that’s where the money was, illustrating one of the flaws of capitalism. He is also the conscience of the movie, a conscience that you can only believe will be squelched in good time.
Spacey’s character instructs the young team to have faith that they have done much good, that their “talents have been used.” This is language we often use when dealing with the long view of religious faith. It seems no coincidence; these are people who have dedicated their lives to money and the pursuit of it, and their god comes in from above (in his helicopter), in the form of Jeremy Irons. While they face payoffs in exchange for stunted careers and broken business and family relationships, he looks into the future and sees more money to be made for himself.
One effective scene shows the scrambling office and ticking clock while we hear the phone conversations of one of the bankers, trying to swing some deals with his customers. You can tell he’s worked these relationships a long time, and you get a sense of the cost to him if he loses those relationships because of unscrupulous selling. One character compares investment banking to gambling; this seems apt as both tend to end with a few big winners and a lot of people who lose everything.
The Forbes article also mentioned that J. C. Chandor, the movie’s writer and director, is the son of a 40-year Merrill Lynch employee. The author felt that the movie was Chandor’s attempt to justify the world he grew up in. If this is the sympathetic view of his father’s work, I’d hate to see what it’d look like if he really wanted his dad’s vocation to look bad.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Friday Noon Movie Club: The Ides of March
Week 3 of the Friday Noon Movie Club. Today we met at The Ides of March. I use the word "we" rather loosely. I sat through the pre-movie commercials alone, then some of the previews. With just a few minutes to go, one of my favorite people walked into the theater and saved me from looking like a lone Ryan Gosling-crazed cougar. For that, I shared my Junior Mints with her.
The first big treat of the afternoon came even before she showed up. I saw a preview for the film version of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Have I mentioned how much I LOVE that book? Tom Hanks stars in flashbacks as the deceased father, and Sandra Bullock downplays her glamour to play the mother. I think everyone in the theater had tears in their eyes just from the trailer. Here's hoping it's as good as it looks to be. And if you see it with me, wear something water resistant--I'll be a complete mess throughout. I promise to bring extra Kleenex.
Then I watched about 25,000 people get murdered in different ways in the next 5 or 6 previews. Lovely.
On to The Ides of March. First of all, let me say the movie lived up to the "pervasive language" warning that warranted the R rating. Wow. And, of course, we find another cast of characters who sleep together before they even can say how they feel about each other.
But the movie is full of actors I love: Paul Giamatti, Philip Seymour Hoffman, George Clooney, and yes, Ryan Gosling. Plus another quick turn by Jennifer Ehle (Elizabeth from the A & E version of Pride and Prejudice), who seems to be turning up in everything these days. I'm thinking she must have had a baby and taken time off, and now she's back.
These actors are well cast, and Gosling is great as young, extremely competent and confident second-in-command of the campaign that is attempting to get Clooney's character the Democratic nomination. Hoffman is running the campaign, and Giamatti is running the opposing campaign. They are both strong and sinister. Almost all the characters have dark motives and schemes worthy of the Shakespearian-tinged title. Gosling's character is an exception; he totally believes in his candidate and wants to help change the world.
Clooney is his usual smooth self, which means he makes a convincing politician. He says a lot of the things I expect Clooney would like to hear a candidate say. But he starts off by saying he is not a Christian, an atheist, a Muslim, or a Jew. He believes in a piece of paper, the Constitution. But of course the Constitution is not a religious document to be "believed in"; it does not provide a moral basis. And this presidential hopeful does not appear to have a moral basis, nor do any of the others in the game. People are collateral damage in the pursuit of getting elected so you can make the country a better place.
In the end, this is a tragedy. There is a serious lack of redemption; The moment where characters should be reaching epiphany passes them by, and they are left hardened and scarred. This is a chess game where all anyone cares about is scoring the checkmate. And you feel sorry for the characters who can only move certain directions on the board, options narrowing as the game develops.
It's a cynical look at politics, which probably doesn't really shock many of us at this point in the current state of the US government.
I got back in the car and turned on the radio. A group called Luminate was on, singing "You make me innocent." It hit me again how grateful I am that, no matter my plans and schemes, God makes me innocent, which is what you need to feel after watching something like this.
That's all for now. If you show up next week, I might share my Junior Mints with you, too. If Brian doesn't cut off my allowance after he finds out I bought candy at the movie.
The first big treat of the afternoon came even before she showed up. I saw a preview for the film version of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Have I mentioned how much I LOVE that book? Tom Hanks stars in flashbacks as the deceased father, and Sandra Bullock downplays her glamour to play the mother. I think everyone in the theater had tears in their eyes just from the trailer. Here's hoping it's as good as it looks to be. And if you see it with me, wear something water resistant--I'll be a complete mess throughout. I promise to bring extra Kleenex.
Then I watched about 25,000 people get murdered in different ways in the next 5 or 6 previews. Lovely.
On to The Ides of March. First of all, let me say the movie lived up to the "pervasive language" warning that warranted the R rating. Wow. And, of course, we find another cast of characters who sleep together before they even can say how they feel about each other.
But the movie is full of actors I love: Paul Giamatti, Philip Seymour Hoffman, George Clooney, and yes, Ryan Gosling. Plus another quick turn by Jennifer Ehle (Elizabeth from the A & E version of Pride and Prejudice), who seems to be turning up in everything these days. I'm thinking she must have had a baby and taken time off, and now she's back.
These actors are well cast, and Gosling is great as young, extremely competent and confident second-in-command of the campaign that is attempting to get Clooney's character the Democratic nomination. Hoffman is running the campaign, and Giamatti is running the opposing campaign. They are both strong and sinister. Almost all the characters have dark motives and schemes worthy of the Shakespearian-tinged title. Gosling's character is an exception; he totally believes in his candidate and wants to help change the world.
Clooney is his usual smooth self, which means he makes a convincing politician. He says a lot of the things I expect Clooney would like to hear a candidate say. But he starts off by saying he is not a Christian, an atheist, a Muslim, or a Jew. He believes in a piece of paper, the Constitution. But of course the Constitution is not a religious document to be "believed in"; it does not provide a moral basis. And this presidential hopeful does not appear to have a moral basis, nor do any of the others in the game. People are collateral damage in the pursuit of getting elected so you can make the country a better place.
In the end, this is a tragedy. There is a serious lack of redemption; The moment where characters should be reaching epiphany passes them by, and they are left hardened and scarred. This is a chess game where all anyone cares about is scoring the checkmate. And you feel sorry for the characters who can only move certain directions on the board, options narrowing as the game develops.
It's a cynical look at politics, which probably doesn't really shock many of us at this point in the current state of the US government.
I got back in the car and turned on the radio. A group called Luminate was on, singing "You make me innocent." It hit me again how grateful I am that, no matter my plans and schemes, God makes me innocent, which is what you need to feel after watching something like this.
That's all for now. If you show up next week, I might share my Junior Mints with you, too. If Brian doesn't cut off my allowance after he finds out I bought candy at the movie.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday Noon Movie Club: The Two Sides of "Hugo"
Yesterday, the Friday Noon Movie Club (FNMC? MCFuN? MCFaN?) convened for a second time, to see Hugo. There were three women and six kids from our membership, shelling out the big bucks for a first-run movie in 3D. Yikes. I think I dropped the first month of college tuition for one of our kids. Worth it, though, to look so sly in those 3D glasses.
Hugo is a movie full of wonder. It offers up a visual feast between the city of Paris as well as the clockworks and hidden passages conjured up in the train station there. Plus a bookstore I long to live next door to, and a beautiful library. Hugo Cabret, a boy who is still mourning the loss of his father, is living alone in a forgotten apartment in the train station. His alcoholic uncle, the train station's timekeeper, had taken him in, taught him how to fix and run the clocks of the station, and then disappeared. Hugo, terrified of being sent to an orphanage, keeps the clocks going and survives on his own, while working on a secret project of his own.
As he lives his hidden life there, he encounters a bitter toyshop owner and his adventure-seeking goddaughter Isabelle, and at the same he tries to avoid being spotted by the Station Inspector, who is guaranteed to ship him off to an orphanage.
Hugo is played with wide-blue-eyed innocence by Asa Butterfield, and Chloe Grace Moretz's Isabelle is equally wonderful. But Ben Kingsley as the toyshop owner, Papa Georges, is stellar. Sacha Baron Cohen (yes, Borat) is the Station Inspector, and he lends some comedy to the act, which unfortunately included a couple of moments of bawdy humor that just left me wondering, why? Beyond that, though, the Station Inspector becomes a fuller character than is presented in the book, and you can't help but like him.
This movie is made for movie lovers. For young viewers, it represents a look at the earliest years of films, opening their eyes to a medium that is nothing like any of the different screen options they experience now, unless perhaps they are filming their own stories in the backyard. There are a couple of references to the very first film ever shown, The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat, which is, just as you might suspect, a train pulling into a station. While that first film scared many viewers who feared that the train would hit them, the 3D Hugo gives viewers a modern version of that experience. I don't see many 3D films, and when I do I tend to feel that the 3D aspect just distracts me from the movie, leaving me a bit disoriented. But the 3D effects in Hugo only add to the movie, bringing the lovely world to life more fully.
And then there are the themes of the movie, which come straight from the book, and which could leave me gushing for quite a while. I'll try to contain myself. But first for the other side of Hugo, the book.
Some of the younger viewers said they liked the movie, but, as is often the case, they liked the book better. I was halfway through the book (ridiculous, since it is such a fast read), and I really loved having half the book in my head while I watched, then having the movie in my head while I read the second half. While this reading method takes some of the mystery out of the book, it gives me more fully developed characters all the way around.
The book is called The Invention of Hugo Cabret, and it is an illustrated novel by Brian Selznick, an award-winning illustrator. His love of words, movies, art and the imagination come through loud and clear. The black and white drawings take up page after full page, and they are lovely. The book is full of closed up hearts and secrets that need to be unlocked, and broken hearts and bodies that need healing. Indeed, Hugo's whole life is hidden, locked away, which is brought out perfectly in the film as Hugo is constantly peering out, unseen, from behind clocks.
I guess I've gotten to the theme part now. Healing, restoration and purpose are all addressed in both versions of the story. These lines from the book make their way into the movie as well: "Machines never have any extra parts. They have the exact number an type of parts they need. So I figure that if the entire world is one big machine, I have to be here for some reason." And, "that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do." Lovely. Carry on, reformers, transforming and renewing.
Don't go see Hugo to see an action-packed adventure flick. Go see it as a warm, loving and beautiful work of storytelling art. But by all means, go see it. And read it, too.
Hugo is a movie full of wonder. It offers up a visual feast between the city of Paris as well as the clockworks and hidden passages conjured up in the train station there. Plus a bookstore I long to live next door to, and a beautiful library. Hugo Cabret, a boy who is still mourning the loss of his father, is living alone in a forgotten apartment in the train station. His alcoholic uncle, the train station's timekeeper, had taken him in, taught him how to fix and run the clocks of the station, and then disappeared. Hugo, terrified of being sent to an orphanage, keeps the clocks going and survives on his own, while working on a secret project of his own.
As he lives his hidden life there, he encounters a bitter toyshop owner and his adventure-seeking goddaughter Isabelle, and at the same he tries to avoid being spotted by the Station Inspector, who is guaranteed to ship him off to an orphanage.
Hugo is played with wide-blue-eyed innocence by Asa Butterfield, and Chloe Grace Moretz's Isabelle is equally wonderful. But Ben Kingsley as the toyshop owner, Papa Georges, is stellar. Sacha Baron Cohen (yes, Borat) is the Station Inspector, and he lends some comedy to the act, which unfortunately included a couple of moments of bawdy humor that just left me wondering, why? Beyond that, though, the Station Inspector becomes a fuller character than is presented in the book, and you can't help but like him.
This movie is made for movie lovers. For young viewers, it represents a look at the earliest years of films, opening their eyes to a medium that is nothing like any of the different screen options they experience now, unless perhaps they are filming their own stories in the backyard. There are a couple of references to the very first film ever shown, The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat, which is, just as you might suspect, a train pulling into a station. While that first film scared many viewers who feared that the train would hit them, the 3D Hugo gives viewers a modern version of that experience. I don't see many 3D films, and when I do I tend to feel that the 3D aspect just distracts me from the movie, leaving me a bit disoriented. But the 3D effects in Hugo only add to the movie, bringing the lovely world to life more fully.
And then there are the themes of the movie, which come straight from the book, and which could leave me gushing for quite a while. I'll try to contain myself. But first for the other side of Hugo, the book.
Some of the younger viewers said they liked the movie, but, as is often the case, they liked the book better. I was halfway through the book (ridiculous, since it is such a fast read), and I really loved having half the book in my head while I watched, then having the movie in my head while I read the second half. While this reading method takes some of the mystery out of the book, it gives me more fully developed characters all the way around.
The book is called The Invention of Hugo Cabret, and it is an illustrated novel by Brian Selznick, an award-winning illustrator. His love of words, movies, art and the imagination come through loud and clear. The black and white drawings take up page after full page, and they are lovely. The book is full of closed up hearts and secrets that need to be unlocked, and broken hearts and bodies that need healing. Indeed, Hugo's whole life is hidden, locked away, which is brought out perfectly in the film as Hugo is constantly peering out, unseen, from behind clocks.
I guess I've gotten to the theme part now. Healing, restoration and purpose are all addressed in both versions of the story. These lines from the book make their way into the movie as well: "Machines never have any extra parts. They have the exact number an type of parts they need. So I figure that if the entire world is one big machine, I have to be here for some reason." And, "that's why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn't able to do what it was meant to do." Lovely. Carry on, reformers, transforming and renewing.
Don't go see Hugo to see an action-packed adventure flick. Go see it as a warm, loving and beautiful work of storytelling art. But by all means, go see it. And read it, too.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Star "Crossed" Lovers
After a couple of years of waiting for installments of the Hunger Games trilogy, I found myself devoid of dystopian young adult romance novels. Then I found Matched by Ally Condie at the Literary Life Bookstore, and I was back in business. Yes, it's derivative--a young woman finds herself torn between her best friend and her soulmate, neither of whom happen to be a vampire or a werewolf, and both of whom love her. Also, it takes place in a futuristic society that used to be North America, where the government watches every move of its citizens.Still. I enjoyed some of the more original parts of the book, and I appreciated some of the imagery, as well as writing that pushed beyond the ordinary. So I've been looking forward to finding out what happens to Cassia, Ky and Xander in the second of the trilogy, Crossed.
At the end of Matched, Cassia has decided to go after Ky. Ky is not a full citizen of the Society, and he does not enjoy the same rights and priveleges that Cassia does. Some of the themes that run through this book include the control and oppression of people, inequality of rights based on arbitrary reasons, abuse of power, and most central to this book, the nature of love, honesty and commitment. Ky and Cassia are together; now they must decide how honest they can be with each other, how much they trust each other, and how they will deal with their differences. I appreciated the deeper-than-usual look at how infatuation matures into a different kind of connection, more than is usually found in a young adult novel.
