Once you've finished reading The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls, (our November club selection) I recommend you read this interview. It asks questions that I wished I could ask her, such as would she have grown up to be a different person if she'd had three square meals a day and running water.
I'm looking forward to our discussion, and to reading her new book, Half Broke Horses, which is about her mother's mother.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Our visit to The Shack
Many of us never planned to read The Shack, by William P. Young, because when a book is hyped as this has been, when non-fiction-readers praise it as "the best novel" they've ever read, we're skeptical. But now I think we were glad club members chose it and gave us the opportunity to join what seems to be the rest of the world. I confess I was pleasantly surprised to have enjoyed the story, despite it's being poorly (overly) written.
That's quite a feat: being a poor writer and yet telling a good tale. Mixed metaphors and hackneyed dialog are a lot to overcome. Please, get this man an editor! Others have suggested he should rewrite in order to beef up the theology; I say, rewrite and get rid of half the adjectives.
Here's an example of what I mean, from his discovery of the note from Papa: "It was confusing and painful trying to sort out the swirling cacophony of disturbing emotions and dark images clouding his mind -- a million thoughts traveling a million miles an hour." A cacophony is a swirl of confused sounds, not emotions or images. I was confused, too.
Good writing is invisible. It doesn't cause you to stop and wonder, "What did he just say?" Neither is it overdone. I wrote "Please, stop!" on my little sticky note next to this portion:
"Shortly after the summer that Missy vanished, The Great Sadness had draped itself around Mack's shoulders like some invisible but almost tangibly heavy quilt. The weight of its presence dulled his eyes and stooped his shoulders. [Interjection: How does weight dull your eyes?] Even his efforts to shake it off were exhausting, as if his arms were sown into its bleak folds of despair and he had somehow become part of it. He ate, worked, loved, dreamed and played in this garment of heaviness, weighted down as if he were wearing a leaden bathrobe [What happened to the quilt?] -- trudging daily through the murky despondency that sucked the color out of everything." Whew! Enough already!!
What's good about the story is Young's cleverness at moving the story along. For instance, I worried how he was going to handle the meeting with Papa at the shack. How would God be revealed? Would there be a long debate in Mack's mind whether this really was God or just a crazy person in the woods? What would God do to prove His presence? I thought the way Young devised the denouement was brilliant.
I also worried, nearing the end, how Mack would re-enter daily life and convince his wife his experience was "real." Like him, I wondered how he would even begin to tell her but, again, the author worked it out deftly. Because of the way he crafted the ending, there could only be one explanation for how he had become a fundamentally changed person.
There were other things we liked: his portrayals of God's love (He's with us past, present, and future), his assertions of God's goodness, his emphasis on and insights into relationships (expectancy and response vs. expectations and responsibility). These qualities combine to make this book of great help to the sorrowing, as several have attested. They also serve as an exhortation to those of us who have been in the Faith a while and have sufficient understanding to know a book like this is not to be taken as Gospel Truth. We agreed, however, that The Shack is not recommended reading for unbelievers.
Why? There are several incongruities that make it troubling. I will leave the heavy criticism to others who have been more thorough (and here). I will merely mention a few that occured to me.
1. The author maintains that love is exclusive of authority (hierarchy), but this is simplistic. As you read the Bible, I don't think you can get away from the reality or needfulness of hierarchy -- even pre-Fall. Jude says that dangerous men reject authority; Moses was certainly an authority figure who loved the people he led. So, love and authority are not mutually exclusive, and it's dangerous to speak of God (and the Godhead) as not having authority or instituting hierarchy.
2. Similarly, the author maintains that love means never being disappointed in the object of one's love. This is just silly. (It sounds like the other side of the "Love-means-you-never-have-to-say-you're-sorry" coin.) One club member noted how, as a parent, she can be disappointed in her children without losing her love for them. Another noted how the Bible says our actions can grieve the Holy Spirit. So this is a needless distinction.
3. The book is dangerously disparaging of God's word ("reduced to paper") and His Church. This would appeal to readers who feel alienated from both, and probably accounts for much of the book's popularity, but it doesn't do enough (or anything) to bring them to a proper perspective. How can the psalmist say, "I love your law, O Lord" if God's word is not wonderful?
