Finding a good book to read

At our last club meeting, the hazards of finding books -- particularly online -- came up. Unless, or until, Barnes & Noble comes up with a rating system like there is for movies, the reader is pretty much in the dark about a new author and the contents or subject matter of his or her books.

I'd like to recommend what I'll call the literary pedigree approach to finding good books. It's worked very well for me.

Start with an author you've found to be enjoyable and trustworthy. Then get to know the authors that influenced him or her, and other authors who've been influenced by them.

I can still trace the pedigree that began for me with C.S. Lewis. I read, I believe, all his fiction works -- The Chronicles of Narnia, the space-time trilogy, The Great Divorce -- and then I wondered, "What next?"

Also around that time I read some of his non-fiction, and a biography or two about him. I recommend doing the latter. If you find an author that you like, get to know him or her better by reading an autobiography or biography. And pay attention to the books he or she likes. You might even be able to find this information on Wikipedia.

In Lewis' case, one literary influence was George MacDonald. He wrote Lilith, Phantastes, The Princess and the Goblin, At the Back of the North Wind, and many other terrific books. They are listed on his Wikipedia entry.

Also listed are other authors influenced by him, and I have enjoyed works by many of them: J.R.R. Tolkien, Madeleine L'Engle, and even Mark Twain. One in particular, G.K. Chesterton, brought me to some favorites: the Father Brown mysteries and The Man Who Was Thursday.
A contemporary (to us) author that found inspiration in MacDonald is Michael Phillips. His titles will keep you busy for a long time. Indeed, following the Lewis pedigree gives readers a wealth of good reading.

One other author in the Lewis realm -- a friend, though not an Inkling -- is Dorothy Sayers. Her Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries are delightful. From there the trail in my memory of links between authors peters out, but you get the drift.

By following such a trail, starting with an author of substance and learning about from whence the substance was derived, you won't go too far wrong. You'll find books that are worth reading. There's no lack of books to read these days; discerning which are most worthwhile takes a little research but is not too hard.

Review: Stealing Buddha's Dinner, a memoir by Bich Minh Nguyen

This book contains the childhood memories of a Vietnamese woman who came to this country as a baby in 1975 as Saigon fell to the Communists. She has no recollection of her old country, yet suffers as a displaced person after her family settles in our hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. It was pleasant and somewhat jarring to see it through her eyes.

Ambiguity seems to be a theme. As she grows up, she is deeply attracted to, and yet repulsed by, Americans and their ways.

Television is her entree into the culture. From it she learns the language and absorbs its lessons. As most children do, she takes it quite literally that the products she sees advertised will make her happy and fulfilled. She seems to come to an understanding early on that they won't satisfy, but the promise is so strong that she can't quite shake it.

Dissatisfaction she has plenty. Her family is fragmented, a blending of immigrants -- her Vietnamese father, sister, grandmother, and uncles with a Hispanic stepmother and stepsister. She's never known her mother, and there's no one who will tell her what she wants to know about her. While the stepmother is an English-as-a-second-language instructor who does her best to learn the system and make it work for them, the rest seem to go their own way and assimilate to varying degrees.

And it's in the days before multiculturalism. Political correctness, as odious as we often find it, nevertheless has not had its good effect of creating an awareness of the value of other cultures. And so she suffers the slings and arrows of misunderstanding, prejudice, and outright cruelty. Kind people make overtures, but with Bich it seems to only increase her isolation. She can't process what's going on around her, and can't articulate what's going on inside. The people in her life who should have nurtured her were either absent or silent.

The book gives you a good sense of her feelings. Much is relatable to everyone's experience at one time or another. Who hasn't felt like an outsider? Ugly? Hungry? Who isn't grateful to have overcome those feelings, as the author finally seems to by the end?

Readers must have patience with the shifting timeline. It often isn't clear how old the writer was when an event occured. I felt, though, that the glimpse into another life, in a time and place that I have lived through, was interesting and worthwhile.

In homage to the theme of food that ties all her chapters together, we decided to meet at a local restaurant where we could sample Vietnamese food. Lai Thai Kitchen on Leonard NE is a pleasant space with good food and accommodating staff -- who said they were Buddhist when we showed them the book we'd read and our reason for coming. And, just as in Bich's grandmother's bedroom, there sat a Buddha at the restaurant's entrance, complete with an offering of watermelon.

