Summertime and the Reading is Easy, Part II

Part 1 covered June, Part 2 July. Maybe I'll get Part 3 done (and posted) before summer is over (and you can interpret that as either the end of August or when fall starts on September 22nd). ( :

The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
Carrie has written about her love for this series many times, and I'm glad to have finally embarked on the journey. This book is clever, intriguing, and full of adventure that any child (or adult) should enjoy. I especially liked the mind puzzles and the way the characters' strengths and weaknesses complemented one another perfectly. I think my daughter could handle the reading level now, but I'm going to wait a few more years to introduce her to this series when she should be better able to enjoy the subtleties of the narrative.

The Distant Land of My Father by Bo Caldwell
After reading City of Tranquil Light, I was curious about this previous novel by the same author. To be quite honest, I think that it is hardly worth comparing the two. While they both include an insider's perspective on the changes in China throughout the 20th century, this one is told through the experiences of a very dysfunctional family, dysfunctional and disrupted mostly due to the husband and father who loved Shanghai and the easy money he could make there more than his wife and daughter. His selfishness brought many tragic consequences, and while there was a bit of redemption at the end, it really struck me as too little too late - at least in terms of making it a meaningful story for me.

On a side note, I did a bit more research about the author, and found this very interesting first-person account of her life and conversion to Roman Catholicism. I'm sad that her faith is so shaped by experience, believing as I do that the Scriptures and sound doctrine provide a much more stable foundation. But after much consideration, I've decided that it does not diminish my opinion of City of Tranquil Light, for the faith of the characters in that book is tried and genuine. It's obviously not a book that is meant to teach doctrine, but insofar as it speaks of God and the Christian life, I still think it presents a accurate picture.

Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult
I didn't like it, but it was one of those books that I had to keep reading just to see what happened. I even lost sleep over it, staying up late because it was so hard to put down. But I still didn't like it, not one little bit. Like most modern novels it included too much information about intimate relationships between unmarried men and women. And the ending - well, it was just unnecessary. At least everyone in my book club agreed with this consensus, and we're returning to 19th century classics for our next selection!

The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy by Jeanne Birdsall
If you haven't noticed, I have to do some therapeutic reading after I've read a book that leaves a a bad taste in my mouth. So I had checked this one out from the library as an option for my daughter (I like to have a wide variety of titles for her to choose from) and decided that "a summer story about four sisters, two rabbits, and a very interesting boy" would be just the thing after the Picoult novel, not to mention that I love the cover art! It was certainly light and easy, and the characters were written so that I felt I knew them quite quickly. On the downside, one thread of the story involved a pre-teen crush on an older boy. Disobedience and lying were justified by a positive outcome or by the meanness of the adult making the rules. So I won't be handing this to my 8-year-old anytime soon. In a few more years, she can read it, and we'll talk through the issues, for there were certainly many fun and funny parts, too.

Thunderstorm in Church by Louise A. Vernon
See my earlier comments on two other books by the same author which we read aloud earlier in the summer, as this one was very similar and my opinions haven't improved any. This one was interesting for the glimpses into life in Luther's busy household, but the dialogue... {shudder}

April Reading...before May is all done

Time flies, and it seemed to go especially quickly in April. Nevertheless, reading continues even on busy days, so here's the monthly recap:

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
I can't recall ever reading a fictional book that I enjoyed less, and I wasn't alone in that opinion, as everyone in my book club seemed to agree. Perhaps more die-hard Anglophiles might have found something to love in it, but I thought all the characters were deplorable narcissists - truly the biggest bunch of navel-gazers ever collected between the covers of a book! Just as the book of Judges is depressing because everyone did what was right in their own eyes, so this story is very depressing because vice and vanity are relentlessly pursued in an elusive search for happiness. With that said, however, Waugh did capture the essence of sin in the most succinct and raw fashion that I have read in a novel (at least as far as my memory serves). I'll quote it here so that you have the benefit of reflecting on its accuracy, and perhaps searching your heart to see if you have pet sins of which you should repent, and you can thank me for saving you the tedium of reading the book:

     "'Living in sin, with sin, by sin, for sin, every hour, every day, year in, year out. Waking up with sin in the morning, seeing the curtains drawn on sin, bathing it, dressing it, clipping diamonds to it, feeding it, showing it round, giving it a good time, putting it to sleep at night with a tablet of Dial if it's fretful.
     'Always the same, like an idiot child carefully nursed, guarded from the world. "Poor Julia," they say, "she can't go out. She's got to take care of her little sin. A pity it ever lived," they say, "but it's so strong. Children like that always are. Julia's so good to her little, mad sin."'" (287)

Now, that's not a pretty description, nor an encouraging one, but it certainly provides much to ponder, and if it leads to repentance, then my reading of this book was not in vain.

Choosing to SEE: A Journey of Struggle and Hopeby Mary Beth Chapman
I needed something real to counter the unreality of Brideshead Revisited (although a friend reminded me that such an empty life was/is a reality for some, which is a sobering thought). I had known of the Chapman's loss of one of their adopted daughters several years ago, but didn't really know much of the story. Mary Beth Chapman writes with honesty of the fears and struggles that she has experienced throughout her life of faith, with the greatest of these being the loss of 5-year-old Maria in 2008. I used the word "raw" for the description of sin above, and it applies here, too, though the contexts are so very different. The death of a child can shake one's faith to the core, and Mary Beth writes openly of her doubts, anger, and disbelief, and of her faith, security, and hope in God and the promise of heaven. It's an emotional story, but an encouraging one, a truthful one that depicts death as the enemy, Christ as the victor, and heaven as our home and hope.

 Dangerous Journey: The Story of Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan and Oliver Hunkin
It's been a while since I've read Pilgrim's Progress, but this is an excellent children's version which retains both the language and the lessons of the original. My kids enjoyed this book, and I've already used its allegories to remind them of "fighting Apollyon" when they are having a difficult time with self-control. All too often, sin seems to be glossed over and excused rather than exposed and resisted. So while I will readily admit that all allegories have their shortcomings, I'm grateful for this tool to help my children understand some aspects of the Christian walk.

The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien
I can't take credit for reading this one aloud, but I did listen while my husband, an original Tolkien fan (yes, before there were movies!), read this to our kids, ages 5 and 8. This was required reading before the Hobbit movie is released in December, but aside from the much-anticipated movie, it was delightful to share Middle Earth and Tolkien's wonderful story-telling with my family. So after you've enjoyed My Father's Dragon  (linked to my review) with your young readers, be sure to introduce them to Smaug (a not-so-nice dragon) and Bilbo Baggins!

See, this is how much of a Tolkien fan my husband is. These are bookcases that he built for our office/library a few years ago. Pretty cool, huh?

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

I count it no small accomplishment to have read Les Misérables in 28 days - yes, all 1463 pages in just 4 weeks! Now, I must admit that I skimmed some of the more lengthy historical parts, but I did slough my way through 60+ pages on 19th century Parisian sewers. That's got to make up for skimming the parts I read ten years ago during my first attempt when I only made it about two-thirds of the way through the book.

There is so much that could be said about this novel, and I immensely enjoyed our book club discussion which delved into many and varied topics. Julia's insights into the lack of father figures was particularly insightful!

As for me, the characters are what make a great book, and Les Misérables has an amazing cast of characters that evoke a whole spectrum of emotions. The bishop, Monseigneur Bienvenu, is inspiring and endearing. Jean Valjean is marvelous, complex, troubled, and above all good after the act of forgiveness and generosity that transformed him. Thenardier, well, he simply makes me shudder, and his wife is just as dreadful. Cosette and Eponine...I could go on and on...

But the main topic that I have debated myself is the idea of redemption in this novel. I think my expectations must have been too high to start with because I had been told that Les Misérables is the greatest story of redemption ever written, apart from the Bible, and I read it with that in view. I think I was looking for a more obvious correlation to the gospel, an actual spiritual redemption, not simply a moral one. But I suppose that was too much to expect from a story set in Roman Catholic Paris and from an author who rejected his Roman Catholic upbringing and called himself a freethinker.