4. Many other important concepts are only vaguely defined: sin ("is its own punishment"), eternal damnation, and salvation. Readers without the basics can be left to conclude there is no hell and that other ways to God are possible, even if Jesus is "the best way."
For instance, the story of the Indian princess is contrived as a redemption story that Papa approves. But do stories such as this really lead people to Christ, and ultimately to God? Jesus' sacrifice is fundamentally different than the princess' in significant ways. Foremost is Jesus' divinity; his was the perfect sacrifice (he being sinless), while she (although a virgin) died in her own sin. God, satisfied with with Jesus' sacrifice, raised him from the dead. Because of the resurrection, Jesus' sacrifice cared for our deepest problem (death resulting from sin), while the Indians were only temporarily healed and would eventually die.
Many other distinctions could be made, but one other thing occured to me about the princess story: no one (except Will) saw fit to transcribe it, whereas God saw it as necessary to have His story written. He wanted us to know for certain that Jesus is the focal point of history (as The Shack properly avers) and grants eternal life to those with faith in him. The Indians were not required to have faith; her story was handed down as legend, not as Truth. And that's the level on which The Shack exists. It's a good story, but just a legend.
That's quite a feat: being a poor writer and yet telling a good tale. Mixed metaphors and hackneyed dialog are a lot to overcome. Please, get this man an editor! Others have suggested he should rewrite in order to beef up the theology; I say, rewrite and get rid of half the adjectives.
Here's an example of what I mean, from his discovery of the note from Papa: "It was confusing and painful trying to sort out the swirling cacophony of disturbing emotions and dark images clouding his mind -- a million thoughts traveling a million miles an hour." A cacophony is a swirl of confused sounds, not emotions or images. I was confused, too.
Good writing is invisible. It doesn't cause you to stop and wonder, "What did he just say?" Neither is it overdone. I wrote "Please, stop!" on my little sticky note next to this portion:
"Shortly after the summer that Missy vanished, The Great Sadness had draped itself around Mack's shoulders like some invisible but almost tangibly heavy quilt. The weight of its presence dulled his eyes and stooped his shoulders. [Interjection: How does weight dull your eyes?] Even his efforts to shake it off were exhausting, as if his arms were sown into its bleak folds of despair and he had somehow become part of it. He ate, worked, loved, dreamed and played in this garment of heaviness, weighted down as if he were wearing a leaden bathrobe [What happened to the quilt?] -- trudging daily through the murky despondency that sucked the color out of everything." Whew! Enough already!!
What's good about the story is Young's cleverness at moving the story along. For instance, I worried how he was going to handle the meeting with Papa at the shack. How would God be revealed? Would there be a long debate in Mack's mind whether this really was God or just a crazy person in the woods? What would God do to prove His presence? I thought the way Young devised the denouement was brilliant.
I also worried, nearing the end, how Mack would re-enter daily life and convince his wife his experience was "real." Like him, I wondered how he would even begin to tell her but, again, the author worked it out deftly. Because of the way he crafted the ending, there could only be one explanation for how he had become a fundamentally changed person.
There were other things we liked: his portrayals of God's love (He's with us past, present, and future), his assertions of God's goodness, his emphasis on and insights into relationships (expectancy and response vs. expectations and responsibility). These qualities combine to make this book of great help to the sorrowing, as several have attested. They also serve as an exhortation to those of us who have been in the Faith a while and have sufficient understanding to know a book like this is not to be taken as Gospel Truth. We agreed, however, that The Shack is not recommended reading for unbelievers.
Why? There are several incongruities that make it troubling. I will leave the heavy criticism to others who have been more thorough (and here). I will merely mention a few that occured to me.
1. The author maintains that love is exclusive of authority (hierarchy), but this is simplistic. As you read the Bible, I don't think you can get away from the reality or needfulness of hierarchy -- even pre-Fall. Jude says that dangerous men reject authority; Moses was certainly an authority figure who loved the people he led. So, love and authority are not mutually exclusive, and it's dangerous to speak of God (and the Godhead) as not having authority or instituting hierarchy.
2. Similarly, the author maintains that love means never being disappointed in the object of one's love. This is just silly. (It sounds like the other side of the "Love-means-you-never-have-to-say-you're-sorry" coin.) One club member noted how, as a parent, she can be disappointed in her children without losing her love for them. Another noted how the Bible says our actions can grieve the Holy Spirit. So this is a needless distinction.