Much of the book takes place in the Carving. I assumed, as I began reading, that this was the Grand Canyon, but since finding that the author is from Utah, I'm thinking something more like Canyonlands. The book is half love letter to the beauty of the landscape, which I enjoyed.
There is also a bit of reflection on grief over the loss of loved ones, including the confusing mix of pain, anger and guilt. Ky has lost a lot in his lifetime, and he's not always clear on how he should feel about it all.
The story felt both a little drawn out, and somehow at the same time like there were things we were supposed to understand that I didn't feel were explained quite enough--the characters are often coming to understandings of each other that I'm not clear on. I'm curious if this was originally one longer novel, and the publisher said "let's make it a trilogy." On the other hand, the ending seemed perfectly planned out as the end to the second of a three-book series.
It's not The Hunger Games, but I'm enjoying it and looking forward to seeing what happens in the final installment, whenever that comes out! And if you need more, a friend suggested Divergent, by Veronica Roth. I might have to give it a try.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Diagnosis: A Little Cold
Today was the inaugural Friday Noon Movie Club event. You hadn't heard? Well. For the immediate future, I plan to attend a movie every Friday afternoon, around noon, in an attempt to keep up with what's in the theater for vocational purposes. Anyone available and interested can let me know, and I'll put you on the email list. Each week I will send an email on Wed or Thur giving the time, location and title of the movie I'll be attending that week, and I'd be happy to have joiners! Today there were four of us, and we are all a little more icked out by germs than before. Icked out being a technical term, of course.
We went to see Contagion. Originally we intended to see Margin Call, but after they posted the movie times, they changed them again, and there was no early showing of that one. The theater assures me that this is a very rare occurence. So we switched to Contagion. It is about, you guessed it, contagion. A more deadly H1N1-style virus is multiplying rapidly, taking lives around the globe. This movie hypothesizes what that would look like, what politics would emerge between the CDC, Homeland Security, different coutnries, drug companies and the media.
There are things to appreciate about this movie, namely the cast. It includes, but is not remotely limited to, Kate Winslet, Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jude Law, Laurence Fishburne, Marion Cotillard, and two of my dark horse favorites, Jennifer Ehle John Hawkes. A lot of good performances by great actors. Not a lot of great performances.
The storyline mostly seemed believable, but somehow, in portraying a pandemic, it lacked drama. We didn't really get to see inside the heads of the people trying to get it under control, so it was hard to care too much. I wonder if director Steven Soderbergh was trying to avoid sentimental manipulation and went too far the other way instead. There was one scene that you will want to be warned about, which gave us an uber-CSI autopsy moment that I, personally, could have happily lived the rest of my life without seeing.
An interesting thread at the beginning was a shout-out to journalists--the ill health of print media means it is hard to pay for journalists to look deeper into what government agencies are doing, leaving the public in the hands of conspiracy theorists, charlatans and, worst of all, bloggers.
Mitch (Matt Damon) and his daughter are the only characters I really cared about at all, with the possible exception of Dr. Mears (Kate Winslet). Mitch's wife, Beth, is the first victim, and in an almost judgment-by-plague kind of way, she is coming down with it as she speaks on the phone to the man with whom she is having an affair.
There were also a couple of things that got in the way of taking the movie seriously. Some scenes with the killer combo of bad dialogue and acting, hazmat suits that made the wearers look almost exactly like Oompa-Loompas from Willy Wonka, and a Homeland Security official played by Bryan Cranston. He played the dad in "Malcolm in the Middle," and no matter how hard I try to take him seriously, I just want to laugh when I watch him.
Soderbergh also directed the film Traffic, which told the story of drugs, from growers to dealers to politicians to law enforcement to users of all kinds. This is like a spinoff of Law and Order; call it Traffic: Flu Unit. The movie tries to follow the trail, but there are too many characters to care about. If we had enough face time with each of them, we would be sitting there for 3 hours, and, truly, 106 minutes was enough.
But you'll never look at doorknobs, or the poles you hold onto in subways, or even people who cough in the same way again.
Next week's Friday Noon Movie Club will not be meeting in the cheap seats. I intend to take my kids to see Hugo, the movie adaptation of The Invention of Hugo Cabret. Everything I've seen about it points to a wonderful film (possibly a bit scary for the youngest viewers). It was shot in 3D, and it's getting rave reviews for that aspect of it, so I might even fork over the big bucks. We are generally a 2D family. But what the heck, it's a holiday weekend. So let me know if you are interested, either for this coming week or for the short-term future, in receiving notice of when and where the movies will be. I'll attempt to pick movies I really want to see, but it will have to fit the time frame, and I'll choose the cheap theater most of the time. Maybe I'll see you there!
We went to see Contagion. Originally we intended to see Margin Call, but after they posted the movie times, they changed them again, and there was no early showing of that one. The theater assures me that this is a very rare occurence. So we switched to Contagion. It is about, you guessed it, contagion. A more deadly H1N1-style virus is multiplying rapidly, taking lives around the globe. This movie hypothesizes what that would look like, what politics would emerge between the CDC, Homeland Security, different coutnries, drug companies and the media.
There are things to appreciate about this movie, namely the cast. It includes, but is not remotely limited to, Kate Winslet, Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jude Law, Laurence Fishburne, Marion Cotillard, and two of my dark horse favorites, Jennifer Ehle John Hawkes. A lot of good performances by great actors. Not a lot of great performances.
The storyline mostly seemed believable, but somehow, in portraying a pandemic, it lacked drama. We didn't really get to see inside the heads of the people trying to get it under control, so it was hard to care too much. I wonder if director Steven Soderbergh was trying to avoid sentimental manipulation and went too far the other way instead. There was one scene that you will want to be warned about, which gave us an uber-CSI autopsy moment that I, personally, could have happily lived the rest of my life without seeing.
An interesting thread at the beginning was a shout-out to journalists--the ill health of print media means it is hard to pay for journalists to look deeper into what government agencies are doing, leaving the public in the hands of conspiracy theorists, charlatans and, worst of all, bloggers.
Mitch (Matt Damon) and his daughter are the only characters I really cared about at all, with the possible exception of Dr. Mears (Kate Winslet). Mitch's wife, Beth, is the first victim, and in an almost judgment-by-plague kind of way, she is coming down with it as she speaks on the phone to the man with whom she is having an affair.
There were also a couple of things that got in the way of taking the movie seriously. Some scenes with the killer combo of bad dialogue and acting, hazmat suits that made the wearers look almost exactly like Oompa-Loompas from Willy Wonka, and a Homeland Security official played by Bryan Cranston. He played the dad in "Malcolm in the Middle," and no matter how hard I try to take him seriously, I just want to laugh when I watch him.
Soderbergh also directed the film Traffic, which told the story of drugs, from growers to dealers to politicians to law enforcement to users of all kinds. This is like a spinoff of Law and Order; call it Traffic: Flu Unit. The movie tries to follow the trail, but there are too many characters to care about. If we had enough face time with each of them, we would be sitting there for 3 hours, and, truly, 106 minutes was enough.
But you'll never look at doorknobs, or the poles you hold onto in subways, or even people who cough in the same way again.
Next week's Friday Noon Movie Club will not be meeting in the cheap seats. I intend to take my kids to see Hugo, the movie adaptation of The Invention of Hugo Cabret. Everything I've seen about it points to a wonderful film (possibly a bit scary for the youngest viewers). It was shot in 3D, and it's getting rave reviews for that aspect of it, so I might even fork over the big bucks. We are generally a 2D family. But what the heck, it's a holiday weekend. So let me know if you are interested, either for this coming week or for the short-term future, in receiving notice of when and where the movies will be. I'll attempt to pick movies I really want to see, but it will have to fit the time frame, and I'll choose the cheap theater most of the time. Maybe I'll see you there!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Book Club Classic: Anna Karenina
Last summer, the Neland Women's Book Club sat in a circle and caressed books lovingly, holding them up so we could all see the covers and doing our best to sell everyone else on the books we wanted to read. With 12 slots to fill, one a month, it's hard to make the choices. Roze wanted to read Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. She sold us on it, in spite of the fear and trembling that the combination of the words "Russian novel" and "870 pages" inspired.
Tonight she took the reins as leader, and what a fine job she did. It's a gamble to choose a long, older book, as there is always the fear that maybe only three people will show up. Tonight we had a baker's dozen, and we had a wonderful discussion. We also got prizes. Roze quizzed us with a gift bag full of items--we were supposed to identify what each item had to do with the novel. The tiny bottle of vodka was the most remarked-upon item. And she had a gift bag for all of us, so look out, world.
This in spite of the fact that many of us could not answer the questions. A couple of us had not had time to read the book but only watched the movie or scanned the Cliff's Notes. Which is exactly where I would have been myself if I hadn't read it in an unexplained fit of classics reading 8 years ago. And frankly, I remembered very little. So this discussion both reminded me of what I read back then and opened up the story in new ways.
The book is made up of contrasts. City vs. country. Nobility vs. peasant. Social codes vs. true morality. Male vs. female. Is it any wonder that he wrote a book called War and Peace? And the characters come through clearly because they contrast against each other.
We spent a bit of time wondering why this novel is entitled Anna Karenina, when Levin seems to be the more important character. A couple of theories came up: perhaps the fact that the book was published serially in a magazine over the course of a couple of years meant that the story started out with Anna, but later Levin came to be more important. Or perhaps Anna is the symbol of the old order--nobility that is going down, while the peasants and the hardworking landowners are on the rise.
Many expressed their frustration with Anna and the other characters, tired of reading through their every self-absorbed thoughts. And how could Anna have left her beloved son for this new lover? One of our new friends, Ying He, had a more compassionate point of view of Anna, saying that Anna's tragedy was meeting Vronsky. If she hadn't, she might have found happiness in spending time with her son and in the benefits of her social world, even though her older husband was not ideal. When she met Vronsky, it was like feeling the warmth of a nearby fire, and she wanted more of the heat. In the end she destroyed herself getting to close to the fire. This is, after all, the very nature of temptation--being drawn in by something that enlivens, quickens and warms you, only to find that if you pursue it, you pursue self-destruction. She also mentioned that the choices in real life are not clear-cut; you don't just choose A or B, because there are complex consequences to either choice. In this novel, Tolstoy recognizes and reflects the complexity of those life choices.
Helen mentioned [spoiler alert] that she knew going in that Anna was going to throw herself in front of a train, and at a certain point she was so tired of Anna that she couldn't wait for it to happen. Then she read somewhere that the thought processes as Anna contemplates her demise are some of the most beautifully written in literature. Huh.
We, on the other hand, found some beautiful writing at the moment of Levin's conversion. "He had lived (without being aware of it) on those spiritual truths that he had sucked in with his mother's milk, but he had thought, not merely without recognition of these truths, but studiously ignoring them. Now it was clear to him that he could only live by virtue of the beliefs in which he had been brought up." Hope for the parent of children who are wandering. Then later, "'Can this be faith?' he thought, afraid to believe in his happiness. 'My God, I thank Thee!' he said, gulping down his sobs, and with both hands brushing away the tears that filled his eyes." Here is where I must admit that I remember nothing of this lovely scene from my long-ago reading. I think at that point I had been working so hard to finish the book that I was reading without comprehending!
Russia was moving into a new paradigm--the serfs had been freed, and the old order was threatened. Tolstoy had made some contributions to social reform for the peasants, and this novel has a romanticized view of peasant life. Levin lives on his land, works in the field with the peasants and enjoys their festivities. The problems of the poor little rich girls seem much more complex than the lives of the people living on the land, perhaps because Tolstoy knew more of those problems. Certainly the people working the land had their own challenges, but we are not so privy to them.
Thelma's husband listened to the entire book on CD with her on a road trip. He said that Anna just needed a job. She, herself, thinks that Tolstoy needed an editor; this story could have been told with much less detail. Meanwhile, Marti suggests that if we met Anna now, we'd just recommend a good therapist to deal with her fragility and anxieties.
Sue recommends highly the PBS Masterpiece Theater version of the book. I'm looking forward to it.
Tonight she took the reins as leader, and what a fine job she did. It's a gamble to choose a long, older book, as there is always the fear that maybe only three people will show up. Tonight we had a baker's dozen, and we had a wonderful discussion. We also got prizes. Roze quizzed us with a gift bag full of items--we were supposed to identify what each item had to do with the novel. The tiny bottle of vodka was the most remarked-upon item. And she had a gift bag for all of us, so look out, world.
This in spite of the fact that many of us could not answer the questions. A couple of us had not had time to read the book but only watched the movie or scanned the Cliff's Notes. Which is exactly where I would have been myself if I hadn't read it in an unexplained fit of classics reading 8 years ago. And frankly, I remembered very little. So this discussion both reminded me of what I read back then and opened up the story in new ways.
The book is made up of contrasts. City vs. country. Nobility vs. peasant. Social codes vs. true morality. Male vs. female. Is it any wonder that he wrote a book called War and Peace? And the characters come through clearly because they contrast against each other.
We spent a bit of time wondering why this novel is entitled Anna Karenina, when Levin seems to be the more important character. A couple of theories came up: perhaps the fact that the book was published serially in a magazine over the course of a couple of years meant that the story started out with Anna, but later Levin came to be more important. Or perhaps Anna is the symbol of the old order--nobility that is going down, while the peasants and the hardworking landowners are on the rise.
Many expressed their frustration with Anna and the other characters, tired of reading through their every self-absorbed thoughts. And how could Anna have left her beloved son for this new lover? One of our new friends, Ying He, had a more compassionate point of view of Anna, saying that Anna's tragedy was meeting Vronsky. If she hadn't, she might have found happiness in spending time with her son and in the benefits of her social world, even though her older husband was not ideal. When she met Vronsky, it was like feeling the warmth of a nearby fire, and she wanted more of the heat. In the end she destroyed herself getting to close to the fire. This is, after all, the very nature of temptation--being drawn in by something that enlivens, quickens and warms you, only to find that if you pursue it, you pursue self-destruction. She also mentioned that the choices in real life are not clear-cut; you don't just choose A or B, because there are complex consequences to either choice. In this novel, Tolstoy recognizes and reflects the complexity of those life choices.
Helen mentioned [spoiler alert] that she knew going in that Anna was going to throw herself in front of a train, and at a certain point she was so tired of Anna that she couldn't wait for it to happen. Then she read somewhere that the thought processes as Anna contemplates her demise are some of the most beautifully written in literature. Huh.