Selection for March: Stealing Buddha's Dinner

From the author's website: As a Vietnamese girl coming of age in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Bich Nguyen is filled with a rapacious hunger for American identity. In the pre-PC era Midwest, where the devoutly Christian blonde-haired, blue-eyed Jennifers and Tiffanys reign supreme, the barely conscious desire to belong transmutes into a passion for American food. More exotic seeming than her Buddhist grandmother’s traditional specialties—spring rolls, delicate pancakes stuffed with meats, herbs, and bean sprouts, fried shrimp cakes—the campy, preservative-filled “delicacies” of mainstream America capture her imagination. And in this remarkable book, the glossy branded allure of such American foods as Pringles, Kit Kats, and Tollhouse cookies become an ingenious metaphor for her struggle to fit in, to become a “real” American, a distinction that brings with it the dream of the perfect school lunch, burgers and Jell-O for dinner, and a visit from the Kool-Aid man.

Stealing Buddha's Dinner is a vivid, funny, and viscerally powerful memoir about childhood, assimilation, food and growing up in the 1980s.

Plan for our March discussion: To meet at a China Chef . . . unless someone can suggest a good Vietnamese restaurant.

• Discussion questions
• Interview with the author

Review: The Devil in Pew Number Seven

This book is a memoir of actual events in a little girl's life, events that changed the course of her future and shaped her character. A weaker person, indeed her own father, would be scarred irreparably. But, ironically, it was the lessons he'd taught her by the time she was seven years old that saved her from becoming bitter.

Before you crack open the cover, you know something really bad is going to happen. And after the first chapter you know what it is, but it doesn't ruin the suspense. (There's plenty of mystery remaining as to who and why.) The Devil in Pew Number Seven lags a bit when the author gets a little carried away with her metaphors attempting to describe events before her own birth; the pace and power of description picks up once she comes of age. But from start to finish the book is a page-turner, a quick and rewarding read.

The reward comes in considering the nature and source of forgiveness. Big topic for a little girl, but she learned it at an early age. Her parents trained her for it, though the reason came from a different direction than what ultimately it was most needed for. It's heartening to realize that the lessons learned before one is seven can last a lifetime. The author's parents served her well.

At the same time, a large part of our discussion centered around the issue of whether she'd had to come to the point of forgiving her parents for remaining in a situation of terror that would ultimately cost one of them their lives and the other a complete physical and mental breakdown. Should they have left the church, or at least moved away from Mr. Watts? They repeatedly gave their reason for staying as devotion to "the call" of God on their lives, but was it sacrifice or foolishness? It was right for the Apostle Paul to put his own life on the line for the gospel, but he didn't have a wife and children. And he had direct revelation from God. The question remains open -- and important to drawing conclusions for ones own life -- whether staying in Sellerstown was God's will for them.

Related:

• Sellerstown shooting story told by little girl who survived
• Churches need to recognize the symptoms of avenger violence
• Dont miss the video below, which offers some interesting revelations and explains the early over-writing.

Selection for February: The Devil in Pew Number Seven

Rebecca never felt safe as a child. In 1969, her father, Robert Nichols, moved to Sellerstown, North Carolina, to serve as a pastor. There he found a small community eager to welcome him—with one exception. Glaring at him from pew number seven was a man obsessed with controlling the church. Determined to get rid of anyone who stood in his way, he unleashed a plan of terror that was more devastating and violent than the Nichols family could have ever imagined. Refusing to be driven away by acts of intimidation, Rebecca’s father stood his ground until one night when an armed man walked into the family’s kitchen . . . and Rebecca’s life was shattered. If anyone had a reason to harbor hatred and seek personal revenge, it would be Rebecca. Yet The Devil in Pew Number Seven tells a different story. It is the amazing true saga of relentless persecution, one family’s faith and courage in the face of it, and a daughter whose parents taught her the power of forgiveness.

Related Links:
Discussion Guide
Facebook fan page
Video

Review: The Once and Future King

The tone and theme of T.H. White's novel are both a little surprising. I found the at times cartoonish atmosphere unexpected yet amusing, which lightened what would otherwise have been a heavy thesis on war and justice. The theme is brilliantly developed and the writing style fluid. White must have been deeply moved by what he saw developing in Europe circa 1939 -- 20 years or so after the end of World War I and on the cusp of Hitler's invasions and the rise of other Fascist dictators -- to create such a masterpiece. As the frontispiece suggests, White well chose a story that's in Britain's psyche.

The humor also relieved some pretty horrible scenes, particularly in book 2 about Morgause. In our discussion, someone said they found the scene where the unicorn is butchered hard to read. Yes, but it's also one of the most realistic and vivid portrayals of efforts to make a good presentation of what is an essentially botched job (sin).