3. The book is dangerously disparaging of God's word ("reduced to paper") and His Church. This would appeal to readers who feel alienated from both, and probably accounts for much of the book's popularity, but it doesn't do enough (or anything) to bring them to a proper perspective. How can the psalmist say, "I love your law, O Lord" if God's word is not wonderful?
4. Many other important concepts are only vaguely defined: sin ("is its own punishment"), eternal damnation, and salvation. Readers without the basics can be left to conclude there is no hell and that other ways to God are possible, even if Jesus is "the best way."
For instance, the story of the Indian princess is contrived as a redemption story that Papa approves. But do stories such as this really lead people to Christ, and ultimately to God? Jesus' sacrifice is fundamentally different than the princess' in significant ways. Foremost is Jesus' divinity; his was the perfect sacrifice (he being sinless), while she (although a virgin) died in her own sin. God, satisfied with with Jesus' sacrifice, raised him from the dead. Because of the resurrection, Jesus' sacrifice cared for our deepest problem (death resulting from sin), while the Indians were only temporarily healed and would eventually die.
Many other distinctions could be made, but one other thing occured to me about the princess story: no one (except Will) saw fit to transcribe it, whereas God saw it as necessary to have His story written. He wanted us to know for certain that Jesus is the focal point of history (as The Shack properly avers) and grants eternal life to those with faith in him. The Indians were not required to have faith; her story was handed down as legend, not as Truth. And that's the level on which The Shack exists. It's a good story, but just a legend.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Dissecting The Little Prince
"The day you stop loving me you can leave with my heart in your hands, and it will be blessed."
"And if you ever love another man, you'll have proven yourself faithless - but I don't want you to leave."
Such are the "vows" spoken between Consuelo (first speaker) and Antoine (second speaker) de Sainte-Exupery shortly before their marriage. They were recorded in The Tale of the Rose, a memoir of their complicated relationship, written by Consuelo a few years after her husband's plane disappeared over southern France.
If, as a college professor taught, you can't know a book until you know its author, and you can't know an author without reading more than one of his books (and books about the author), then you can't understand The Little Prince without including the memoir in your reading. I read The Tale alongside the well-beloved fable, and it did illumine the story.
Antoine, author of The Little Prince, acknowledged his wife as being the rose among roses, the one rose in all the universe who "tamed" him and that he yet abandoned time and again. For Antoine, the rose's planet was too small. He found the rose too demanding, too precious for long close contact. He would roam into the garden of 5,000 roses, be amused by them, and then return. This was a pattern of their marriage.
It could be that, like the little prince, he came to believe, "I should have never run away. I ought to have realized the tenderness underlying her silly pretensions. Flowers are so contradictory! But I was too young to know how to love her." Was Exupery exasperated by his wife? Did he mistrust her? Allow "certain inconsequential remarks" to bother him too much? Was he annoyed by her vanity? Had he failed to appreciate her perfume, and how she lit up his life? We only have his testament and her memoir.
He left unacknowledged how often he would uproot the rose, plant her in another garden, and then leave her alone. Consuelo would adapt, settle in, accustom herself to waiting for him and to being lonely. She would find work and make friends. And then he would reappear, light up her world, and say, "It's time to move!" After the move, he would soon announce, "I must be off!" Thus he would separate her from her "support system" and abandon her again.
Today, we'd call this a controlling personality. He is like the fox, who told the prince how he wanted to be tamed. Antoine wanted Consuelo all to himself, in short increments and only on his terms. This constant upheaval and uncertainty about their relationship caused her tremendous strain; her physical and mental health suffered throughout their life "together." It wasn't until what became the last year or so of his life that they actually lived happily for a space of time while he wrote The Little Prince. Then he was off again near the end of WWII, to save France, and his plane was lost.
It's difficult to read about an untamed man like Exupery. How are we to understand or sympathize with him? But Consuelo keeps you rooted. Her reactions to her circumstances are very normal. She, like you, marvels at his audacity, and yet she is not embittered by him. In the last pages of the book she confirms her love for him and relates some humerous stories that help us see his appeal. He was a charming man, delighting anyone in his presence, and leaving a vacuum in his absence. Childlike to the end of his days, his fable was true for him, if not completely true of himself. A person can write beautifully and not live that way.