We, on the other hand, found some beautiful writing at the moment of Levin's conversion. "He had lived (without being aware of it) on those spiritual truths that he had sucked in with his mother's milk, but he had thought, not merely without recognition of these truths, but studiously ignoring them. Now it was clear to him that he could only live by virtue of the beliefs in which he had been brought up." Hope for the parent of children who are wandering. Then later, "'Can this be faith?' he thought, afraid to believe in his happiness. 'My God, I thank Thee!' he said, gulping down his sobs, and with both hands brushing away the tears that filled his eyes." Here is where I must admit that I remember nothing of this lovely scene from my long-ago reading. I think at that point I had been working so hard to finish the book that I was reading without comprehending!
Russia was moving into a new paradigm--the serfs had been freed, and the old order was threatened. Tolstoy had made some contributions to social reform for the peasants, and this novel has a romanticized view of peasant life. Levin lives on his land, works in the field with the peasants and enjoys their festivities. The problems of the poor little rich girls seem much more complex than the lives of the people living on the land, perhaps because Tolstoy knew more of those problems. Certainly the people working the land had their own challenges, but we are not so privy to them.
Thelma's husband listened to the entire book on CD with her on a road trip. He said that Anna just needed a job. She, herself, thinks that Tolstoy needed an editor; this story could have been told with much less detail. Meanwhile, Marti suggests that if we met Anna now, we'd just recommend a good therapist to deal with her fragility and anxieties.
Sue recommends highly the PBS Masterpiece Theater version of the book. I'm looking forward to it.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
What's in a Desk?
In the spirit of fall clean-up, the Fab 5 took on a big project: the book Great House by Nicole Krauss. This is no small effort--it takes up a big piece of real estate on the bookshelf, and it is not a quick and easy read. Add to that another hurdle. This is one depressing book. We met at Barbara's house, and she was afraid that if she finished it over the weekend, we would be walking in to find her still in her bathrobe with greasy hair, given up on life thanks to the novel.
So far I'm not really selling this book, and book club doesn't sound like so much fun.
We kicked off the evening with a travelogue by yours truly, where I showed them several hundred photos of my family eating pasta and gelato. If you want to know more about our month away, you too can get my travelog (don't worry, no several hundred photos there) on the blog we kept for our families: quistworldtour.blogspot.com.
But I digress. The travelogue helped us procrastinate beginning our discussion, which I sensed several of us were sort of dreading. In the end, though, this book offered a lot to talk about, even if none of us really liked it. It's a strange thing to know that you can appreciate a book that you don't like. But there it is.
The book is very cerebral. While the characters are fully developed, everything that happens in the book, for the most part, seems to happen in their heads, and it takes some hard work to wrap your hands and mind around something concrete. Every character has constructed an idea of themselves and their lives, and they bend their lives around that construction.
One man has an idea of who his wife is and what there relationship is, and every move he makes is shaped by what he thinks she wants and needs. A woman spends a good portion of her life writing at an odd, imposing desk, building a career for which she gives up everything else. When she feels she must give the desk to someone else, she feels that her writing is over. A father's life and marriage are rearranged to try to fit around the constructions of who he thinks his children are. A pair of siblings live their lives around their concept of their father, a man whose own life is built around the memory of his father. Everyone has experienced loss, and everyone is trying to figure out how what they remember fits with who they are and who those important people in their lives really were.
The desk that the writer gives up shows up in different times and places in most of the stories. It is an enormous, imposing desk with lots of oddly-shaped drawers, and it has one drawer that is locked. As far as we can tell, the desk has had a strange, foreboding sort of effect on everyone who has come across it, and they have all wondered about the locked drawer. At the end of the story (spoiler alert!), we find out that the drawer was empty when it was locked. Many have wondered about it, speculated about the secret and possibly valuable contents, but no one has tried to open it. And there is nothing inside.
This emptiness echoes through the lives of the characters--all believe there is a very important secret that they could discover if they tried, but for the most part they don't even try. And if they do, they find more emptiness.
Your can see how this is not such an uplifting book. The thing of it is, as I read, I could see that this is the work of a master writer. It is beautifully written, lovely language. But so painfully sad. I have read The History of Love by the same author, and though this book seems to get the most lavish praise, I would recommend that one instead of Great House.
We ended up our evening with some karaoke-style singing from Nancy, minus the karaoke machine. She graced us with some enthusiastic renditions of ELO songs, which will forever change my perception of that particular band....She has some Strange Magic.
I did skip writing about the last book we read, Property by Valerie Martin. This was a novel about a rather enigmatic main character, the wife of a plantation owner. She was trapped in her marriage, but the slaves that served the couple were trapped in even more severe ways. Again, this is not the most uplifting book, and the characters were not very likeable. Sonya had recently read Someone Knows My Name by Lawrence Hill, which also dealt with slavery. She highly recommends it over Property. If you want to read something by Valerie Martin, I recommend Mary Reilly, her take on Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde. It's sort of a creepy, romantic, gothic novel that is much better than the little-known Julia Roberts movie made from it.
Next up for the Fab 5: Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. Soaking up a little summer sun in the early winter!
So far I'm not really selling this book, and book club doesn't sound like so much fun.
We kicked off the evening with a travelogue by yours truly, where I showed them several hundred photos of my family eating pasta and gelato. If you want to know more about our month away, you too can get my travelog (don't worry, no several hundred photos there) on the blog we kept for our families: quistworldtour.blogspot.com.
But I digress. The travelogue helped us procrastinate beginning our discussion, which I sensed several of us were sort of dreading. In the end, though, this book offered a lot to talk about, even if none of us really liked it. It's a strange thing to know that you can appreciate a book that you don't like. But there it is.
The book is very cerebral. While the characters are fully developed, everything that happens in the book, for the most part, seems to happen in their heads, and it takes some hard work to wrap your hands and mind around something concrete. Every character has constructed an idea of themselves and their lives, and they bend their lives around that construction.
One man has an idea of who his wife is and what there relationship is, and every move he makes is shaped by what he thinks she wants and needs. A woman spends a good portion of her life writing at an odd, imposing desk, building a career for which she gives up everything else. When she feels she must give the desk to someone else, she feels that her writing is over. A father's life and marriage are rearranged to try to fit around the constructions of who he thinks his children are. A pair of siblings live their lives around their concept of their father, a man whose own life is built around the memory of his father. Everyone has experienced loss, and everyone is trying to figure out how what they remember fits with who they are and who those important people in their lives really were.
The desk that the writer gives up shows up in different times and places in most of the stories. It is an enormous, imposing desk with lots of oddly-shaped drawers, and it has one drawer that is locked. As far as we can tell, the desk has had a strange, foreboding sort of effect on everyone who has come across it, and they have all wondered about the locked drawer. At the end of the story (spoiler alert!), we find out that the drawer was empty when it was locked. Many have wondered about it, speculated about the secret and possibly valuable contents, but no one has tried to open it. And there is nothing inside.
This emptiness echoes through the lives of the characters--all believe there is a very important secret that they could discover if they tried, but for the most part they don't even try. And if they do, they find more emptiness.
Your can see how this is not such an uplifting book. The thing of it is, as I read, I could see that this is the work of a master writer. It is beautifully written, lovely language. But so painfully sad. I have read The History of Love by the same author, and though this book seems to get the most lavish praise, I would recommend that one instead of Great House.
We ended up our evening with some karaoke-style singing from Nancy, minus the karaoke machine. She graced us with some enthusiastic renditions of ELO songs, which will forever change my perception of that particular band....She has some Strange Magic.
I did skip writing about the last book we read, Property by Valerie Martin. This was a novel about a rather enigmatic main character, the wife of a plantation owner. She was trapped in her marriage, but the slaves that served the couple were trapped in even more severe ways. Again, this is not the most uplifting book, and the characters were not very likeable. Sonya had recently read Someone Knows My Name by Lawrence Hill, which also dealt with slavery. She highly recommends it over Property. If you want to read something by Valerie Martin, I recommend Mary Reilly, her take on Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde. It's sort of a creepy, romantic, gothic novel that is much better than the little-known Julia Roberts movie made from it.
Next up for the Fab 5: Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. Soaking up a little summer sun in the early winter!
Monday, October 10, 2011
A Room with No View
While on vacation, I decided I get to read one or two books that I don't NEED to read, but just want to. I've been wanting to read Room by Emma Donoghue for a while now, and finally got my chance.
Several times now I've had to tell someone what I'm reading and try to describe what it is about. It's just not that easy! It sounds so horrible. Room is about a five-year-old boy who has spent his entire life in an 11 x 11 foot room, which is his whole world and which he calls Room. His mother was kidnapped in her late teens and he is the result of her abuse. His birth, however, gave her reason to live, and she has protected him as best she can from the truth of his situation. At five, he is beginning to push the limits a bit, looking for answers to the questions that are starting to occur to him.
This book, obviously, has a dark edge to it, but this little boy is innocent of most of it and is much like many five year olds I know. The author has done a fantastic job of giving us his perspective, his voice and the workings of his mind. I recognize his love of repetition, his need for security, and his pushing the limits of what he knows. You just love Jack. His mother is suffering, but he doesn't quite know it. Eventually the situation changes, and Jack must adapt to a new world.
It's just beautifully done, and well-written, and heartbreaking. I could hardly bring myself to put it down sometimes, which can be somewhat detrimental to a sightseeing vacation! Good read.
Several times now I've had to tell someone what I'm reading and try to describe what it is about. It's just not that easy! It sounds so horrible. Room is about a five-year-old boy who has spent his entire life in an 11 x 11 foot room, which is his whole world and which he calls Room. His mother was kidnapped in her late teens and he is the result of her abuse. His birth, however, gave her reason to live, and she has protected him as best she can from the truth of his situation. At five, he is beginning to push the limits a bit, looking for answers to the questions that are starting to occur to him.
This book, obviously, has a dark edge to it, but this little boy is innocent of most of it and is much like many five year olds I know. The author has done a fantastic job of giving us his perspective, his voice and the workings of his mind. I recognize his love of repetition, his need for security, and his pushing the limits of what he knows. You just love Jack. His mother is suffering, but he doesn't quite know it. Eventually the situation changes, and Jack must adapt to a new world.
It's just beautifully done, and well-written, and heartbreaking. I could hardly bring myself to put it down sometimes, which can be somewhat detrimental to a sightseeing vacation! Good read.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Back from a Long Break!
Well, it seems I took the summer off from my blog. I didn't mean to, it just somehow happened. So I'll give you a quick update on what I've been reading this summer. I'd love to hear what you've been reading too!
At the very beginning of the summer, the Fab 5 Book Club met to talk about Olive Kitteridge by Elisabeth Strout. That book is full of sadness and horrible events, stars a crabby, rather unlikeable protagonist, and is so wonderfully developed that you can't help but keep reading and even liking it! Olive is a main character like no other, her life told in bits and pieces by a string of characters from her hometown in Maine, and Strout is such a great writer that you can empathize with this person you would not necessarily want to know in real life.
We also took in I Am Number Four, a young adult sci-fi/fantasy novel about aliens come to earth by a conglomeration of writers under the pseudonym Pittacus Lore. It's a fast-paced, fun read that grabs you from the beginning and also falls prey to a number of moments that seem engineered to grab the attention of a teen reader. Good looking alien male lead? Check. Gorgeous, perfect girlfriend? Check. A book-long chase sequence? Check. New kid not fitting in with a school bully? You guessed it, Check. The language was needlessly rough. Yet there is something catchy, charming about it. The movie didn't live up to the book. Now the sequel is out, and I've heard it's better than the first. And the original was good enough that 2 of the 4 of us had trouble sleeping because they were kind of freaked out.
The Neland Ave Church Women's Book Club contemplated Coop by Michael Perry. I love Michael Perry, which you may know from earlier posts. I read his book Population: 485 a year or two ago, and then I heard him speak (twice) at Calvin College at the last Festival of Faith and Writing. A down home intellectual, he effortlessly moves from farm life to mechanics to fatherhood to the writing life to philosophy to art to small-town Wisconsin to cooking and on and on. Lovely. So, back to the Neland Book Club and Coop. In Coop, the recently-married 40ish Perry is newly living on his mother-in-law's former farm, attempting with his wife to begin a more self-sustaining life. Raising chickens, in particular, is a major goal. They garden and get pigs and get chickens and rear 2 daughters. In the meantime he also considers the way that he was raised--his parents' endless love, religious beliefs and faithful patience for a string of foster children and adoptive children. It's lovely and gritty and real and touching.
And then just recently the Fab 5 got together to discuss Truck: A Love Story, also by Michael Perry. (If you are sensing a common thread here, namely me, you may just be on to something). Truck backs up a bit to the year that Perry meets the wife he so tenderly describes in Coop. He is intent on restoring the 50s-era International pickup truck he's had for 20 years, which can only actually happen due to the talent of his brother-in-law Mark. Again, Perry is hilarious and earthy and gentle. Did I mention how much I love his work?
Enough. Also on the summer's checklist was the book Soul Searching, by Christian Smith and Melina Lundquist Denton. I was really under the gun with this one. I volunteered to lead the discussion for the Neland women, and with a 3 week camping trip I thought I'd have plenty of time to dig into it. The camping trip was great, but about a week in we had the misfortune of noticing that our youngest child was scratching her head in earnest at the Grand Canyon. Turned out she had head lice. I spent the rest of my free should-have-been-reading time picking through her hair, which satisfied neither of us but rectified the situation. And so I had to speed-read the book when I got home, something I am not very good at doing.
Actually, this is a really interesting book, a sociological study of the spiritual lives of teens in the early 2000s. I have to admit that due to time restraints I had to skip the chapter directed specifically to parents and youth workers in the Catholic Church. But the overall gist of the book is that young people are interested in spiritual things, are willing to go along with what their parents believe, and for the most part have adopted a "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism". In other words, their religion serves them as a tool to make them feel better, happier, rather than asking them to serve a God who loves them sacrificially and asks the same of them. This has major implications for churches that want to train up a child in the way that he/she should go. If you don't want to take the time to read the whole book, you could get a good bit of it from the Conclusion section. I'm not much of a sociologist, but I'm interested to read through the follow-up book now.
As we toured the Southwest United States, my husband showed me up--he actually finished a book, and it was even relevant to the places we were visiting. He read How the West Was Won by Louis L'amour. His review: "It was okay, but nothing special." Son Andrew read a book called Colorado Ghost Stories, which he truly loved.
I'm about 2/3rds of the way through a sort of modern Gothic novel called The Distant Hours by Kate Morton. It's about a woman who is trying to figure out the connection between her mother and the family who lives in an old estate, the same family and estate her mother joined as a child during World War II when the children of London were evacuated to the country. I keep picking it up, then having to put it down to read something else. Someday I may even finish it. I like it.
