Kage Baker’s Company novels finally begin to move towards closure in The Machine’s Child. Okay, so given Kage Baker’s writing style, that characterisation is a bit rosy! But characters and plot lines of several of the previous books and short stories do begin to come together here, and the time periods covered edge closer and closer to 2355. Oh, and there’s a big fat cliffhanger, don’t you know.
Victoriana
This summer I got on a 19th-century literature kick. I began rereading What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew, and I decided I should finally read some Dickens. So I picked up Great Expectations. I loved it! Miss Havisham is an amazing character. I even kept reading when Pip became totally obnoxious. As for the controversy over the ending, I didn’t find either one very satisfying, but I thought the published version better than the original.
Then it was on to Anthony Trollope with The Warden. What a soap opera! I couldn’t wait to get Barchester Towers, so I could find out what happened next for Septimus Harding. I was surprised by the somewhat arch insertion of the narrator in the text. Here’s a fine example, which happens to be a spoiler of the highest degree, to be found well before the end of the first volume (Barchester Towers was originally published in three volumes).
But let the gentle-hearted reader be under no apprehension whatsoever. It is not destined that Eleanor shall marry Mr Slope or Bertie Stanhope. And here, perhaps, it may be allowed to the novelist to explain his views on a very important point in the art of telling tales. He ventures to reprobate that system which goes so far to violate all proper confidence between the author and his readers, by maintaining nearly to the end of the third volume a mystery as the the fate of their favourite personage. Nay, more, and worse than tiss is too frequently done. Have not often the profoundest efforts of genius been used to baffle the aspirations of the reader, to raise false hopes and false fears, and to give rise to expectations which are never to be realized? Are not promises all but made of delightful horrors, in lieu of which the writer produces nothing but most commonplace realities in his final chapter? And is there not a species of deceit in this to which the honesty of the present age should lend no countenance?
And what can be the worth of that solicitude which a peep into the third volume can utterly dissipate? What the value of those literary charms which are absolutely destroyed by their enjoyment? When we have once learnt what was that picture before which was hung Mrs Radcliffe’s solemn curtain, we feel no further interest about either the frame or the veil. They are to us merely a receptacle for old bones, an inappropriate coffin, which we would wish to have decently buried out of our sight.
And then, how grievous a thing it is to have the pleasure of your novel destroyed by the ill-considered triumph of a previous reader. ‘Oh, you needn’t be alarmed for Augusta, of course she accepts Gustavus in the end.’ ‘How very ill=natured you are, Susan,’ says Kitty, with tears in her eyes; ‘I don’t care a bit about it now.’ Dear Kitty, if you will read my book, you may defy the ill-nature of your sister. There shall be no secret that she can tell you. Nay, take the third volume if you please—learn from the last pages all the results of our troubled story, and the story shall have lost none of its interest, if indeed there be any interest in it to lose.
Our doctrine is that the author and the reader should move along together in full confidence with each other. Let the personages of the drama undergo ever so complete a comedy of errors among themselves, but let the spectator never mistake the Syracusan for the Ephesian; otherwise he is one of the dupes, and the part of a dupe is never dignified.
I would not for the value of this chapter have it believed by a single reader that my Eleanor could bring herself to marry Mr Slope, or that she should be sacrificed to Bertie Stanhope. But among the good folk of Barchester many believed both the one and the other.
And you can bet I’m in the market for Doctor Thorne.
You are what you eat
I recently finished Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma (which I’ve reviewed for UU World. Many of the concerns Pollan takes up regarding food production have also been addressed by the Guardian. Today, for instance there’s this article: Will the organic dream turn sour?
We now have millions of people buying organic in a committed way. But there’s a tightrope to be walked: we must promote organic farming, but not industrialised organic production.
I subscribe to a box delivery scheme (as the Brits would say) of organic fruits and vegetables. The quality is for the most part quite high, and there’s a nice variety, but much of the produce comes from a distance. During the summer I stopped the service because there are so many farmers markets available to me.
My friend Pam in Philadelphia has started a company to do home delivery of locally produced food (including meats). I don’t know if everything is organic, but I think it is. As both Pollan and the Guardian point out, the carbon load of organic products shipped from around the world may easily outweigh any environmental benefits of organic produce.
Eating with an eye toward ecological responsibility is filled with confusion and compromise. Here’s to the tightrope!
Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith
One of the nicest perks of working for a magazine is getting to pick over the books sent for review. Although we didn’t review it, I quickly snatched up Barbara Brown Taylor’s Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith.
Barbara Brown Taylor is an editor-at-large at The Christian Century, where I first read her writing. These autobiographical musings are rich and wonderfully written. But beyond that, I loved the book because it spoke in part to where I am, spiritually.