-----------
Notable quotes from The Little Prince:
"The proof of the little prince's existence is that he was delightful, that he laughed, and that he wanted a sheep. When someone wants a sheep, that proves he exists."
"'It's a question of discipline,' the little prince told me later on. 'When you've finished washing and dressing each morning, you must tend your planet.'"
"'One must command from each what each can perform,' the king went on. 'Authority is based first of all upon reason.'"
"But the vain man did not hear him. Vain men never hear anything but praise."
"The little prince had very different ideas about serious things from those of the grown-ups. 'I own a flower myself,' he continued, 'which I water every day. I own three volcanoes, which I rake out every week. I even rake out the extinct one. You never know. So it's of some use to my volcanoes, and it's useful to my flower, that I own them. But you're not useful to the stars.'"
"'The only things you learn are the things you tame,' said the fox."
"'Anything essential is invisible to the eyes,' the little prince repeated, in order to remember. 'It's the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important. . . . You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose.'"
"The stars are beautiful because of a flower you don't see."
"And if you ever love another man, you'll have proven yourself faithless - but I don't want you to leave."
Such are the "vows" spoken between Consuelo (first speaker) and Antoine (second speaker) de Sainte-Exupery shortly before their marriage. They were recorded in The Tale of the Rose, a memoir of their complicated relationship, written by Consuelo a few years after her husband's plane disappeared over southern France.
If, as a college professor taught, you can't know a book until you know its author, and you can't know an author without reading more than one of his books (and books about the author), then you can't understand The Little Prince without including the memoir in your reading. I read The Tale alongside the well-beloved fable, and it did illumine the story.
Antoine, author of The Little Prince, acknowledged his wife as being the rose among roses, the one rose in all the universe who "tamed" him and that he yet abandoned time and again. For Antoine, the rose's planet was too small. He found the rose too demanding, too precious for long close contact. He would roam into the garden of 5,000 roses, be amused by them, and then return. This was a pattern of their marriage.
It could be that, like the little prince, he came to believe, "I should have never run away. I ought to have realized the tenderness underlying her silly pretensions. Flowers are so contradictory! But I was too young to know how to love her." Was Exupery exasperated by his wife? Did he mistrust her? Allow "certain inconsequential remarks" to bother him too much? Was he annoyed by her vanity? Had he failed to appreciate her perfume, and how she lit up his life? We only have his testament and her memoir.
He left unacknowledged how often he would uproot the rose, plant her in another garden, and then leave her alone. Consuelo would adapt, settle in, accustom herself to waiting for him and to being lonely. She would find work and make friends. And then he would reappear, light up her world, and say, "It's time to move!" After the move, he would soon announce, "I must be off!" Thus he would separate her from her "support system" and abandon her again.
Today, we'd call this a controlling personality. He is like the fox, who told the prince how he wanted to be tamed. Antoine wanted Consuelo all to himself, in short increments and only on his terms. This constant upheaval and uncertainty about their relationship caused her tremendous strain; her physical and mental health suffered throughout their life "together." It wasn't until what became the last year or so of his life that they actually lived happily for a space of time while he wrote The Little Prince. Then he was off again near the end of WWII, to save France, and his plane was lost.
It's difficult to read about an untamed man like Exupery. How are we to understand or sympathize with him? But Consuelo keeps you rooted. Her reactions to her circumstances are very normal. She, like you, marvels at his audacity, and yet she is not embittered by him. In the last pages of the book she confirms her love for him and relates some humerous stories that help us see his appeal. He was a charming man, delighting anyone in his presence, and leaving a vacuum in his absence. Childlike to the end of his days, his fable was true for him, if not completely true of himself. A person can write beautifully and not live that way.
-----------
Notable quotes from The Little Prince:
"The proof of the little prince's existence is that he was delightful, that he laughed, and that he wanted a sheep. When someone wants a sheep, that proves he exists."
"'It's a question of discipline,' the little prince told me later on. 'When you've finished washing and dressing each morning, you must tend your planet.'"
"'One must command from each what each can perform,' the king went on. 'Authority is based first of all upon reason.'"