A very different read this summer was the book On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner. I read this in preparation for a fiction workshop that I attended in June. If I had read this book before signing up for the fiction class, I probably would've ended my fiction career right then. Gardner's book is full of good information on the reason for writing, characterization and other practical things, but his description of who the novelist is left me shaking in my boots, sure that there's no chance I could fit into that category! Then I spent a wonderful week having the novelist Bret Lott lead my class through our manuscripts and about 5 million useful tips for writing. We'll see if I ever have the guts to return to my manuscript.
So it's been a great summer, and now back to real life. Maybe I'll be more faithful to my blog again. We'll see.
At the very beginning of the summer, the Fab 5 Book Club met to talk about Olive Kitteridge by Elisabeth Strout. That book is full of sadness and horrible events, stars a crabby, rather unlikeable protagonist, and is so wonderfully developed that you can't help but keep reading and even liking it! Olive is a main character like no other, her life told in bits and pieces by a string of characters from her hometown in Maine, and Strout is such a great writer that you can empathize with this person you would not necessarily want to know in real life.
We also took in I Am Number Four, a young adult sci-fi/fantasy novel about aliens come to earth by a conglomeration of writers under the pseudonym Pittacus Lore. It's a fast-paced, fun read that grabs you from the beginning and also falls prey to a number of moments that seem engineered to grab the attention of a teen reader. Good looking alien male lead? Check. Gorgeous, perfect girlfriend? Check. A book-long chase sequence? Check. New kid not fitting in with a school bully? You guessed it, Check. The language was needlessly rough. Yet there is something catchy, charming about it. The movie didn't live up to the book. Now the sequel is out, and I've heard it's better than the first. And the original was good enough that 2 of the 4 of us had trouble sleeping because they were kind of freaked out.
The Neland Ave Church Women's Book Club contemplated Coop by Michael Perry. I love Michael Perry, which you may know from earlier posts. I read his book Population: 485 a year or two ago, and then I heard him speak (twice) at Calvin College at the last Festival of Faith and Writing. A down home intellectual, he effortlessly moves from farm life to mechanics to fatherhood to the writing life to philosophy to art to small-town Wisconsin to cooking and on and on. Lovely. So, back to the Neland Book Club and Coop. In Coop, the recently-married 40ish Perry is newly living on his mother-in-law's former farm, attempting with his wife to begin a more self-sustaining life. Raising chickens, in particular, is a major goal. They garden and get pigs and get chickens and rear 2 daughters. In the meantime he also considers the way that he was raised--his parents' endless love, religious beliefs and faithful patience for a string of foster children and adoptive children. It's lovely and gritty and real and touching.
And then just recently the Fab 5 got together to discuss Truck: A Love Story, also by Michael Perry. (If you are sensing a common thread here, namely me, you may just be on to something). Truck backs up a bit to the year that Perry meets the wife he so tenderly describes in Coop. He is intent on restoring the 50s-era International pickup truck he's had for 20 years, which can only actually happen due to the talent of his brother-in-law Mark. Again, Perry is hilarious and earthy and gentle. Did I mention how much I love his work?
Enough. Also on the summer's checklist was the book Soul Searching, by Christian Smith and Melina Lundquist Denton. I was really under the gun with this one. I volunteered to lead the discussion for the Neland women, and with a 3 week camping trip I thought I'd have plenty of time to dig into it. The camping trip was great, but about a week in we had the misfortune of noticing that our youngest child was scratching her head in earnest at the Grand Canyon. Turned out she had head lice. I spent the rest of my free should-have-been-reading time picking through her hair, which satisfied neither of us but rectified the situation. And so I had to speed-read the book when I got home, something I am not very good at doing.
Actually, this is a really interesting book, a sociological study of the spiritual lives of teens in the early 2000s. I have to admit that due to time restraints I had to skip the chapter directed specifically to parents and youth workers in the Catholic Church. But the overall gist of the book is that young people are interested in spiritual things, are willing to go along with what their parents believe, and for the most part have adopted a "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism". In other words, their religion serves them as a tool to make them feel better, happier, rather than asking them to serve a God who loves them sacrificially and asks the same of them. This has major implications for churches that want to train up a child in the way that he/she should go. If you don't want to take the time to read the whole book, you could get a good bit of it from the Conclusion section. I'm not much of a sociologist, but I'm interested to read through the follow-up book now.
As we toured the Southwest United States, my husband showed me up--he actually finished a book, and it was even relevant to the places we were visiting. He read How the West Was Won by Louis L'amour. His review: "It was okay, but nothing special." Son Andrew read a book called Colorado Ghost Stories, which he truly loved.
I'm about 2/3rds of the way through a sort of modern Gothic novel called The Distant Hours by Kate Morton. It's about a woman who is trying to figure out the connection between her mother and the family who lives in an old estate, the same family and estate her mother joined as a child during World War II when the children of London were evacuated to the country. I keep picking it up, then having to put it down to read something else. Someday I may even finish it. I like it.
A very different read this summer was the book On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner. I read this in preparation for a fiction workshop that I attended in June. If I had read this book before signing up for the fiction class, I probably would've ended my fiction career right then. Gardner's book is full of good information on the reason for writing, characterization and other practical things, but his description of who the novelist is left me shaking in my boots, sure that there's no chance I could fit into that category! Then I spent a wonderful week having the novelist Bret Lott lead my class through our manuscripts and about 5 million useful tips for writing. We'll see if I ever have the guts to return to my manuscript.
So it's been a great summer, and now back to real life. Maybe I'll be more faithful to my blog again. We'll see.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Take This Bread: Feeding the Good Shepherd's Sheep
Where to start with this book? The Neland ladies met to talk about Take This Bread two months ago, I finished it a month ago, and it's taken me this long to write about it. That's not due to a lack of interest on my part. There is so much in this book that I had to chew on, one piece at a time (no pun intended).
Sara Miles is a left-wing, lesbian journalist who was raised in an intentionally secular home by parents who both grew up as mission kids. Sara is also a Christian, quite possibly a follower of Christ like none you have met before.
Food had always been an important part of her life, including experiences like sharing food with poor revolutionaries in Central America in the 70s and working in a restaurant.
One day, on a whim, Sara entered St. Gregory's Episcopal Church in San Francisco. She sat through the church service, observing, until it came time for communion. St. Gregory's has open communion, and Sara took it. The experience was completely unexpected, and it changed her life.
Sara became a member of St. Gregory's, and soon she organized a food pantry at the church. The pantry began to attract 200 people or more on any given Friday. Her experience led her into a lot of "church" issues, namely that being part of a church congregation means being in communion with people you don't necessarily like, trust, or even want to be associated with. God lives inside of people we don't even like! Sara has a particular love for the different, the broken, the needy; she sees that truly, that's who we all are at the foot of the cross.
Annetta, our leader for the night, shared with us that she has been to St. Gregory's for worship. She reports that it is a lovely place with beautiful music, a wonderful experience. This book club meeting was very well attended, and most people loved the book even if they didn't agree with everything in it.
This meeting reminded me of a discussion we had a few years back after reading Anne Lamott's book Traveling Mercies. We all loved hearing Anne speak at Calvin and reading her book. She's so funny, alive, self-deprecating, and joyous. Then we wondered what would happen if she walked into Neland. She wouldn't be "like us." Same goes for Sara Miles, in some ways. Would we be welcoming? We'd like to think so.
Personally, I have been recognizing several things about my spiritual life and worship experience which this book illuminates. I am craving diversity of community in my church body--diversity of skin color, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, educational status, any and all of it. I am inspired by people who are seeing Christianity as a holistic identity--I don't just think like a Christian, I am Christian in body and soul. Which means that a more physical, incarnational experience is important to me. And so Sara's description of the patchwork nature of the food pantry, as well as the pantry's ability to feed people in both body and soul, really hit home for me. I'm still fumbling my way through trying to figure out what this all means to my day-to-day life.
If you think you might have a dim view of a Sara Miles when she walks into your church, be assured that she may take a dim view of your church as well. Several passages about the kinds of attitudes or arguments or bottlenecks or inertia that hamper ministry hit painfully close to home. If you have been in a traditional church for any length of time, something in this book is likely to offend or hit you wrong. But the basic principle, that Jesus asks us to "feed his sheep," is irrefutable. And Sara, while disdaining doctrine, has a good handle on both Scripture and the life of Christ.
She points out that we should specialize in the "undeserving poor," since that's exactly what we all are. So while you might feel you should take it with a grain of salt, you should definitely Take This Bread.
Sara Miles is a left-wing, lesbian journalist who was raised in an intentionally secular home by parents who both grew up as mission kids. Sara is also a Christian, quite possibly a follower of Christ like none you have met before.
Food had always been an important part of her life, including experiences like sharing food with poor revolutionaries in Central America in the 70s and working in a restaurant.
One day, on a whim, Sara entered St. Gregory's Episcopal Church in San Francisco. She sat through the church service, observing, until it came time for communion. St. Gregory's has open communion, and Sara took it. The experience was completely unexpected, and it changed her life.
Sara became a member of St. Gregory's, and soon she organized a food pantry at the church. The pantry began to attract 200 people or more on any given Friday. Her experience led her into a lot of "church" issues, namely that being part of a church congregation means being in communion with people you don't necessarily like, trust, or even want to be associated with. God lives inside of people we don't even like! Sara has a particular love for the different, the broken, the needy; she sees that truly, that's who we all are at the foot of the cross.
Annetta, our leader for the night, shared with us that she has been to St. Gregory's for worship. She reports that it is a lovely place with beautiful music, a wonderful experience. This book club meeting was very well attended, and most people loved the book even if they didn't agree with everything in it.
This meeting reminded me of a discussion we had a few years back after reading Anne Lamott's book Traveling Mercies. We all loved hearing Anne speak at Calvin and reading her book. She's so funny, alive, self-deprecating, and joyous. Then we wondered what would happen if she walked into Neland. She wouldn't be "like us." Same goes for Sara Miles, in some ways. Would we be welcoming? We'd like to think so.
Personally, I have been recognizing several things about my spiritual life and worship experience which this book illuminates. I am craving diversity of community in my church body--diversity of skin color, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, educational status, any and all of it. I am inspired by people who are seeing Christianity as a holistic identity--I don't just think like a Christian, I am Christian in body and soul. Which means that a more physical, incarnational experience is important to me. And so Sara's description of the patchwork nature of the food pantry, as well as the pantry's ability to feed people in both body and soul, really hit home for me. I'm still fumbling my way through trying to figure out what this all means to my day-to-day life.
If you think you might have a dim view of a Sara Miles when she walks into your church, be assured that she may take a dim view of your church as well. Several passages about the kinds of attitudes or arguments or bottlenecks or inertia that hamper ministry hit painfully close to home. If you have been in a traditional church for any length of time, something in this book is likely to offend or hit you wrong. But the basic principle, that Jesus asks us to "feed his sheep," is irrefutable. And Sara, while disdaining doctrine, has a good handle on both Scripture and the life of Christ.
She points out that we should specialize in the "undeserving poor," since that's exactly what we all are. So while you might feel you should take it with a grain of salt, you should definitely Take This Bread.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
A Different Look at the Holocaust: Sarah's Key
Julia Jarmond is an American journalist, living in Paris and married to a Frenchman. She is assigned to write about the 60th commemoration of the Vel d'Hiv. Never heard of it? Neither had the Fab 5. Nor many others, according to Sarah's Key, a novel by Tatiana de Rosnay..
On July 16, 1942, French police, on orders from the Gestapo, rounded up 10,000 Jewish people, including children, from the Paris area. They were brought to the Velodrome d'Hiver, an indoor stadium, where they were held for six days while more and more people were packed in. Terrible heat, little food and no facilities made it unbearable. From there they were shipped out to camps, eventually ending at Auschwitz.
Julia learns about this atrocity, but at the same time she learns the story of one of those individuals--Sarah, a young girl who suffered an extra tragedy when she was taken from her home during the roundup. Julia is dealing with personal problems of her own, and Sarah's story makes her look at everything in her life in a new light.
This book does a great job of introducing us to the event itself, to the people who suffered through it, and to both the profound effect on survivors as well as the wish to ignore or forget the event on the part of those who watched it happen.
None of us could stand Julia's husband. If an American had written this, we'd assume she doesn't really like French people, but she is, in fact, French. Having Julia be an American, always on the outside regardless of how long she'd been in France, was a nice parallel to how Jewish people may have experienced the cultures they lived in during World War II.
Some of us found it frustrating that the novel flips back and forth from Sarah's story to Julia's modern-day life. Just when we'd get into one, we'd switch back to the other. However, we wonder if we could stand to read Sarah's story straight through--it's just so sad. Julia's story gave us a way to enter the story, some distraction, and a taste of the way France looked at the event 60 years later. And Julia faces some questions about the value of life in her own world as well as in history.
Whenever we read these stories, we can't help but wonder what we'd do if faced with the decision to put ourselves at risk for someone else. Would we endanger our children to hide someone? We'd like to think we are brave enough, but it's hard to be sure.
Are things like this happening now? There are, to some extent, similarities in what America did with Japanese internment camps and Native American reservations--people of a certain ethnicity taken from their homes and put into prescribed areas with little or no resources. It's possible to look at detention centers for illegal immigrants in the same way--basically, they are imprisoned indefinitely and, according to some reports, treated poorly. It happens where we can't see it, has nothing to do with us, and is therefore not our problem.
Sarah's Key is a good, sad novel that manages to keep the reader while telling an "old" tale and giving a fresh perspective on it. Never forget.
On July 16, 1942, French police, on orders from the Gestapo, rounded up 10,000 Jewish people, including children, from the Paris area. They were brought to the Velodrome d'Hiver, an indoor stadium, where they were held for six days while more and more people were packed in. Terrible heat, little food and no facilities made it unbearable. From there they were shipped out to camps, eventually ending at Auschwitz.
Julia learns about this atrocity, but at the same time she learns the story of one of those individuals--Sarah, a young girl who suffered an extra tragedy when she was taken from her home during the roundup. Julia is dealing with personal problems of her own, and Sarah's story makes her look at everything in her life in a new light.
This book does a great job of introducing us to the event itself, to the people who suffered through it, and to both the profound effect on survivors as well as the wish to ignore or forget the event on the part of those who watched it happen.
None of us could stand Julia's husband. If an American had written this, we'd assume she doesn't really like French people, but she is, in fact, French. Having Julia be an American, always on the outside regardless of how long she'd been in France, was a nice parallel to how Jewish people may have experienced the cultures they lived in during World War II.
Some of us found it frustrating that the novel flips back and forth from Sarah's story to Julia's modern-day life. Just when we'd get into one, we'd switch back to the other. However, we wonder if we could stand to read Sarah's story straight through--it's just so sad. Julia's story gave us a way to enter the story, some distraction, and a taste of the way France looked at the event 60 years later. And Julia faces some questions about the value of life in her own world as well as in history.
