Kenneth Sutton's aide-mémoire
Kage Baker. Only one of the stories is a company story, and then you only know that if you’re already in the know. Several are apparently set in the world of The Anvil of the World, which I haven’t yet read. On the whole, a light read, with several of the stories seeming almost like solutions to writing problems the author has set herself.
Gene Wolfe. It continues the rich, multi-layered story begun in The Knight. But the closer I got to the end, the more loose ends there seemed to be, and the less I understood. As with many other books, I wonder what kind of editing a known author receives these days.
Gene Wolfe. It may be sword-and-sorcery fantasy with a teen protagonist, but that doesn’t make it young adult fiction. It’s a challenging, multi-layered world Wolfe has created (with clear borrowings from Christian and Norse mythologies, at a minimum). The second volume has just been published, and I look forward to reading it.
Susanna Clarke. A magnificent 782-page read. Twists and turns abound in a magical (literally) history of England. A wonderful, early passage has an interesting take on book reviews:
“Besides,” said Mr Norrell, “I really have no desire to write reviews of other people’s books. Modern publications upon magic are the most pernicious things in the world, full of misinformation and wrong opinions.”
“Then sir, you may say so. The ruder you are, the more the editors will be delighted.”
“But it is my own opinions which I wish to make better known, not other people’s.”
“Ah, but, sir,” said Lascelles, “it is precisely by passing judgements upon other people’s work and pointing out their errors that readers can be made to understand your own opinions better. It is the easiest thing in the world to turn a review to one’s own ends. One only need mention the book once or twice and for the rest of the article one may develop one’s theme just as one chuses. It is, I assure you, what every body else does.”
Carrie Bickner. There are some annoying little quirks in the writing and editing, but otherwise chock-full of helpful ideas, advice, and warnings.
Steve Smith. Pendle Hill Pamphlet 370. The juxtaposition of the pamphlet’s title reflects both Steve’s life and the text. Steve describes his journey from birthright Quakerism to the zendo in very personal terms, but most of the pamphlet is a deep meditation on Quakerism and the wisdom of early Friends. Apropos of a conversation over on Beppeblog (sparked by Joe’s review of another very good PHP, Members One of Another), here’s what Steve Smith has to say about discipline:
Books of Quaker Faith and Practice are traditionally called Books of Discipline, another word I had passed over too readily. In an age of instant gratification and comfort, “discipline” often rings merely of punishment for wrongdoing, with no resonance of the straitening pleasures of self-transcendence through submission to an exacting regime. Significant accomplishment in most walks of life requires a paradoxical combination of strenuous application and surrender of self-will. In challenging educational endeavors, in high-level athletic performance, in skilled artistic expression and elsewhere, I recognized a demanding path to excellence, even when I was loath to walk onit. But in spiritual matters I favored an easier, more comfortable route, sitting myself each week in meeting for worship and hoping that without any risk or commitment, lightening would strike.
I look forward to rereading this. Steve unpacks some familiar Quaker quotes in a way that is very helpful to me in my own spiritual work.
Ursula Le Guin. Once again, a deceptively simple story told by a mistress of her craft.
Aaron Lansky. It’s not only amazing, it’s also inspiring and touching. Aaron Lansky is only a few years older than I. His life has been devoted to saving the literary record of the thriving culture decimated first by Hitler, then by Stalin, and weakened by assimilation and the good life of America. Of interest to book lovers as well as those interested in Yiddish culture.
Jane Brox.
I want to say that Clearing Land makes me long for our agricultural past. But the farming past she describes so personally was never mine, nor my family’s–unless, perhaps, it was that of my Grandpa Sutton or of other, unknown, ancestors.
No, what it truly makes me long for, with its highly personal tone, is my own past, that time so easy to remember in golden tones that will never come again. It makes me grieve for a lost connection to place, and far more painful, for a simultaneous ambivalence for the place I once inhabited.
The natural beauty of Imperial Valley remains dear to me. But my real world–the irrigation, the agriculture, the dependence on driving, the feedlots and chemicals and watered lawns–have come to seem wrong.
Which is connected to the other emotional response I have to Brox’s book, apprehension for the future. How can we–humans, Americans, urban dwellers, take your pick–sustain our lives on this planet? We are too many, and we are heaped atop one another, and we make reckless decisions divorced from any sense of place or of connection to the earth.
How can we build big, sprawling cities on the most arable land? How can we allow economic systems to ruin family farms and replace them with absentee-owner corporations? How can we blithely consume foods that come from half a world away?
And what can I do about these things? It’s a mixed bag. I live in a city, but I take public transportation. I live in shared housing. I tend to give local and organic foodstuffs preference, although lower cost and convenience often win out.
It’s hard to wake up to reality. That’s why I’m grateful for books like Brox’s that open my eyes with beauty, grace, and subtlety.
Jasper Fforde. Looks to me like this is the end of this series. Thursday Next is such an appealing character, one hates to see her stories end, yet descending into utter crap would be worse. At Powell’s.