"But the vain man did not hear him. Vain men never hear anything but praise."
"The little prince had very different ideas about serious things from those of the grown-ups. 'I own a flower myself,' he continued, 'which I water every day. I own three volcanoes, which I rake out every week. I even rake out the extinct one. You never know. So it's of some use to my volcanoes, and it's useful to my flower, that I own them. But you're not useful to the stars.'"
"'The only things you learn are the things you tame,' said the fox."
"'Anything essential is invisible to the eyes,' the little prince repeated, in order to remember. 'It's the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important. . . . You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose.'"
"The stars are beautiful because of a flower you don't see."
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Next selection: The Little Prince
For this next year, we're adopting a "members choice" format. We'll take turns selecting books, and if anyone draws a blank, they can take a look at our running list of Books We Want To Read Before We Die. We're also hoping to add to our membership.
Slow Reader went first, and had a ready selection in The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. This tiny book -- only 83 pages! -- can be found in the children's section of libraries. It's also on the shelf at Schuler's. I believe it can even be read online.
But it's thought-provoking and sweet. As one web reviewer said, "The Little Prince appears to be a simple childrens tale, some would say that it is actually a profound and deeply moving tale, written in riddles and laced with philosopy and poetic metaphor." We hope it attracts new members, and encourages old ones to get back to the group.
I found some study notes here.
Slow Reader went first, and had a ready selection in The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. This tiny book -- only 83 pages! -- can be found in the children's section of libraries. It's also on the shelf at Schuler's. I believe it can even be read online.
But it's thought-provoking and sweet. As one web reviewer said, "The Little Prince appears to be a simple childrens tale, some would say that it is actually a profound and deeply moving tale, written in riddles and laced with philosopy and poetic metaphor." We hope it attracts new members, and encourages old ones to get back to the group.
I found some study notes here.
Gaudy Night discussion
Dorothy Sayers' romance mysteries -- Strong Poison, Have His Carcase, Gaudy Night, and Busman's Honeymoon -- while delightful, did not engender much discussion. Or maybe we were just not in the mood. Gaudy Night, our main focus, does have plenty of philosophical material in it. The female characters repeatedly discuss the merits of academic life versus marriage. Women of the 1920s and 30s couldn't "have it all." The dons also dissected Harriet's relationship with Lord Peter Wimsey, and debated the aristocracy, while Harriet grappled with these issues on a more personal level. The book does, of course, come to a gratifying conclusion.
The subject of community cropped up again in our thoughts. Characters liken the women's college where the story takes place to a cloister. While the level of commitment a nun makes isn't expected of female academics, the women do study and teach in an enclosure as nearly cut off from society as the abbey of Brede. Outsiders are rare, and visits controlled. Male academics from other Oxford colleges perform services similar to that of the Bishop in House of Brede, offering a "blessing" on a new library.
Next to community life in House of Brede and to "the membership" in Wendell Berry's books, academic life in Gaudy Night pales by comparison. Competition has replaced community. There are friendships (alliances), and if one woman succeeds it helps the college, but the price is fellowship. There's no spiritual bond, no purpose higher than academic acheivement and advancement. Little effort is made to foster grace, compassion, patience, sharing, humility, etc. It's a hollow world.
The subject of community cropped up again in our thoughts. Characters liken the women's college where the story takes place to a cloister. While the level of commitment a nun makes isn't expected of female academics, the women do study and teach in an enclosure as nearly cut off from society as the abbey of Brede. Outsiders are rare, and visits controlled. Male academics from other Oxford colleges perform services similar to that of the Bishop in House of Brede, offering a "blessing" on a new library.
Next to community life in House of Brede and to "the membership" in Wendell Berry's books, academic life in Gaudy Night pales by comparison. Competition has replaced community. There are friendships (alliances), and if one woman succeeds it helps the college, but the price is fellowship. There's no spiritual bond, no purpose higher than academic acheivement and advancement. Little effort is made to foster grace, compassion, patience, sharing, humility, etc. It's a hollow world.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
In This House of Brede discussion
The five of us enjoyed a good discussion of a book I think we all agreed was worthwhile. It's one of those books that keeps you thinking long after, and wondering "whatever happened to those nuns?"