Whenever we read these stories, we can't help but wonder what we'd do if faced with the decision to put ourselves at risk for someone else. Would we endanger our children to hide someone? We'd like to think we are brave enough, but it's hard to be sure.
Are things like this happening now? There are, to some extent, similarities in what America did with Japanese internment camps and Native American reservations--people of a certain ethnicity taken from their homes and put into prescribed areas with little or no resources. It's possible to look at detention centers for illegal immigrants in the same way--basically, they are imprisoned indefinitely and, according to some reports, treated poorly. It happens where we can't see it, has nothing to do with us, and is therefore not our problem.
Sarah's Key is a good, sad novel that manages to keep the reader while telling an "old" tale and giving a fresh perspective on it. Never forget.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Getting Graphic with the Church Ladies
Okay, we're not like that Church Lady. But the Neland Book Club is a groups of ladies from my church. And this week we took the giant leap into reading a graphic novel together. This month's title was Blankets by Craig Thompson, a book which is easy to mistake for memoir, but is officially "an illustrated novel." Some were a bit unsure about reading it, and one stalwart decided she wouldn't, feeling that the whole point of reading a book is to imagine it. But more about that later.
Jenny Williams, who teaches a college class on the graphic novel, lent us her expertise tonight. Blankets is one of the books she always teaches in that class. Blankets is about a young man who has grown up in a fundamentalist Christian home, isolated and lonely in a culture that discourages his natural artistic talent. He falls in love with a kindred spirit at a Christian winter camp during high school, and he goes to visit her. Their relationship opens a new lens on his life and his talent.
While the character in the novel, named Craig Thompson like the author and with many similarities to the author, does not embrace the church, this book would give any Christian pause, begging the question of what they or their church is communicating to the young people within. This young man experiences sexual abuse at the hands of a babysitter, harsh discipline from his parents, and bullying from his classmates. His faith offered him a future security, but nothing to help him in his current earthly life.
Jenny's students always have a strong response to this book. Many identify with the small-town experience or the feeling of isolation at the Christian camp. They express their disappointment at the end result of the character's experience and mourn the fact that he was not in a good church situation. She said that students are always disappointed to find out that this is not absolutely true to his life story--that there are fictional aspects to the novel.
Interestingly, since this book is highly autobiographical, Jenny also let us know that Thompson did not tell his family that he was writing this book and, in fact, let them know by sending them a copy when it was published.
We discussed the title: what blankets are in the book? There is a blanket that Raina, his newfound girlfriend, makes for him, which is the obvious choice. Then there are the blankets that he and his brother fight over and play amidst when they share a bed as children. There are blankets of snow throughout the book. Blank spaces abound. And given the different uses of a blanket--warming, covering, hiding, suffocating--there are many dimensions to the image. Christianity is a sort of blanket as well--his parents use it as security and comfort; Craig finds it to be something that hides what's really there and suffocates him. Interestingly, in real life, he still has the quilt that his girlfriend made him.
An interesting aspect of the book, which helps explain why he feels so isolated from his parents' faith, is the complete divorce that he feels between Christian spirituality and the physical world. The physical world is dismissed as unworthy of celebration and attention. Why did God create our bodies, nature, a physical earth if it is meaningless? It's an easy trap for Christians to fall into.
I would not give Blankets to just anyone--I think given the questioning of faith and the sexual abuse in the novel, I wouldn't give it to anyone under 16. And sexuality, as part of the physical world that has been cut off from his life, plays a prominent role. Jenny and her students have discussed what the difference is between reading a story and seeing the images of them in a graphic novel. For some, images last longer in their minds, while others have very vivid images from reading text. This goes to discernment for what is important for each individual reader.
Which leads me back to our wonderful friend who is not interested in graphic novels. She doesn't want everything imagined for her. However, the art in a graphic novel is part of the storytelling. The minimal text is informed by the art in a completely different way than illustrations function in traditional texts.
Blankets is a poignant look at one person's experience. It is filled with both sadness and beauty. Craig Thompson will be at the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin next April. I'm looking forward to hearing what he has to say, and I pray that the experience of Festival will be a blessing to him. I'm also looking forward to reading more graphic novels. The art gives an added value to the experience, giving some variety to the always-enjoyable time spent reading.
Jenny Williams, who teaches a college class on the graphic novel, lent us her expertise tonight. Blankets is one of the books she always teaches in that class. Blankets is about a young man who has grown up in a fundamentalist Christian home, isolated and lonely in a culture that discourages his natural artistic talent. He falls in love with a kindred spirit at a Christian winter camp during high school, and he goes to visit her. Their relationship opens a new lens on his life and his talent.
While the character in the novel, named Craig Thompson like the author and with many similarities to the author, does not embrace the church, this book would give any Christian pause, begging the question of what they or their church is communicating to the young people within. This young man experiences sexual abuse at the hands of a babysitter, harsh discipline from his parents, and bullying from his classmates. His faith offered him a future security, but nothing to help him in his current earthly life.
Jenny's students always have a strong response to this book. Many identify with the small-town experience or the feeling of isolation at the Christian camp. They express their disappointment at the end result of the character's experience and mourn the fact that he was not in a good church situation. She said that students are always disappointed to find out that this is not absolutely true to his life story--that there are fictional aspects to the novel.
Interestingly, since this book is highly autobiographical, Jenny also let us know that Thompson did not tell his family that he was writing this book and, in fact, let them know by sending them a copy when it was published.
We discussed the title: what blankets are in the book? There is a blanket that Raina, his newfound girlfriend, makes for him, which is the obvious choice. Then there are the blankets that he and his brother fight over and play amidst when they share a bed as children. There are blankets of snow throughout the book. Blank spaces abound. And given the different uses of a blanket--warming, covering, hiding, suffocating--there are many dimensions to the image. Christianity is a sort of blanket as well--his parents use it as security and comfort; Craig finds it to be something that hides what's really there and suffocates him. Interestingly, in real life, he still has the quilt that his girlfriend made him.
An interesting aspect of the book, which helps explain why he feels so isolated from his parents' faith, is the complete divorce that he feels between Christian spirituality and the physical world. The physical world is dismissed as unworthy of celebration and attention. Why did God create our bodies, nature, a physical earth if it is meaningless? It's an easy trap for Christians to fall into.
I would not give Blankets to just anyone--I think given the questioning of faith and the sexual abuse in the novel, I wouldn't give it to anyone under 16. And sexuality, as part of the physical world that has been cut off from his life, plays a prominent role. Jenny and her students have discussed what the difference is between reading a story and seeing the images of them in a graphic novel. For some, images last longer in their minds, while others have very vivid images from reading text. This goes to discernment for what is important for each individual reader.
Which leads me back to our wonderful friend who is not interested in graphic novels. She doesn't want everything imagined for her. However, the art in a graphic novel is part of the storytelling. The minimal text is informed by the art in a completely different way than illustrations function in traditional texts.
Blankets is a poignant look at one person's experience. It is filled with both sadness and beauty. Craig Thompson will be at the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin next April. I'm looking forward to hearing what he has to say, and I pray that the experience of Festival will be a blessing to him. I'm also looking forward to reading more graphic novels. The art gives an added value to the experience, giving some variety to the always-enjoyable time spent reading.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Off the Reservation
Three weeks ago the Fab 5 Book Club took a road trip, leaving our little Dutch lives to enjoy the different vibe of Cincinnati. It's taken me at least this long to recover enough to write about it! Pretty much we ate our way through the town--three of the original Fab 5 lived in Cincinnati for quite a few years together before we came together. They had lots of favorite places to revisit--Graeter's for ice cream, Skyline Chili, the Grand Finale and more. Sonya claimed she was in a food coma for days. But oh how sweet it was.
We looked out over the city from Carew Tower. We toured neighborhoods like Over the Rhine while listening to, well, Over the Rhine. We all coveted mightily at a most awesome architectural antiques store. We stopped in to see Union Station, where in the bathroom we overheard a young boy, after commenting on the state of his mother's rear end, wondered loudly to his mother why a particular portion of his private anatomy is always sticky, a question answered immediately with a burst of laughter from everyone in the bathroom. So it was a pretty full weekend of entertainment.
We combined this inaugural road trip with our book club discussion of Reservation Blues by Sherman Alexie. In this novel, Thomas Builds-A-Fire and two of his fellow Spokane form a band. At first they perform covers of famous songs, but eventually Thomas writes his own for the band. The success that they achieve is not welcomed by the rest of their tribe. Along the way two white women join their band briefly, and later two women from another tribe join. Each bring their own complications.
We spent some time regretting the fact that we really know very little about Native American culture. The magical realism in the book can sometimes be hard for us to wrap our minds around, and we want to know how much is the author's style and how much of it is cultural. The novelist gives prominence to the importance of dreams and what they tell the dreamer. Sometimes it was hard to separate the dream from the reality in the story, which seems quite intentional, since they are meant to be so closely related.
The sadness of life on the reservation--commodity foods, hunger, poverty, mass alcoholism, unemployment and violence--come to a crescendo at the end of the book. It's not happy. And the even harder-to-understand part of it is the reluctance of the fellow Spokane to rejoice when someone from their reservation has a chance to excel. Because excelling seems to be equivalent to rejecting their history and their people.
These themes came up in young adult novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, also by Sherman Alexie. The novels are very similar, but I think that Diary is the more entertaining, better crafted of the two.
One thing I really like about Reservation Blues is that the author used the music to further his theme. In the beginning, when they form their band, they only performed covers of music that was written by other people from other cultures in other struggles. What people expected from them was their "Indian" music, a performance taken out of context, sort of like going to an "authentic luau" at the Quality Inn on Maui.
When Thomas begins to write his own songs, he is creating his own music, influenced by his culture and other music cultures, but bringing them into the modern state of his own experience. I think the author sees that as the same situation that the reservation faces. They can perform to the caricature of their history that is expected by the outside world, they can abandon their own history to adopt someone else's culture, or they can take the best of both worlds to create something meaningful for themselves.
One odd association I had while reading this was the character of Big Mom. She is a puzzling character, possibly deity, possibly human, certainly powerful in a limited way. I read one blog that said she symbolized Time, which is an interesting way to interpret it. At the risk of alienating both friends and foes of the loved and hated book The Shack, Big Mom sort of reminded me of "Papa," the black woman who represented God the Father. Big, caring, irreverent, nurturing. I find it interesting that two such radically different books would come up with a character who has so much in common.
One place where you could find both of those books and so many more is Half Price Books. We do not have one of these lovely institutions here in Grand Rapids, though the Fab 5 are considering opening a store ourselves. We made the pilgrimage to two different Half Price Books while in Cincinnati, much to my dear husband's chagrin. Heavenly places. And I even scored a paperback copy of Alexie's book of short stories The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, which includes many of the characters from Reservation Blues and was the basis for the movie Smoke Signals. I hope to see it soon.
Well, this Big Mom needs to get moving. I know that I do not personify Time, or good use of it, and I have a mountain of chores to attend to. But first, lunch with my mom and sister.
We looked out over the city from Carew Tower. We toured neighborhoods like Over the Rhine while listening to, well, Over the Rhine. We all coveted mightily at a most awesome architectural antiques store. We stopped in to see Union Station, where in the bathroom we overheard a young boy, after commenting on the state of his mother's rear end, wondered loudly to his mother why a particular portion of his private anatomy is always sticky, a question answered immediately with a burst of laughter from everyone in the bathroom. So it was a pretty full weekend of entertainment.
We combined this inaugural road trip with our book club discussion of Reservation Blues by Sherman Alexie. In this novel, Thomas Builds-A-Fire and two of his fellow Spokane form a band. At first they perform covers of famous songs, but eventually Thomas writes his own for the band. The success that they achieve is not welcomed by the rest of their tribe. Along the way two white women join their band briefly, and later two women from another tribe join. Each bring their own complications.
We spent some time regretting the fact that we really know very little about Native American culture. The magical realism in the book can sometimes be hard for us to wrap our minds around, and we want to know how much is the author's style and how much of it is cultural. The novelist gives prominence to the importance of dreams and what they tell the dreamer. Sometimes it was hard to separate the dream from the reality in the story, which seems quite intentional, since they are meant to be so closely related.
The sadness of life on the reservation--commodity foods, hunger, poverty, mass alcoholism, unemployment and violence--come to a crescendo at the end of the book. It's not happy. And the even harder-to-understand part of it is the reluctance of the fellow Spokane to rejoice when someone from their reservation has a chance to excel. Because excelling seems to be equivalent to rejecting their history and their people.
These themes came up in young adult novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, also by Sherman Alexie. The novels are very similar, but I think that Diary is the more entertaining, better crafted of the two.
One thing I really like about Reservation Blues is that the author used the music to further his theme. In the beginning, when they form their band, they only performed covers of music that was written by other people from other cultures in other struggles. What people expected from them was their "Indian" music, a performance taken out of context, sort of like going to an "authentic luau" at the Quality Inn on Maui.
When Thomas begins to write his own songs, he is creating his own music, influenced by his culture and other music cultures, but bringing them into the modern state of his own experience. I think the author sees that as the same situation that the reservation faces. They can perform to the caricature of their history that is expected by the outside world, they can abandon their own history to adopt someone else's culture, or they can take the best of both worlds to create something meaningful for themselves.
One odd association I had while reading this was the character of Big Mom. She is a puzzling character, possibly deity, possibly human, certainly powerful in a limited way. I read one blog that said she symbolized Time, which is an interesting way to interpret it. At the risk of alienating both friends and foes of the loved and hated book The Shack, Big Mom sort of reminded me of "Papa," the black woman who represented God the Father. Big, caring, irreverent, nurturing. I find it interesting that two such radically different books would come up with a character who has so much in common.
One place where you could find both of those books and so many more is Half Price Books. We do not have one of these lovely institutions here in Grand Rapids, though the Fab 5 are considering opening a store ourselves. We made the pilgrimage to two different Half Price Books while in Cincinnati, much to my dear husband's chagrin. Heavenly places. And I even scored a paperback copy of Alexie's book of short stories The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, which includes many of the characters from Reservation Blues and was the basis for the movie Smoke Signals. I hope to see it soon.
Well, this Big Mom needs to get moving. I know that I do not personify Time, or good use of it, and I have a mountain of chores to attend to. But first, lunch with my mom and sister.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Quite a Year
Of course 1968 was, as the subtitle puts it, "The Year that Rocked the World"--that was the year my husband and I were born. Turns out that's not the only earth-shaking thing that happened that year.
In 1968, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were shot. 14,954 U.S. citizens were killed in action in Vietnam. Many more Ibo and other minorities died of starvation in the Biafra/Nigeria civil war. (And if you want to read a wonderful, sad novel about that, read Half of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.) Soviet tanks invaded Prague, ending some of Czechoslovakia's early democratic reforms. Protests broke out all over the world. Fidel Castro was becoming a hero to American New Left. And American anti-war demonstrators, wounded by police, sought refuge in the lobby of the Conrad Hilton hotel in Chicago during riots at the Democratic national convention.