Redemption is certainly a theme, but I must question if it is truly a Christian view of redemption since Christ is noticeably absent. Though the bishop's words certainly convey the idea "You were bought with a price..." (I Corinthians 6:20; 7:23), that price was paid by the bishop himself, and it is to him that Jean Valjean's thoughts always turn when he wrestles with difficult decisions about the right path to follow. This charge: "Do not forget, ever, that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man...Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. It is your soul I am buying from you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God" (106) becomes the guiding force of Jean Valjean's life, but in the absence of the gospel - of a clear declaration that Christ died for you, now you must live for Him - Jean Valjean's goodness is only a compilation of merits accumulated to assuage his conscience and overcome the social stigma of a convict. Now it must be granted that such a view is in keeping with the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church where redemption would be the process of a lifetime, a conjoining of the work of Christ with the works of man. This is understandable in the historical context of 19th century France, but while a works-based idea of redemption may be true to the historical context and setting of the novel, it simply is not the penultimate illustration of redemption since true redemption cannot be separated from the true and complete gospel.

Thus, my Protestant and Reformed sensibilities have a hard time applying the term "redemption" to the whole story. It could be construed as a story of sanctification, though there are theological difficulties with that, as well, given the Roman Catholic context of the novel (see above). But if we shift the focus from man to God, it becomes quite obvious (to me, at least) that Les Misérables is a story of providence. Maybe this was even Victor Hugo's intention. He writes, "This book is a drama whose first character is the Infinite. Man is the second" (509). At the very least a testimony to providence is the result he could not hide in spite of his vague deist ideas of God, for he crafts a story in which it is only too obvious that something, someONE is superintending all events, bringing the exact people and circumstances together at the right times to preserve life, to give second chances, and yes, to further moral redemption, even if not salvific.

Now I'd like to hear your thoughts on this. Have you always considered Les Misérables a story of redemption? Can you see how it is a story of providence from first to last? Whatever your opinion, I'm sure we can agree that Les Misérables remains one of the greatest novels of all time, unsurpassed in its depiction of the depths and the heights of human character. Even though its length is daunting, it was well-worth the time (which really didn't seem that long), and I hope to read it at least once per decade.

On a side note, aren't these original (1862) illustrations of Cosette and Gavroche by Emile Bayard amazing? I would love to see an edition that included all the original illustrations.

In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden

Someone once asked me if I'd ever considered converting to Roman Catholicism. It seems another friend of hers had converted, and she wondered if my studies of theology and church history drew me toward the long established traditions of the Roman Catholic Church. Doctrinally, the answer is a definite no, but if it were simply a matter of prayer and piety, monasticism has appealed to me since my first seminary class in Medieval Theology.

In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden revived that fascination for me, but it also put a more realistic face on monasticism (in its modern form) than what I learned from the instructional and theological writings of Medieval monks. Don't think that I'm minimizing historical theology - may it never be! The Medieval authors are definitely worth reading! Anselm of Canterbury is my personal favorite, and St. Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape is a thorough biography, while Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works would be an excellent introduction to his primary writings. The Rule of Saint Benedict would also provide a short introduction to the life of prayer which the nuns of Brede followed.

The story of Philippa Talbot provides the linear framework of the novel, tracing her entrance to Brede Abbey as a successful, 40-something, career woman, through her years as a postulant, novice, junior, and fully professed Benedictine nun. I would hesitate, however, to say that it is only Philippa's story. The Abbey is above all a community of prayer, but in that community there is such a variety of women, all with unique gifts and personalities, that it is a framework for both piety and personal growth as iron sharpens iron (read Carrie's post and note the picture for a visual image of this illustration). As various crises affect one or another of the nuns and often the whole Abbey, strengths and weaknesses of character are exposed. I have read few novels in which the author's character development reveals true growth of character in such a wide and varied number of individuals. It is rich indeed.