The first point of discussion was pronunciation. Apparently "Brede" is pronounced the way it looks, "breed," according to an online reference.
We also talked about the strangeness of abbey life to a bunch of Protestants. We're unfamiliar with orders, the hours, the habit, the "grill," the difference between a claustral and a choir nun, and the whole lengthy procedure for becoming one. Much still is mysterious.
But that's due in large part to the book's stream-of-consciousness style. You have to hang on and keep reading in faith that you'll get what's happening -- and to whom -- eventually. And you do.
Rumer Godden just throws you into the middle of the story, in the midst of a crowd of characters, and expects you to swim. Sorry, mixed metaphors. Try "sea of characters." You're given an abbey-full of nuns and you're expected to remember who's who, and figure out what's going on as the story weaves in an out of time periods. (Another metaphor.) But it's okay, you'll get it. It's enjoyable to just relax and let the story take you in.
We tried one or two of the book's discussion questions, but then veered over to Wordsmith's. There were also subjects that each of us wanted to explore, like me. I wanted to talk about art. For all the abbey's seeming asceticism -- which in the Benedictine world is apparently much less than in other orders -- there was a rich artistic culture and the nuns were encouraged to indulge their passions, guided or subsumed by the needs of of the community. It seemed to me that the famous artist who came from the outside to sculpt the altar was the most interesting character in the book, and he had a profound affect on the abbess -- acknowledging her femininity and personhood without demands, with great appreciation. He made her feel beautiful. He "saw" her, despite or maybe because of all the trappings.
Of course, community is a significant topic in the book, and has been in several of our book selections -- Hannah Coulter (Wendell Berry) especially. We discussed the similarities between abbey life and The Membership. And we talked about whether or not abbey life seemed attractive to us.
Well, there was a lot more to the discussion, but I've lost track. I hope others will carry on.
The first point of discussion was pronunciation. Apparently "Brede" is pronounced the way it looks, "breed," according to an online reference.
We also talked about the strangeness of abbey life to a bunch of Protestants. We're unfamiliar with orders, the hours, the habit, the "grill," the difference between a claustral and a choir nun, and the whole lengthy procedure for becoming one. Much still is mysterious.
But that's due in large part to the book's stream-of-consciousness style. You have to hang on and keep reading in faith that you'll get what's happening -- and to whom -- eventually. And you do.
Rumer Godden just throws you into the middle of the story, in the midst of a crowd of characters, and expects you to swim. Sorry, mixed metaphors. Try "sea of characters." You're given an abbey-full of nuns and you're expected to remember who's who, and figure out what's going on as the story weaves in an out of time periods. (Another metaphor.) But it's okay, you'll get it. It's enjoyable to just relax and let the story take you in.
We tried one or two of the book's discussion questions, but then veered over to Wordsmith's. There were also subjects that each of us wanted to explore, like me. I wanted to talk about art. For all the abbey's seeming asceticism -- which in the Benedictine world is apparently much less than in other orders -- there was a rich artistic culture and the nuns were encouraged to indulge their passions, guided or subsumed by the needs of of the community. It seemed to me that the famous artist who came from the outside to sculpt the altar was the most interesting character in the book, and he had a profound affect on the abbess -- acknowledging her femininity and personhood without demands, with great appreciation. He made her feel beautiful. He "saw" her, despite or maybe because of all the trappings.
Of course, community is a significant topic in the book, and has been in several of our book selections -- Hannah Coulter (Wendell Berry) especially. We discussed the similarities between abbey life and The Membership. And we talked about whether or not abbey life seemed attractive to us.
Well, there was a lot more to the discussion, but I've lost track. I hope others will carry on.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Music to read by: Sounds of the House of Brede
Well, okay, Brede isn't a real place, but if you want to get a sense of what Dame Cecily was singing, go to NPR for samples of Ancient Music Revived at the Lune Convent. Three selections are available; don't miss the Choral Music for Palm Sunday: 'Miserere' down at the bottom of the page. Wonderful! Okay, and this: Palestrina: 'Kyrie' from Missa Papae Marcelli (Choir of Westminster Abbey). Sublime! One more: Bach's Mass In B Minor: A Cathedral In Sound. Enjoy!