Mark Kurlansky's book, 1968, recounts the seismic shifts that were occuring throughout that year. This is not my usual reading material! I listened to the audiobook version, which is likely the only way I would ever finish it. Even so, the sheer number of names and places reminded me of my less favorite high school history classes (not you, Mrs. McBride!), when dates and places would numb my mind, and I'd resort to painting pictures with Wite-Out in an effort to stay awake.
However, here my interest was held enough that I actually learned some things. It helped that the narrator was a British man with fun pronunciations, such as saying "massages" for "messages." And there were several times that Kurlansky quoted from others and caught me up short, such as Robert F. Kennedy's suggestion that a growing economy is not always the answer. "Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans."
Also, this quote from Albert Camus: "Those who weep for the happy periods which they encounter in history acknowledge what they want; not the alleviation but the silencing of misery."
1968, according to the author, was the beginning of the end of the Cold War. Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau ushered in the era of leaders chosen for style over substance.
It was the year that the image of the heroic war was tarnished, and America saw the brutal reality of Vietnam, courtesy of live television footage. Interestingly, this led to a sharp change in the way war movies were made--audiences were no longer to be fooled by bloodless warfare. Audiences demanded more realism, which led to the alteration of the level of violence allowed in movies.
As I listened to Kurlansky's words about the young protestors, it fascinated me that the Baby Boomers, a generation that fought so many different fights for rights and idealism, eventually spawned what is now being called Generation Me for its purported narcissism. How did one generation go from working so hard for world change to rearing children who are famous for self-absorption?
This book will give readers a good basis for understanding what occured in the 60s and beyond. Unfortunately for Brian and me, it is apparent from this book that our births did not rock the world. But isn't it pretty to think so?
In 1968, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were shot. 14,954 U.S. citizens were killed in action in Vietnam. Many more Ibo and other minorities died of starvation in the Biafra/Nigeria civil war. (And if you want to read a wonderful, sad novel about that, read Half of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.) Soviet tanks invaded Prague, ending some of Czechoslovakia's early democratic reforms. Protests broke out all over the world. Fidel Castro was becoming a hero to American New Left. And American anti-war demonstrators, wounded by police, sought refuge in the lobby of the Conrad Hilton hotel in Chicago during riots at the Democratic national convention.
Mark Kurlansky's book, 1968, recounts the seismic shifts that were occuring throughout that year. This is not my usual reading material! I listened to the audiobook version, which is likely the only way I would ever finish it. Even so, the sheer number of names and places reminded me of my less favorite high school history classes (not you, Mrs. McBride!), when dates and places would numb my mind, and I'd resort to painting pictures with Wite-Out in an effort to stay awake.
However, here my interest was held enough that I actually learned some things. It helped that the narrator was a British man with fun pronunciations, such as saying "massages" for "messages." And there were several times that Kurlansky quoted from others and caught me up short, such as Robert F. Kennedy's suggestion that a growing economy is not always the answer. "Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans."
Also, this quote from Albert Camus: "Those who weep for the happy periods which they encounter in history acknowledge what they want; not the alleviation but the silencing of misery."
1968, according to the author, was the beginning of the end of the Cold War. Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau ushered in the era of leaders chosen for style over substance.
It was the year that the image of the heroic war was tarnished, and America saw the brutal reality of Vietnam, courtesy of live television footage. Interestingly, this led to a sharp change in the way war movies were made--audiences were no longer to be fooled by bloodless warfare. Audiences demanded more realism, which led to the alteration of the level of violence allowed in movies.
As I listened to Kurlansky's words about the young protestors, it fascinated me that the Baby Boomers, a generation that fought so many different fights for rights and idealism, eventually spawned what is now being called Generation Me for its purported narcissism. How did one generation go from working so hard for world change to rearing children who are famous for self-absorption?
This book will give readers a good basis for understanding what occured in the 60s and beyond. Unfortunately for Brian and me, it is apparent from this book that our births did not rock the world. But isn't it pretty to think so?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
"Too Much Happiness"--Well, Not So Much
About a week and a half ago, the Neland women tackled Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro. It's taken me until now to actually finish the book and then re-read some of it to figure out what I really thought!
Alice Munro is a Canadian short story writer of formidable skill. She is amazing. But this book is not full of "too much happiness." Most of the short stories are built around sad or disturbing events and people. As one member of our group said, "I don't like any of these characters!"
So, the idea of the book being "good" or "not good" became a bit more complex.
One of Munro's strengths that we agreed on was her ability to draw you into the story. No matter how weird or sad the story will become, she first has you identifying completely with the character. You can recognize things about yourself. So that by the time the weirdness sets in, you can only wonder how you would react in such circumstances. As our leader, also named Alice, put it, Munro has a pretty clear picture of total depravity. And she has a pretty good understanding of how we deceive ourselves into believing that what we choose to do only makes sense, is really the only choice we had. One truly bizarre story, "Wenlock Edge," ends with the main character watching college students making their way across campus. "On their way to deeds they didn't know they had in them."
So this isn't light fiction. One interview that our Alice read explained that Munro does not like fiction to be called "escape fiction"--she does not want to be read as an escape. Mission accomplished. No one would confuse her short stories with a good beach read. And don't go to these stories for a sense of redemption. Only a couple of them have seeds of hope planted in them, and even those come only after you've spent a good portion of the story expecting the worst to happen.
She draws very distinct characters and settings, and like Chekhov, who wrote that "One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it," she gives subtle clues to careful readers (or re-readers) that are brought to fruition at the end of the story.
The stories in this book are set in Canada, mostly in the rural sort of area that Munro herself lives in, with one big exception. The last story is drawn from the true story of Sophia Kovalevsky, a Russian novelist and mathematician in the last part of the 19th century. This story has a Russian feel to it as well--lots of characters with multiple names, cold weather, long train rides, and lack of freedom of the female characters in comparison to the men are evocative of Anna Karenina. Sophia is recognized as a brilliant mathematician, but she finds it almost impossible to be hired by universities because she is a woman. We talked about the fact that the story is called "Too Much Happiness." And even more so the irony that this is also the title given to this collection.
Our discussions showed that people read for very individual reasons. Some read for that escape, some for inspiration, some for the enjoyment of a redemptive story, and some solely for the chance to read well-crafted work. One of the benefits of being in this book club is that we are pushed to try things we might not pick up otherwise, and we learn from the different reactions that each of us have. I think that Alice Munro may have won some admirers this month, but maybe not so many fans.
Why do you read?
Alice Munro is a Canadian short story writer of formidable skill. She is amazing. But this book is not full of "too much happiness." Most of the short stories are built around sad or disturbing events and people. As one member of our group said, "I don't like any of these characters!"
So, the idea of the book being "good" or "not good" became a bit more complex.
One of Munro's strengths that we agreed on was her ability to draw you into the story. No matter how weird or sad the story will become, she first has you identifying completely with the character. You can recognize things about yourself. So that by the time the weirdness sets in, you can only wonder how you would react in such circumstances. As our leader, also named Alice, put it, Munro has a pretty clear picture of total depravity. And she has a pretty good understanding of how we deceive ourselves into believing that what we choose to do only makes sense, is really the only choice we had. One truly bizarre story, "Wenlock Edge," ends with the main character watching college students making their way across campus. "On their way to deeds they didn't know they had in them."
So this isn't light fiction. One interview that our Alice read explained that Munro does not like fiction to be called "escape fiction"--she does not want to be read as an escape. Mission accomplished. No one would confuse her short stories with a good beach read. And don't go to these stories for a sense of redemption. Only a couple of them have seeds of hope planted in them, and even those come only after you've spent a good portion of the story expecting the worst to happen.
She draws very distinct characters and settings, and like Chekhov, who wrote that "One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it," she gives subtle clues to careful readers (or re-readers) that are brought to fruition at the end of the story.
The stories in this book are set in Canada, mostly in the rural sort of area that Munro herself lives in, with one big exception. The last story is drawn from the true story of Sophia Kovalevsky, a Russian novelist and mathematician in the last part of the 19th century. This story has a Russian feel to it as well--lots of characters with multiple names, cold weather, long train rides, and lack of freedom of the female characters in comparison to the men are evocative of Anna Karenina. Sophia is recognized as a brilliant mathematician, but she finds it almost impossible to be hired by universities because she is a woman. We talked about the fact that the story is called "Too Much Happiness." And even more so the irony that this is also the title given to this collection.
Our discussions showed that people read for very individual reasons. Some read for that escape, some for inspiration, some for the enjoyment of a redemptive story, and some solely for the chance to read well-crafted work. One of the benefits of being in this book club is that we are pushed to try things we might not pick up otherwise, and we learn from the different reactions that each of us have. I think that Alice Munro may have won some admirers this month, but maybe not so many fans.
Why do you read?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Gary Schmidt's "Okay For Now"
Doug Swieteck, we hardly knew ye. The class clown in The Wednesday Wars has the starring role in Gary Schmidt's latest book, Okay For Now, due out April 18. This book is wonderful.
Doug still loves baseball and the New York Yankees. Holling Hoodhood even makes a cameo appearance. However, Doug's story is very different from Holling's. At the start of this novel, Doug's less-than-perfect father decides (regardless of the rest of the family's wishes) that it's time to pull up stakes from Long Island and start over in a small mill town in upstate New York.
The town of Marysville does not welcome Doug Swieteck and his family with open arms. And Doug has other problems. His mom is worried about his oldest brother, Lucas, who is in Vietnam. His new gym teacher and principal have it out for him. And the librarian isn't so fond of him either.
This novel will be very accessible to middle school readers. Doug's thought patterns follow his colloquial speech patterns, and you experience each event with him. The story and Schmidt's writing is compelling. Doug's abusive father, jeering high school brother and sad, but beautiful mother come alive to the reader, and they do not become caricatures. Each character has motives and problems of their own.
Doug is struggling to decide just exactly who he is, even as different members of the community try to decide that for him. But Doug isn't the only star here; Schmidt weaves in art composition lessons via Audubon's birds, Vietnam veterans, a budding romance and, of all things, Jane Eyre. And, of course, baseball.
Okay for Now is both entertaining and soulful, and anyone who is or has been a middle schooler will appreciate Doug's situation. Keep the Kleenex handy. And I suggest that you read it as soon as you can. On that note, Gary will be signing books at a release party on April 8 at 6:30 at our very own Pooh's Corner (sorry, out-of-towners!). Put it on your calendar now!
Doug still loves baseball and the New York Yankees. Holling Hoodhood even makes a cameo appearance. However, Doug's story is very different from Holling's. At the start of this novel, Doug's less-than-perfect father decides (regardless of the rest of the family's wishes) that it's time to pull up stakes from Long Island and start over in a small mill town in upstate New York.
The town of Marysville does not welcome Doug Swieteck and his family with open arms. And Doug has other problems. His mom is worried about his oldest brother, Lucas, who is in Vietnam. His new gym teacher and principal have it out for him. And the librarian isn't so fond of him either.
This novel will be very accessible to middle school readers. Doug's thought patterns follow his colloquial speech patterns, and you experience each event with him. The story and Schmidt's writing is compelling. Doug's abusive father, jeering high school brother and sad, but beautiful mother come alive to the reader, and they do not become caricatures. Each character has motives and problems of their own.
Doug is struggling to decide just exactly who he is, even as different members of the community try to decide that for him. But Doug isn't the only star here; Schmidt weaves in art composition lessons via Audubon's birds, Vietnam veterans, a budding romance and, of all things, Jane Eyre. And, of course, baseball.
Okay for Now is both entertaining and soulful, and anyone who is or has been a middle schooler will appreciate Doug's situation. Keep the Kleenex handy. And I suggest that you read it as soon as you can. On that note, Gary will be signing books at a release party on April 8 at 6:30 at our very own Pooh's Corner (sorry, out-of-towners!). Put it on your calendar now!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Half the Sky, Half the Book Club Meeting
Half the Sky, an eye-opening book from Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, about the marginalization of women in many parts of the world, was the Fab Five Book Club title for the night. These two journalists, who are also married to each other, have traveled the world looking into some of the ways that people have attempted to raise the standard of living for women and their families.
There are a lot of problems to tackle. Human trafficking is widespread in certain countries, and the lowest form of it is found in "recruitment" of young girls for brothels. Many maternal medical needs are neglected, and girls' medical and educational needs are often ignored in favor of making sure their brothers' needs are met. Female genital cutting has also proven difficult to combat.
The authors tell the stories of many different girls and women. They cite studies that show that if you give people a lot of data or statistics, listeners lose interest quickly. So the authors give us stories. We had different reactions to this. Some felt it was repetitious, too many stories, too many people. Others felt that it did a good job of showing how one person is part of a community, and that community presents both complicating factors and opportunities for support.
We weren't sure that the book is completely fair to non-government agencies. One of us felt like the authors have a bit of an attitude about the way NGOs work, and there isn't much space given to anything they've done right.
I, personally, found the book inspiring. There are many ways that we can be involved in making positive changes. We can educate ourselves on the political aspects of foreign aid and legislation. We can volunteer our time and energy. We can donate. We can work at a grassroots level to bring change. We can be careful that our theological or philosophical differences don't hold us back us from working with others. And, though the book doesn't suggest it, we can pray.
Books like this tend to make me want to pack my suitcase and head overseas. And that's another thing the book warns against. The Western world tends to think we have it all under control, that we can step in and coerce change. Real change comes only when the community is understood, and when it can get on board. They suggest that we be ready to write a check and then carry bags backstage, letting the people have the power in making their own change.
While we spent some time talking about the movie, I have to admit that we spent more time rearranging our host's living room. We carried cabinets, bookshelves and chairs, and completely redesigned the layout of the room. Then our resident interior designer went to work, putting certain books on certain shelves, adding accessories here and there, and turning the room into a work of art. If you need your room redecorated, we have just the person for you.
We also enjoyed the pleasure of clotted cream. Ostensibly we were eating gingerbread scones, but they were really just conduits for the cream. Seriously. So good.
And we heard the tentative itinerary for our first trip together--a pilgrimage to Cincinnati. While the schedule includes pizza from La Rosa's, lunch at Skyline Chili, ice cream from Graeters, and dinner at Grand Finale, there will be non-food excursions as well. In fact, the plan is jam-packed and may require a vacation afterward to recover. But we'll have our purchases from Half-Price Books and Trader Joe's to help us recover.
And so you can see that we get caught up in our daily joys, decisions, lifestyles and worries, all of which conspire to distract us from the rest of the world and the suffering others endure. It's a challenge to us to keep a balance between enjoying the blessings that come our way and being advocates who are in very different positions.