The beauty of this novel - what makes it a lasting masterpiece - is that its lessons transcend the walls of the abbey, rising above categories of gender and religion, to meet every reader in his or her own unique situation. True community is messy, whether that community is a monastery, a church (Protestant or Catholic), a workplace, or a family. Godden forsakes idealism and shows us the weaknesses of human nature and of human relationships, but not without a hope of redemption.

So am I ready to convert now? No, but with the nuns of Brede Abbey, I will remind my Protestant friends, "We were all Catholics once..." (347). May we not forget that in the history of the Church universal the Roman Catholic Church preserved and extended the Gospel (however imperfectly, as we still do today) for the vast majority of those years. With that Church universal let us boldly proclaim the lines of the Nicene Creed: "And I believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church."

Favorite quotations:
“Tomorrow I shall not be among you any more; not of you but mysteriously still with you, thought Philippa. As Lady Abbess of Brede had said, ‘People think we renounce the world. We don’t. We renounce its ways but we are still very much in it and it is very much in us.’” (15)

“‘Don’t you see, it’s like a pageant. Our Cardinal has said the liturgy entertains as well as feeds us…Yes, we’re not angels but humans,’ said Dame Clare, ‘and human nature is made so that it needs variety. The Church is like a wise mother and has given us this great cycle of the liturgical year with its different words and colours. You’ll see how you will learn to welcome the feast days and the saints’ days as they come round, each with a different story and, as it were, a different aspect; they grow very dear, though still exacting.’” (59-60)

"'I think,' said Dame Maura, lifting her hands, 'that Thomas Aquinas and Johann Sebastian Bach must occupy thrones side by side in heaven.'" (119)

"McTurk surprised her. 'A Solemn Profession isn't touching in the way a Clothing is,' she said when she saw him three days later. . . 'Certainly not,' said McTurk. 'It was awe-ful, full of awe. I know now,' he said, 'at least, have an inkling of what it means to love God with your whole heart and mind and strength.' 'Having seen Him, I love and trust Him. He is the love of my choice,' Philippa had sung, 'until death.' Awe-ful and full of joy - happiness was too light a word - joy that was in the whole monastery that day. . .
"'And now what?' asked McTurk.
"'As far as anyone in the world will know, nothing,' said Philippa. 'No one will hear any more of me; six hours a day in my stall in choir; two perhaps, of manual labor in the house or garden: some time for study; silence: singing prayer: living: room to live. I shall disappear, be almost anonymous. Yes, I have learnt now. No more Philippa Talbot,' she said, glorying. 'Arranging, deciding, settling - that arrogant creature!'
"'Then what will she do?' asked McTurk.
"'Simply grow,' but McTurk's wise monkey-eyes grew quizzical again. 'Difficult to grow without yourself,' said McTurk." (228-229)

Also reviewed by:
The Anchoress
Canticle of Chiara
Happy Catholic (don't be mislead by the quotation from fellow blogger Exultet, who thought Brede was about Anglican nuns instead of Catholics.)
The View from the Foothills

(If you have reviewed In This House of Brede, leave a comment with a link, and I'll add it above.)

Teaser Tuesdays - In This House of Brede

is hosted by Should be Reading.


TEASER TUESDAYS asks you to:

1. Grab your current read. Let the book fall open to a random page.
2. Share with us two (2) “teaser” sentences from that page, somewhere between lines 7 and 12.
3. Also share the title of the book that the “teaser” comes from … that way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given! Please avoid spoilers!

Dame Veronica often wanted to cry, "After all, I wasn't brought up to this." At first the importance of being cellarer had buoyed Dame Veronica up and carried her through the work, and in those first days she had not been too proud to seek help from Mother Pioress, but the prioress perhaps understood too well what Dame Veronica's limitations were, and more and more, Dame Veronica's pride had taken over...

~ p. 47, In This House of Brede, by Rumer Godden.

Reviewed here on 4/15/09.