5/18/09 - I found another style of chant music on an album in English: To St. Xenia of Petersburg, Two Canons and a Canticle. Check out 'God is the Lord.'
5/18/09 - I found another style of chant music on an album in English: To St. Xenia of Petersburg, Two Canons and a Canticle. Check out 'God is the Lord.'
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Another question about In This House of Brede
As you were reading, did you find yourself wondering what in the world was a "pleached alley"? I looked it up. Encyclopedia Britannica says it's a "garden path, on each side of which living branches have been intertwined in such a way that a wall of self-supporting living foliage has grown up. To treat each side of a garden walk, or alley, with pleaching and thus make a secluded walk was a favourite device of the 16th and 17th centuries. Although most pleaching is done by gardeners, it can also occur naturally. Maples, sycamores, and lindens are commonly pleached." 'Pleached' refers to plaiting or braiding.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Questions for Discussion: In This House of Brede
I finished In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden in mid-April to make sure it was a good selection for Captive Thoughts Book Club's May discussion. You can read my review here, and I hope that everyone enjoys it as much as I did. Some background information on the author, Rumer Godden, can be found here.
Even though there are discussion questions on the publisher's website, I thought a few more might fuel our discussion, and at least one is specific to our reading schedule this year. I'll post them here in case any other readers or book clubs might find them helpful too. Please add any additional questions in the comments.
Even though there are discussion questions on the publisher's website, I thought a few more might fuel our discussion, and at least one is specific to our reading schedule this year. I'll post them here in case any other readers or book clubs might find them helpful too. Please add any additional questions in the comments.
- Do you think the book is more Phillippa's story or the story of Brede monastery? Does the individual or the community have more prominence? What aspects of or examples from community life can be applicable to any type of community or relationships?
- How are the themes of forgiveness and redemption woven throughout the story? Where and how does grace fit in the life of the nuns?
- What are some similarities or differences between In This House of Brede and other books that we've read this year? For example, contrast the view of Catholicism here to that in Angela's Ashes or La Reine Margot; compare "The Membership" in Hannah Coulter to the monastic community, especially the idea of enclosure; or compare the role of the nuns to the place of women in the Bronte novels.
- When the prioress Dame Beatrice, asked Abbess Catherine, "Which is worse, Dame Veronica exalted or humble?" the Abbess replied, "Humble is more dangerous." (318-319, ch. 16). In light of Dame Veronica's character and personality as well as the incidents in which she was involved, what do you think the Abbess meant by that statement?
- Do you think Sister Cecily made the right choice in Chapter 17?
- Has your view or understanding of Catholicism, particularly monasticism, changed after reading this book?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Continuing the Bronte Discussion
I apologize for not contributing soon after our "All Things Bronte" discussion night, but computer problems hindered. And then, I wanted to finish Agnes Grey. That done this afternoon, and the computer refitted with a monster-hard drive, I can post.
We only had three at our April meeting, which was disappointing because we knew others have read and enjoyed the Brontes. We wanted to hear what all had to say, and the blog is your opportunity. Please, post, whether you attended or not. Especially if you did not.
I've just read Page Turner's review of Agnes Grey, and won't add much to it. I found it much more enjoyable than The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (also by Anne Bronte), which I read in time for the book club but felt to be too much like a tract on behavior.
It's surprising to me that Tenant was Anne's second novel (with Agnes the first). Agnes Grey handles narrative more maturely, while Tenant clumsily contrives to be a series of letters and a journal. I say 'clumsily,' because I don't believe anyone would write either at such length, especially characters such as a farmer and a young mother. Furthermore, the journal portion doesn't ring true because it reads as though the writer knows the end from the beginning. No diarist knows what's going to be important until after she has reread her pages and reflected on the themes that keep reappearing. It's written as though she knows she'll need an excuse for leaving her husband. The reader is being set up. Why not use the first-person narrative, as in Agnes Grey? In it, Anne succeeds at having her heroine look back on a hard life in antipation of a more fulfilling future.
Agnes Grey is also a 'tract on behavior,' but less preachy. Tenant is full of tiresome speeches, while Agnes is reflective and interspersed with snippets of action that bear out a point the main character is making. We get her take on the many types that populate her world, as Page Turner describes. I kept having the impression, reading both, that here was the book of Proverbs fleshed out. There's the fool, the slothful person, the mocker, the drunkard, the adulterer, the prudent, the excellent wife, the poor, the humble, the simple.