We agreed that one of the most beautiful sections is in the first book, when Wart is a goose. If ever humans could repudiate war and live like the birds in peace and equanimity, wouldn't life be good? White reminds us of the geese in the last chapter, as he returns to all his themes in a summation. Because of this, we used the last chapter as a jumping-off point for our discussion.

Why do men fight? "Was it the wicked leaders who led innocent populations to slaughter, or was it wicked populations who chose leaders after their own hearts?"

What will bring peace and justice? "Countries would have to become counties -- but counties which could keep their own culture and local laws. The imaginary lines on the earth's surface only needed to be unimagined." Only the return of our future king will make this real. This apparently was not a prospect that White intended his readers to expect.

January selection: The Once & Future King, by T. H. White

We won't be meeting again until January 20, so that gives us plenty of time to read the 639 pages of T. H. White's classic Arthurian tale.

This is, according to The Merriam-Webster Encyclopedia of Literature, actually a "quartet of novels ... published in a single volume in 1958. The quartet comprises The Sword in the Stone (1938), The Queen of Air and Darkness -- first published as The Witch in the Wood (1939) -- The Ill-Made Knight (1940), and The Candle in the Wind (published in the composite volume, 1958). The series is a retelling of the Arthurian legend, from Arthur's birth to the end of his reign, and is based largely on Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte Darthur." It was also the basis of the play, "Camelot." And, we're reminded by Wikipedia, the Disney animation, "The Sword in Stone." We get to read the real thing!

The Canopy, by Angela Hunt

While I didn't think the writing was particularly fine, it is a good story and we enjoyed a good discussion about it. The story takes you into the Peruvian rainforest and into the lives of natives and explorers. Sadly, most of the characters are not well developed, so other than providing background information, there's not much to say about anyone but the two main ones -- Alex and Michael.

Alex is a skreechy, high-strung woman, too intelligent for her own good. As Michael constantly ruminates about her, at least she's good to her daughter. To everyone else, she must be moodily enigmatic. He is strangely drawn to her.

Michael has been in South America for several years and hasn't bothered to learn the language. He's there on a part humanitarian, part personal quest -- to get over the loss of his wife. Up until the crisis point in the story, he hasn't seemed to integrate his Christianity with his medicine, but when the shaman asks him to give his tribe the Gospel, he steps up in a marvelous way.

I'm always wary of how this is going to get done. In many Christian novels, the author's fear of dogmatism or preachiness (or just plain ignorance) gets in the way and you're left with a fog of vague statements about God's love and our need of . . . something.

Angela Hunt does a fine job here. Not only was the Good News clear, but so was the Bad News. In the mouth of Michael, who doesn't seem to have given cross-cultural communication much thought prior to this point, it is a powerful and simply spoken revelation.

Of course, in a novel like this, (spoiler alert) you know the main characters are going to get together. The question here is, how will Alex the Agnostic come to agreement with Michael about Christianity? Will it be believable and biblical? This was the topic of much of our discussion, and I think we left a little up in the air on both points.

I guess we could say, if you suspend all critical judgment, it was believable. It fell out much the same way that The Shack handled disbelief. It was believable if that's what she experienced. There's no other way she would have accepted it. Okay. But it's only biblical in the sense that this is the kind of thing that happened when Jesus was around, healing and saving all in one motion. It's not what we would say was "normative" for all, for today. Okay.

And then there's the matter of this tree and total healing, and faith. It leaves one with the idea that healing is dependent on your degree of faith, and faith is in . . . what? Lots of questions.

So, we're left with a good story, interesting facts about plants and bugs in the rainforest, anthropological information about tribes in the jungle, and a wonderful moment when the tribe as a group accepts Michael's word. Fabulous. But still maybe not recommended for those without faith. I don't know.

November's selection: The Canopy, by Angela Hunt

Lisa said books by Angela Hunt are thought-provoking, and gave The Canopy as her first choice of the three she's read. It's in the church library, and there seem to be plenty of copies in the KDL system. Reviewers have said:

"Award-winning, best-selling author Angela Hunt combines the unique rainforest setting, modern science, and a thrilling race for a cure into a powerful message of faith and redemption."

"Science and faith meet in the search for a cure for Mad Cow Disease and other encephalopathies as two doctors venture through the Peruvian jungle."

Hmmm. Sounds interesting. I have my hold placed. See you November 18!