There are a lot of problems to tackle. Human trafficking is widespread in certain countries, and the lowest form of it is found in "recruitment" of young girls for brothels. Many maternal medical needs are neglected, and girls' medical and educational needs are often ignored in favor of making sure their brothers' needs are met. Female genital cutting has also proven difficult to combat.
The authors tell the stories of many different girls and women. They cite studies that show that if you give people a lot of data or statistics, listeners lose interest quickly. So the authors give us stories. We had different reactions to this. Some felt it was repetitious, too many stories, too many people. Others felt that it did a good job of showing how one person is part of a community, and that community presents both complicating factors and opportunities for support.
We weren't sure that the book is completely fair to non-government agencies. One of us felt like the authors have a bit of an attitude about the way NGOs work, and there isn't much space given to anything they've done right.
I, personally, found the book inspiring. There are many ways that we can be involved in making positive changes. We can educate ourselves on the political aspects of foreign aid and legislation. We can volunteer our time and energy. We can donate. We can work at a grassroots level to bring change. We can be careful that our theological or philosophical differences don't hold us back us from working with others. And, though the book doesn't suggest it, we can pray.
Books like this tend to make me want to pack my suitcase and head overseas. And that's another thing the book warns against. The Western world tends to think we have it all under control, that we can step in and coerce change. Real change comes only when the community is understood, and when it can get on board. They suggest that we be ready to write a check and then carry bags backstage, letting the people have the power in making their own change.
While we spent some time talking about the movie, I have to admit that we spent more time rearranging our host's living room. We carried cabinets, bookshelves and chairs, and completely redesigned the layout of the room. Then our resident interior designer went to work, putting certain books on certain shelves, adding accessories here and there, and turning the room into a work of art. If you need your room redecorated, we have just the person for you.
We also enjoyed the pleasure of clotted cream. Ostensibly we were eating gingerbread scones, but they were really just conduits for the cream. Seriously. So good.
And we heard the tentative itinerary for our first trip together--a pilgrimage to Cincinnati. While the schedule includes pizza from La Rosa's, lunch at Skyline Chili, ice cream from Graeters, and dinner at Grand Finale, there will be non-food excursions as well. In fact, the plan is jam-packed and may require a vacation afterward to recover. But we'll have our purchases from Half-Price Books and Trader Joe's to help us recover.
And so you can see that we get caught up in our daily joys, decisions, lifestyles and worries, all of which conspire to distract us from the rest of the world and the suffering others endure. It's a challenge to us to keep a balance between enjoying the blessings that come our way and being advocates who are in very different positions.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Mudbound: The Story of Us
The title says it all. Hillary Jordan's book Mudbound describes characters sucked into the ooze partly of their own making and partly of what has happened to them in their time, place and circumstance, just as we all are. This might sound like a complete downer, and it certainly has some terrible moments, but it is a good read. A compelling storyline and characters we can relate to (even when we wish we can't) make it a fairly quick yet meaningful book.
The book begins and ends with the burial scene of Pappy, the twisted, hateful patriarch of the white McAllan family. He is being buried in the rain, in the sodden, lonely fields of Mudbound, the farm that his son, Henry, has finally purchased after a lifetime of saving and dreaming. Not even to dust or ashes, Pappy is going to mud.
Henry is the stalwart, stoic eldest son who marries Laura later in life. Laura, a college-educated almost-spinster, is uprooted from her city life to become a farmwife. Henry's younger brother Jamie is a charmer who comes back from World War II with a hole in his heart.
The black Jackson family shares the farm as one of the tenants. Hap Jackson is determined to make more of his life than the fate of a sharecropper. His strong, intelligent wife Florence partners with him to make his dreams come true. Their hopes and dreams are also invested in their oldest son, Ronsel, another WWII vet. Ronsel's "got a shine to him"--he hopes for further education and a different life. He has trouble adjusting to the racism and Jim Crow laws of his Mississippi home after feeling freed from some of it in Europe during the war.
The interred Pappy is not the only one trapped by the land. Sharecroppers are fettered to the land and their landlords. Henry is sucked in to the land by his own "landsickness," a desire for the land that goes beyond what he feels for his wife and family. Ronsel is embedded in a community that can't see past his skin color, but he can't leave because he must help his family farm.
The good women of the Neland book club spent some time talking about the structure of the book. It is told from six different points of view, so the chapters go from character to character, giving us insight into each of their thoughts. Sometimes the voices were not as distinct as we might wish. Books like The Help and The Poisonwood Bible have been stronger in this respect. While we might not always be able to discern the actual voice of each character, we still see their perspectives distinctly. Many times we wish we didn't have to hear exactly what they were thinking. Jordan stays true to the time and place, and the racism of even the less racist characters angered us as we read, even as we could empathize with other aspects of the characters.
None of the characters is a true out-and-out hero, though there is still potential. Each are mired in their own natures--each a strange cocktail of their own experience, knowledge, hate, love, compassion, fear and pride. Some come close to heroism at different points, but can't really pull it off. Which would probably be true for about 99% of the human race.
The story rings true in other ways, too. One strand of the history of the U.S. is that of people looking for freedom and land, and using what power they have to realize that dream, even at the cost of marginalizing others.
Jordan's novel won the Bellwether Prize, which is a prize awarded to a previously unpublished novel that supports social change. There was a bit of discussion about whether or not Mudbound is a bit heavy-handed, but the consensus seemed to be that it really wasn't.
I definitely recommend it. And I will say, if I had any illusions that I might enjoy being a farmwife (which I really don't--I'm too lazy and enjoy city comforts), they are gone forever. If nothing else, the book might make you more thankful for your toilet and shower. Hopefully it will also raise your consciousness on other issues as well.
The book begins and ends with the burial scene of Pappy, the twisted, hateful patriarch of the white McAllan family. He is being buried in the rain, in the sodden, lonely fields of Mudbound, the farm that his son, Henry, has finally purchased after a lifetime of saving and dreaming. Not even to dust or ashes, Pappy is going to mud.
Henry is the stalwart, stoic eldest son who marries Laura later in life. Laura, a college-educated almost-spinster, is uprooted from her city life to become a farmwife. Henry's younger brother Jamie is a charmer who comes back from World War II with a hole in his heart.
The black Jackson family shares the farm as one of the tenants. Hap Jackson is determined to make more of his life than the fate of a sharecropper. His strong, intelligent wife Florence partners with him to make his dreams come true. Their hopes and dreams are also invested in their oldest son, Ronsel, another WWII vet. Ronsel's "got a shine to him"--he hopes for further education and a different life. He has trouble adjusting to the racism and Jim Crow laws of his Mississippi home after feeling freed from some of it in Europe during the war.
The interred Pappy is not the only one trapped by the land. Sharecroppers are fettered to the land and their landlords. Henry is sucked in to the land by his own "landsickness," a desire for the land that goes beyond what he feels for his wife and family. Ronsel is embedded in a community that can't see past his skin color, but he can't leave because he must help his family farm.
The good women of the Neland book club spent some time talking about the structure of the book. It is told from six different points of view, so the chapters go from character to character, giving us insight into each of their thoughts. Sometimes the voices were not as distinct as we might wish. Books like The Help and The Poisonwood Bible have been stronger in this respect. While we might not always be able to discern the actual voice of each character, we still see their perspectives distinctly. Many times we wish we didn't have to hear exactly what they were thinking. Jordan stays true to the time and place, and the racism of even the less racist characters angered us as we read, even as we could empathize with other aspects of the characters.
None of the characters is a true out-and-out hero, though there is still potential. Each are mired in their own natures--each a strange cocktail of their own experience, knowledge, hate, love, compassion, fear and pride. Some come close to heroism at different points, but can't really pull it off. Which would probably be true for about 99% of the human race.
The story rings true in other ways, too. One strand of the history of the U.S. is that of people looking for freedom and land, and using what power they have to realize that dream, even at the cost of marginalizing others.
Jordan's novel won the Bellwether Prize, which is a prize awarded to a previously unpublished novel that supports social change. There was a bit of discussion about whether or not Mudbound is a bit heavy-handed, but the consensus seemed to be that it really wasn't.
I definitely recommend it. And I will say, if I had any illusions that I might enjoy being a farmwife (which I really don't--I'm too lazy and enjoy city comforts), they are gone forever. If nothing else, the book might make you more thankful for your toilet and shower. Hopefully it will also raise your consciousness on other issues as well.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Grit, Grace and Dragons--Three Movies
A western, an urban drama, and a historical epic. In the last week and a half, I've watched three movies that deal with how we respond to tragedy and suffering in our lives.
First off, True Grit. In this remake of the John Wayne movie, precocious 14-year-old Mattie seeks out the services of marshall Rooster Cogburn to help her hunt down the man who killed her father. Mattie insists on accompanying him, and she brings her father's gun in the hopes of bringing her own justice. This is a Coen Brothers movie, so there are a few scenes of grisly outlaw violence. It also begins with Proverbs 28:1, "The wicked flee when none pursueth." The score includes heavy use of the melody of "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms," and some of the symbolism is hard to miss--when Mattie loses her innocence, she falls into a pit crawling with snakes. The cinematography is excellent, as is the acting. The PG-13 rating astounds me, as the few violent scenes are stark and disturbing. Worth seeing if you can handle a couple of bloody moments.
Then there was The Grace Card, which comes out later this month. In this faith-based movie, police officer Mac is bitter and angry from the death of his young son years before. He harbors this bitterness, which manifests itself in a broken family, a stalled-out career, and racism. His new partner is Sam, a black, part-time pastor. The acting in this movie is good, but the story is contrived. I could live with the storyline up until a cringeworthy last-minute twist. However, I enjoyed the main themes of forgiveness and loving those who don't love you. This is not a subtle movie, and it's not beautiful filmmaking, but it's as good as any made-for-TV movie, with better acting.
Last but not least was There Be Dragons. When I first saw the title, I thought it was an animated kids' movie. It is no such thing. There Be Dragons is the story of Spanish saint Josemaria Escriva. He became a priest at the first rumblings of the Spanish Civil War. His childhood friend also begins at the seminary, but his life takes a completely different turn, as he joins the anarchist movement. These two men both suffer, and the different responses to suffering are the focus of the filmmaker. There Be Dragons is from director Roland Joffe, who directed The Mission and The Killing Fields. Beautiful scenes unfold; I particularly liked one where the priest is tending to someone at the hospital, a Jewish man he's known all his life, and there are three high windows in the gorgeous old building that stream sunlight down on the whole ward like a benediction. This thoughtful film makes some lovely statements about what it means to be human, and what it means to follow Christ. It isn't out until May, but it's a good one.
What have you seen lately that's worth seeing?
First off, True Grit. In this remake of the John Wayne movie, precocious 14-year-old Mattie seeks out the services of marshall Rooster Cogburn to help her hunt down the man who killed her father. Mattie insists on accompanying him, and she brings her father's gun in the hopes of bringing her own justice. This is a Coen Brothers movie, so there are a few scenes of grisly outlaw violence. It also begins with Proverbs 28:1, "The wicked flee when none pursueth." The score includes heavy use of the melody of "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms," and some of the symbolism is hard to miss--when Mattie loses her innocence, she falls into a pit crawling with snakes. The cinematography is excellent, as is the acting. The PG-13 rating astounds me, as the few violent scenes are stark and disturbing. Worth seeing if you can handle a couple of bloody moments.
Then there was The Grace Card, which comes out later this month. In this faith-based movie, police officer Mac is bitter and angry from the death of his young son years before. He harbors this bitterness, which manifests itself in a broken family, a stalled-out career, and racism. His new partner is Sam, a black, part-time pastor. The acting in this movie is good, but the story is contrived. I could live with the storyline up until a cringeworthy last-minute twist. However, I enjoyed the main themes of forgiveness and loving those who don't love you. This is not a subtle movie, and it's not beautiful filmmaking, but it's as good as any made-for-TV movie, with better acting.
Last but not least was There Be Dragons. When I first saw the title, I thought it was an animated kids' movie. It is no such thing. There Be Dragons is the story of Spanish saint Josemaria Escriva. He became a priest at the first rumblings of the Spanish Civil War. His childhood friend also begins at the seminary, but his life takes a completely different turn, as he joins the anarchist movement. These two men both suffer, and the different responses to suffering are the focus of the filmmaker. There Be Dragons is from director Roland Joffe, who directed The Mission and The Killing Fields. Beautiful scenes unfold; I particularly liked one where the priest is tending to someone at the hospital, a Jewish man he's known all his life, and there are three high windows in the gorgeous old building that stream sunlight down on the whole ward like a benediction. This thoughtful film makes some lovely statements about what it means to be human, and what it means to follow Christ. It isn't out until May, but it's a good one.
What have you seen lately that's worth seeing?
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Great Depression (no, I don't mean February in Michigan)
I've always known there was a Great Depression, that it all started in 1929, and that things were hard. But I didn't know what that really meant. A Secret Gift, by journalist Ted Gup, brought things into focus for me. When I was about halfway into the book, a friend emailed me that the bank where her husband had been employed for years was being taken over by the Feds that evening. That email highlighted one of the similarities between those times and these we live in.
Just before Christmas in 1933, the newspaper in Canton, Ohio ran an ad. A Mr. B. Virdot had set aside some money to be distributed among families in need. They just needed to write and ask. He had $750 to give, and he intended to give $10 to 75 families. The outpouring of need that he found in the mailbox led him to give $5 to 150 families instead. $5 was equivalent to about $100 now.
Mr. B. Virdot was actually a man named Sam Stone, who happened to be Ted Gup's grandfather. Ted found a pack of letters among other family papers in an old suitcase. He spent some time hunting down the life records of the families who received money from his grandfather, and talking with whichever descendants he could find. Each letter is heartbreaking in its own unique way, but the stories are a mix of heartbreak and hope. Some families endured and went on to enjoy better days; other families crumbled completely.
As the mother of three school age children, it's hard to imagine that a 7-year-old would be sent out each day, taking several buses to get out of town, where he would use the shotgun he'd toted along to kill whatever wildlife he could find to feed his family. Other young children worked all day on farms, then went out to deliver newpapers. It's amazing what they were asked to do. Childhood ended very early.
Other families could not go on any longer. Orphanages swelled with the influx of children who were dropped off by their parents, in the hopes that the children would be warm and fed at the orphanage.
But the small gift that these families received from Sam Stone brought a light into the darkness and brought hope to some of the benefactors. The book also recounts other ways that neighbor helped neighbor. Doctors practiced medicine with little hope of being repaid. Dairies sent the milk orders out, regardless of outstanding bills. Even the man hired to guard the coal cars at the train station knocked a few pieces off so that the children waiting to grab whatever bits were left behind would have something to take home.
It's hard not to think about another theme I've been hearing lately, the uptick in narcissism and entitlement among American youth today. It is a problem of riches, I think. And far be it from me to be too condescending about the narcissism of others, as I blog away my every thought about the books I read!