The main characters of both books desire to be good and faithful. They believe they'll answer to God for their actions, and that being abused is no excuse for letting down standards. They also find hope in the reality of a future where all is made right and where heavenly joys more than compensate for whatever they might have missed on earth.
Anne Bronte seems to have been the most open of the sisters about her faith, although Charlotte certainly used her art to advance morality. (Having read Wuthering Heights long ago, I can't say whether Emily intended Heathcliff and Cathy's doomed love as a warning against unbridled passion, although it has that effect. Someone else want to chime in?) All the sisters seem to have high ideals for marriage and use their novels to spell out what they (and we) should like in a man.
We spent a little time discussing the Victorian ideals for womanhood and manhood. I found an interesting web site call The Victorian Web, on which you can find writings about the Brontes, and on various related subjects (such as The Gentleman; I can't locate what I'd read earlier on ideal womanhood). Tenant, especially, deals with these themes and, while many men in the story put their heroines on a pedestal, I'm not sure Anne sees that as a problem. The virtuous women in her stories seem to not mind being put up there, or being called "angels." It being their duty to supress their own desires in order to serve the whims of their husbands, they see themselves as extensions of their husbands. Nevertheless, the Bronte heroines maintain an understanding of their own personal worth and do not fear independence.
We only had three at our April meeting, which was disappointing because we knew others have read and enjoyed the Brontes. We wanted to hear what all had to say, and the blog is your opportunity. Please, post, whether you attended or not. Especially if you did not.
I've just read Page Turner's review of Agnes Grey, and won't add much to it. I found it much more enjoyable than The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (also by Anne Bronte), which I read in time for the book club but felt to be too much like a tract on behavior.
It's surprising to me that Tenant was Anne's second novel (with Agnes the first). Agnes Grey handles narrative more maturely, while Tenant clumsily contrives to be a series of letters and a journal. I say 'clumsily,' because I don't believe anyone would write either at such length, especially characters such as a farmer and a young mother. Furthermore, the journal portion doesn't ring true because it reads as though the writer knows the end from the beginning. No diarist knows what's going to be important until after she has reread her pages and reflected on the themes that keep reappearing. It's written as though she knows she'll need an excuse for leaving her husband. The reader is being set up. Why not use the first-person narrative, as in Agnes Grey? In it, Anne succeeds at having her heroine look back on a hard life in antipation of a more fulfilling future.
Agnes Grey is also a 'tract on behavior,' but less preachy. Tenant is full of tiresome speeches, while Agnes is reflective and interspersed with snippets of action that bear out a point the main character is making. We get her take on the many types that populate her world, as Page Turner describes. I kept having the impression, reading both, that here was the book of Proverbs fleshed out. There's the fool, the slothful person, the mocker, the drunkard, the adulterer, the prudent, the excellent wife, the poor, the humble, the simple.
The main characters of both books desire to be good and faithful. They believe they'll answer to God for their actions, and that being abused is no excuse for letting down standards. They also find hope in the reality of a future where all is made right and where heavenly joys more than compensate for whatever they might have missed on earth.
Anne Bronte seems to have been the most open of the sisters about her faith, although Charlotte certainly used her art to advance morality. (Having read Wuthering Heights long ago, I can't say whether Emily intended Heathcliff and Cathy's doomed love as a warning against unbridled passion, although it has that effect. Someone else want to chime in?) All the sisters seem to have high ideals for marriage and use their novels to spell out what they (and we) should like in a man.
We spent a little time discussing the Victorian ideals for womanhood and manhood. I found an interesting web site call The Victorian Web, on which you can find writings about the Brontes, and on various related subjects (such as The Gentleman; I can't locate what I'd read earlier on ideal womanhood). Tenant, especially, deals with these themes and, while many men in the story put their heroines on a pedestal, I'm not sure Anne sees that as a problem. The virtuous women in her stories seem to not mind being put up there, or being called "angels." It being their duty to supress their own desires in order to serve the whims of their husbands, they see themselves as extensions of their husbands. Nevertheless, the Bronte heroines maintain an understanding of their own personal worth and do not fear independence.
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