Barchester Towers, by Anthony Trollope

I've just begun reading Trollope's autobiography, and I'm searching for insight on how he got to be such a fine observer of character as evidenced in Barchester Towers. From reading only so far as his youth and education, I've found a few clues. One, he was a lonely boy, set aside from the boys at school by his family's poverty. He said of those times,

I suffered horribly! I could make no stand against [his fellow's cruelty]. I had no friend to whom I could pour out my sorrows. I was big, and awkward, and ugly, and, I have no doubt, sulked about in a most unattractive manner. Of course, I was ill-dressed and dirty. But ah! how well I remember all the agonies of my young heart; how I considered whether I should always be alone; whether I could not find my way up to the top of that college tower, and from thence put an end to everything.

Misery, indeed. Being such an acute sufferer, he could sympathize with the likes of Mr. Harding and recognize the abuses of a Slope and Grantly.

But keen observation doesn't explain his artistry. I can't think of Trollope's equal in his ability to amuse and enlighten in a few deft words. He is a master. I hope that readers can appreciate the following quotes from Barchester Towers even though they're out of context:

Of the dying bishop: "If he did not do much active good, he never did any harm."

Of the new bishop's wife: "I cannot think that with all her virtues she adds much to her husband's happiness."

"The great family characteristic of the Stanhopes might probably be said to be heartlessness, but this want of feeling was, in most of them, accompanied by so great an amount of good nature as to make itself but little noticeable to the world."

Of Mr. Harding: "The whole tendency of his mind and disposition was opposed to any contra-assumption of grandeur on his own part, and he hadn't the worldly spirit or quickness necessary to put down insolent pretensions by downright and open rebuke."

"Mr. Slope was not in all things a bad man. His motives, like those of most men, were mixed, and though his conduct was generally very different from that which we would wish to praise, it was actuated perhaps as often as that of the majority of the world by a desire to do his duty." How many do we know of these types?

Of Mr. Arabin: "Too apt to look down on the ordinary sense of ordinary people."

"There was nothing poetic in the nature of Mrs. Quiverful." Which is ironic, given that it comes after a paragraph in which the author waxes exceedingly poetic about her.

How does Trollope know us so well, and yet have the audacity to remark "how little our friends know us!"? In describing Mr. Arabin, the author notes,

Considering how much we are all given to discuss the characters of others, and discuss them often not in the strictest spirit of charity, it is singular how little we are inclined to think that others can speak ill-naturedly of us. . . . [W]e all of us occasionally speak of our dearest friends in a manner in which those dearest friends would very little like to hear themselves mentioned, and that we nevertheless expect that our dearest friends shall invariably speak of us as though they were blind to all our faults, but keenly alive to every shade of our virtues. It did not occur to Mr. Arabin that he was spoken of at all. It seemed to him, when he compared himself with his host, that he was a person of so little consequence to any, that he was worth no one's words or thoughts.

And then,

Wise people, when they are in the wrong, always put themselves right by finding fault with the people against whom they have sinned. . . . A man in the right relies easily on his rectitude and therefore goes about unarmed. His very strength is his weakness. A man in the wrong knows that he must look to his weapons; his very weakness is his strength. The one is never prepared for combat, the other is always ready. Therefore it is that in this world the man that is in the wrong almost invariably conquers the man that is in the right, and invariably despises him.

Too true. Trollope is not fooled by the mask of religion either. And he can have his most odious characters speak the most truth, as when Slope says, "A Christian should have a reason for his faith -- should not only believe, but digest -- not only hear, but understand."

Then, in the mouth of the signora, in the midst of the seduction and destruction of Slope, he puts these words: "You preach a doctrine which you know you don't believe. It is the way with you all. If you know that there is no earthly happiness, why do you long to be a bishop or a dean? Why do you want lands and income? . . . I will believe in no belief that does not make itself manifest by outward signs. I will think no preaching sincere that is not recommended by the practice of the preacher."

I will also be watching, in his autobiography, for clues to how Trollope developed his view of the church and its clergy, for what led him to say in Barchester Towers, "We are not forced into church! No: but we desire more than that. We desire not to be forced to stay away."

And this brings me to one other thing I enjoy about Trollope's novels: the little asides by which he tells us what he thinks and his reasons for certain writing choices. One reviewer said he felt these could be skipped through in order to get on with the plot. I'm sorry for him.

Finally, I encourage you to read the backstory for Barchester Towers, The Warden. It's a sweet tale; read Page Turner's blog post for her review.