Bill McKibben's book Eaarth, which I reviewed a couple of weeks ago, emphasized the need to grow close communities and deep relationships to maneuver through the changes that will come as our fossil fuels are depleted and climate change affects society. Regardless of what you think of those possibilities, close community is something that benefits everyone. And when Hard Times come, as they do at different times and different places around the world, it is our compassion and love for each other that God can use to comfort and to heal.
An interesting subtext to the book is Gup's investigation into his own grandfather, Sam Stone. Sam never disclosed the circumstances of his youth, and Gup decided it was time he and his family knew more. He learned about his grandfather's childhood as a Jew in Romania, and how this may have impacted the way he lived his life in America, for better and for worse.
A Secret Gift was not a quick read for me. Each person or family story was brief, and just as I got to know one, it was time to move on to another. That slows me down as I read. But I feel that I've learned a lot about history, about the different ways people survive and thrive, and about the need for love to make that thriving possible.
Just before Christmas in 1933, the newspaper in Canton, Ohio ran an ad. A Mr. B. Virdot had set aside some money to be distributed among families in need. They just needed to write and ask. He had $750 to give, and he intended to give $10 to 75 families. The outpouring of need that he found in the mailbox led him to give $5 to 150 families instead. $5 was equivalent to about $100 now.
Mr. B. Virdot was actually a man named Sam Stone, who happened to be Ted Gup's grandfather. Ted found a pack of letters among other family papers in an old suitcase. He spent some time hunting down the life records of the families who received money from his grandfather, and talking with whichever descendants he could find. Each letter is heartbreaking in its own unique way, but the stories are a mix of heartbreak and hope. Some families endured and went on to enjoy better days; other families crumbled completely.
As the mother of three school age children, it's hard to imagine that a 7-year-old would be sent out each day, taking several buses to get out of town, where he would use the shotgun he'd toted along to kill whatever wildlife he could find to feed his family. Other young children worked all day on farms, then went out to deliver newpapers. It's amazing what they were asked to do. Childhood ended very early.
Other families could not go on any longer. Orphanages swelled with the influx of children who were dropped off by their parents, in the hopes that the children would be warm and fed at the orphanage.
But the small gift that these families received from Sam Stone brought a light into the darkness and brought hope to some of the benefactors. The book also recounts other ways that neighbor helped neighbor. Doctors practiced medicine with little hope of being repaid. Dairies sent the milk orders out, regardless of outstanding bills. Even the man hired to guard the coal cars at the train station knocked a few pieces off so that the children waiting to grab whatever bits were left behind would have something to take home.
It's hard not to think about another theme I've been hearing lately, the uptick in narcissism and entitlement among American youth today. It is a problem of riches, I think. And far be it from me to be too condescending about the narcissism of others, as I blog away my every thought about the books I read!
Bill McKibben's book Eaarth, which I reviewed a couple of weeks ago, emphasized the need to grow close communities and deep relationships to maneuver through the changes that will come as our fossil fuels are depleted and climate change affects society. Regardless of what you think of those possibilities, close community is something that benefits everyone. And when Hard Times come, as they do at different times and different places around the world, it is our compassion and love for each other that God can use to comfort and to heal.
An interesting subtext to the book is Gup's investigation into his own grandfather, Sam Stone. Sam never disclosed the circumstances of his youth, and Gup decided it was time he and his family knew more. He learned about his grandfather's childhood as a Jew in Romania, and how this may have impacted the way he lived his life in America, for better and for worse.
A Secret Gift was not a quick read for me. Each person or family story was brief, and just as I got to know one, it was time to move on to another. That slows me down as I read. But I feel that I've learned a lot about history, about the different ways people survive and thrive, and about the need for love to make that thriving possible.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Dog Days: "The Art of Racing in the Rain"
This month the Fab 5 Book Club nosed their way through The Art of Racing in the Rain, by Garth Stein. Told from the perspective of Enzo, the loving dog of master Denny, the story moves through Enzo's life with Denny. From meeting Eve, Denny's future wife, the birth of their child, Eve's illness, and the horrible aftermath of the illness, Enzo gives his point of view, rich with wisdom gleaned from watching the Speed Channel, Weather Channel, and National Geographic Channel while Denny was away at work all day.
We all found the book appealing, not because the storyline is so great, but because we loved Enzo and the way he looked at the world. His loving and forgiving nature, his envy of short tongues and opposable thumbs, and his utter devotion to Denny. Even Nancy cried, and she is NOT a dog person.
Enzo says that he is like a person trapped in an isolation booth--he can't communicate anything he knows. And he knows so much. He knows the pain and pleasure of his family, he knows when illness has moved in, and he knows what mistakes they are all making. Enzo even has a spiritual side--he expects to be reincarnated, and he also recognizes the darkness that is in everyone, through his experience with an evil stuffed zebra.
Our dinner, heart-attack-on-a-plate in varying forms from Pietro's restaurant, even had a book connection--there are Italian racers in the book. Denny is a Formula One driver, and the book gives some detailed explanations about different aspects of racing. I had to wonder. So many books are written for a female audience, because women buy more fiction than men. (I've heard that's true, but have no data to back it up, so you'll just have to drink that Kool-Aid.) This book is about a man, a race car driver, and his beloved dog. So is this a men's book that women like to read? Or is it a women's book masquerading as a men's book? I suppose some less cynical people would think it could just be gender neutral. Marketing doesn't usually work that way. Any men out there who have read this one?
As usual, we drifted away from the book fairly quickly, making plans for a possible trip to Cincinnati where some of our members used to live. Apparently the city is rife with good restaurants, so it sounds like we will eat the entire time. Except for when we drive past Procter & Gamble. Not sure why, but this seems to be a major attraction. All I know about it is that half the people in Cincinnati seem to be paid to test one drug or another. The big question is: Do we all share one room with 2 double beds, get 2 rooms with 2 double beds, or get 1 room for 2 of us to share, and a separate room each for the other two? Cheapness is vying with a desire to sleep here. What would you recommend?
We would recommend this book. It's worth reading, and it's a quick one if you need a weekend take-along. The writing quality is patchy, definitely at it's best when recounting Enzo's ruminations about life and people. I personally enjoyed his theory that people keep dogs from evolving through breeding, and the penance we pay for this evil is that we have to turn a plastic bag inside out over our hands and pick up their fresh, er, leavings as they walked. Enzo's the best dog ever.
We all found the book appealing, not because the storyline is so great, but because we loved Enzo and the way he looked at the world. His loving and forgiving nature, his envy of short tongues and opposable thumbs, and his utter devotion to Denny. Even Nancy cried, and she is NOT a dog person.
Enzo says that he is like a person trapped in an isolation booth--he can't communicate anything he knows. And he knows so much. He knows the pain and pleasure of his family, he knows when illness has moved in, and he knows what mistakes they are all making. Enzo even has a spiritual side--he expects to be reincarnated, and he also recognizes the darkness that is in everyone, through his experience with an evil stuffed zebra.
Our dinner, heart-attack-on-a-plate in varying forms from Pietro's restaurant, even had a book connection--there are Italian racers in the book. Denny is a Formula One driver, and the book gives some detailed explanations about different aspects of racing. I had to wonder. So many books are written for a female audience, because women buy more fiction than men. (I've heard that's true, but have no data to back it up, so you'll just have to drink that Kool-Aid.) This book is about a man, a race car driver, and his beloved dog. So is this a men's book that women like to read? Or is it a women's book masquerading as a men's book? I suppose some less cynical people would think it could just be gender neutral. Marketing doesn't usually work that way. Any men out there who have read this one?
As usual, we drifted away from the book fairly quickly, making plans for a possible trip to Cincinnati where some of our members used to live. Apparently the city is rife with good restaurants, so it sounds like we will eat the entire time. Except for when we drive past Procter & Gamble. Not sure why, but this seems to be a major attraction. All I know about it is that half the people in Cincinnati seem to be paid to test one drug or another. The big question is: Do we all share one room with 2 double beds, get 2 rooms with 2 double beds, or get 1 room for 2 of us to share, and a separate room each for the other two? Cheapness is vying with a desire to sleep here. What would you recommend?
We would recommend this book. It's worth reading, and it's a quick one if you need a weekend take-along. The writing quality is patchy, definitely at it's best when recounting Enzo's ruminations about life and people. I personally enjoyed his theory that people keep dogs from evolving through breeding, and the penance we pay for this evil is that we have to turn a plastic bag inside out over our hands and pick up their fresh, er, leavings as they walked. Enzo's the best dog ever.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Brave New Eaarth, or, Global Warning
Well, it was a big night at the Neland Women's Book Club Tonight. I mean world changing--literally. We met to sort through Bill McKibben's book, Eaarth. Why the strange title? Because McKibben's point of view is that the world is a different place, so it should have a new name. It's a planet that reminds us of one we used to know, but it's not the same. He says we'd better come to terms with it as it is, instead of as we wish it to be.
The world is a different place due to climate change (please hold back your groans here). We've heard the naysayers who deny it is happening; we've heard the doomsday prophets who talk about cataclysmic change ahead. McKibben says the cataclysmic change is already happening, and while we haven't yet felt the full effect, we'd better get ready.
Everyone should read this book. I don't often think that is actually true of a book, but if everyone read this book, it would bring us to some common point of discussion, even if people disagree with it. However, everyone will not read this book. It is not a happy book. It describes the changes that have occurred and will continue to progress in our earth, and it is depressing. The majority of the book, in fact, lays out his description of what the earth is now, and what that says for the future.
The last portion of the book is what we can do to adapt to our new home. It is hopeful, but it describes a different kind of life than we have come to expect for ourselves. Instead of global, bigger, and faster, life will need to be sturdier, smaller, slower.
The call to build community, to deepen relationships and interactions, should resonate with a church group. After all, that's what we should be doing anyway! But we are part of a culture that speeds up, multitasks and travels, and it takes a conscious decision to think communally.
As we talked about the book, we talked about what we can do right now. What we can do that goes beyond the usual green suggestions of using real mugs instead of paper cups, building a compost pile. We can reduce, reuse, recycle (in that order). We can buy less. We can use less. We can do more for ourselves. We all agreed that simple living is attractive, and when we are put in a situation temporarily (camping, living overseas) we find it refreshing, but it doesn't take long to get sucked right back into the current of consumerism.
Annetta said one of her friends from the Netherlands told her "the reason Americans can't save money is because everything costs 88 cents." It's easy to justify buying something that costs you "almost nothing."
Mary, our fearless leader, told us that in January, the new Congress disbanded the committee that met on climate change issues. Perhaps, we think, this will need to be a civilian-driven issue rather than legislation.
In the meantime, what does it mean for a church? What can our community do to help? We can help educate people on caring for a garden or making homes energy efficient. We can share our resources to help slow consumerism. We can take active steps to conserve and to preserve. And we can expect to be frustrated, because change is hard.
Mary wondered if, when it comes to global warming and climate change, denial of its existence or depression in the face of its effects are just part of the grieving process, a grief at the loss of the world we thought we knew and controlled. The fact is that when things get harder, food becomes more scarce or more expensive, we will do what we have to do. Unfortunately, developing countries will (and already do) experience this much more fully than we can understand. Change will be forced upon us at some point. It might be good to give some thought to it in advance.
One of the ironies for me, with this book, was that I listened to a good portion of it while driving my kids to their various activities or on my errands. I listened to the effects that my carbon emissions are having on the earth as I blithely made my way back and forth across the city in my big blue minivan.
God created a beautiful place for us. Sometimes it seems that we humans have spent all of our waking moments dreaming up ways to defile it, whether it be relationally, societally, or environmentally. Thank the Lord that our comfort, in life and in death, is that we belong to him.
We all say we love our children, would give our lives for them. Would we give up our gasoline for them? Would we give up that really cute, really cheap sweater? Only time will tell. We may not have a choice, in the end.
The world is a different place due to climate change (please hold back your groans here). We've heard the naysayers who deny it is happening; we've heard the doomsday prophets who talk about cataclysmic change ahead. McKibben says the cataclysmic change is already happening, and while we haven't yet felt the full effect, we'd better get ready.
Everyone should read this book. I don't often think that is actually true of a book, but if everyone read this book, it would bring us to some common point of discussion, even if people disagree with it. However, everyone will not read this book. It is not a happy book. It describes the changes that have occurred and will continue to progress in our earth, and it is depressing. The majority of the book, in fact, lays out his description of what the earth is now, and what that says for the future.
The last portion of the book is what we can do to adapt to our new home. It is hopeful, but it describes a different kind of life than we have come to expect for ourselves. Instead of global, bigger, and faster, life will need to be sturdier, smaller, slower.
The call to build community, to deepen relationships and interactions, should resonate with a church group. After all, that's what we should be doing anyway! But we are part of a culture that speeds up, multitasks and travels, and it takes a conscious decision to think communally.
As we talked about the book, we talked about what we can do right now. What we can do that goes beyond the usual green suggestions of using real mugs instead of paper cups, building a compost pile. We can reduce, reuse, recycle (in that order). We can buy less. We can use less. We can do more for ourselves. We all agreed that simple living is attractive, and when we are put in a situation temporarily (camping, living overseas) we find it refreshing, but it doesn't take long to get sucked right back into the current of consumerism.
Annetta said one of her friends from the Netherlands told her "the reason Americans can't save money is because everything costs 88 cents." It's easy to justify buying something that costs you "almost nothing."
Mary, our fearless leader, told us that in January, the new Congress disbanded the committee that met on climate change issues. Perhaps, we think, this will need to be a civilian-driven issue rather than legislation.
In the meantime, what does it mean for a church? What can our community do to help? We can help educate people on caring for a garden or making homes energy efficient. We can share our resources to help slow consumerism. We can take active steps to conserve and to preserve. And we can expect to be frustrated, because change is hard.
Mary wondered if, when it comes to global warming and climate change, denial of its existence or depression in the face of its effects are just part of the grieving process, a grief at the loss of the world we thought we knew and controlled. The fact is that when things get harder, food becomes more scarce or more expensive, we will do what we have to do. Unfortunately, developing countries will (and already do) experience this much more fully than we can understand. Change will be forced upon us at some point. It might be good to give some thought to it in advance.
One of the ironies for me, with this book, was that I listened to a good portion of it while driving my kids to their various activities or on my errands. I listened to the effects that my carbon emissions are having on the earth as I blithely made my way back and forth across the city in my big blue minivan.
God created a beautiful place for us. Sometimes it seems that we humans have spent all of our waking moments dreaming up ways to defile it, whether it be relationally, societally, or environmentally. Thank the Lord that our comfort, in life and in death, is that we belong to him.
We all say we love our children, would give our lives for them. Would we give up our gasoline for them? Would we give up that really cute, really cheap sweater? Only time will tell. We may not have a choice, in the end.
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