While definitely about leaving church, it’s also about keeping faith. Indeed, the three major sections are “Finding,” “Losing,” and “Keeping.” Taylor describes her call to ministry, and even as it was clear that some of what she hoped for was a false hope, and that she eventually burned out, I found myself thinking, but yes, I want that. And then as she describes her fatigue, lack of patience and compassion, and resentment, I thought, yes, I’ve felt that. Her descriptions of what she’s doing in order to keep her faith have some resonance for me, but mostly I just found them inspiring and hopeful. Of course, the fact that she’s written a book would indicate that she’s a bit farther along that third part of the journey than I.
The Time Machine
H. G. Wells’s The Time Machine had been on my to-read list for a very long time. Since I’ve enjoyed so many novels in which time travel of one sort or another has played a role, I thought I really should read the granddaddy. Well, now I have, and I don’t have to do that again.
Nope, I didn’t much like it. Too heavy-handed, and I don’t agree with what seems to be his political philosophy.
It didn’t help that the edition I was reading (and to which the link will take you), a “Barnes and Noble Classic”, was atrociously footnoted and end-noted. Some of the footnotes are moronic (they explain the metaphorical use of the word “tentacles” and the plain use of words like “acacias” and “tree-bole”), yet the editor lets “In the matter of sepulture...” go undefined. But the worst offense of both the endnotes and the footnotes is to reveal information about the plot and characters in advance. Avoid this edition at all costs!
Regeneration: Species Imperative #3
Julie E. Czerneda’s Regeneration was eagerly awaited and eagerly read. My hopes were exceeded. (This is the book I was reading at Dance Camp instead of dancing).
It would be nice to have another story about Dr. Mackenzie Connor, but this trilogy was fully resolved with this volume. There was plenty of tension, both in plot and in character relationships, which was satisfyingly resolved by the end of the book.
Travelin’
I’ve had a month of not always knowing if I’m coming or going. It started off the second week of May with a visit to Fry Communications, which prints and mails UU World, to meet our account rep, see the magazine on the press, and get a tour. Fry is located in Mechanicsburg, Pa., so I flew to Philadelphia, had a lovely visit with my friend Barbara and dinner at Vortex House, then drove west. The press visit started early and went right up until I had to start back to the airport.
As interesting as the press tour was (and yes, I guess I really have become a thorough magazine editor, because I did think it was fascinating), the best thing about the trip was the countryside. It’s nothing like what I grew up with, but from my first visit to Philadelphia I loved the countryside of SE Pa. The rolling hills and plentiful open space and vistas raise my spirit. There’s a lot of hayfields and cattle, which supply two odors from childhood that somehow make me feel like all is right with the world. And mechanicsburg is a small city. All in all, it renewed my disattisfaction with living in a city.
The weekend of that week was the biannual Lavender Country and Folk Dance (LCFD) dance camp. It was at a new place for us, a YMCA camp in Connecticut. That was the weekend there was so much rain and flooding in Mass. It was pretty wet at the camp, but not terrible. It was on a lake, lots of trees, very picturesque. I didn’t do a whole lot of dancing, but there was a fantastic hambo workshop where I really got the woman’s role down–not with everyone I danced with, but with three of the guys especially. I also finished a good book while there. Very satisfying weekend.
The I went back to Pa. (by car) to facilitate the Quaker Workers Gathering the following week. It was held at Kirkridge, an ecumenical retreat center in the Poconos. I had had mixed feelings after having accepted the invitation, but it was a good experience. And the participants liked it, too, so that turned out well.
And then the next week I was at a two-day Certified ScrumMaster training. (You may now say “sir” when you address me.) Scrum is a management method used in software development, but my colleagues and I will be giving it a try with magazine production. (We started our first sprint on June 1.)
Then the Massachusetts Sheep and Woolcraft Fair was a must-do on Memorial Day weekend, combined with a visit in Amherst with my friends Jan and Ken. I tried (briefly) a spinning wheel at the fair, but ended up buying two more drop spindles (so I can have more than one spinning project at a time, of course!), some raw fleece (because I’m curious to see how it spins. I’ve felted raw fleece and loved it.), some laceweight yarn, and a locker-hook rug kit (because you can never have too many hobbies).
Jan and I also went to the National Yiddish Book Center (ייִדישע ביכער-×¦×¢× ×˜×¨×ַלע), where I bought a great yiddish alef-bays poster and several books. (Sonja and I have agreed to learn yiddish together.)
For those keeping score, that adds up to the coming week being my first full week in the office in a month!
Born to Kvetch
Michael Wex’s Born to Kvetch: Yiddish Language and Culture in All of Its Moods is entertaining, informative, sometimes uncomfortable, and uneven. I’m glad to have read most of it and skimmed the rest.
Faint praise, huh? But it really wouldn’t be in the spirit of the book to praise it, now would it?
Wex ranges widely through Yiddish, covering life from birth to death, including everything in between and beyond. There’s usage, etymology, and culture. I particularly enjoyed chapters four, “Pigs, Poultry, and Pampers: The Religious Roots of Yiddish,” and five, “Discouraging Words: Yiddish and the Forces of Darkness.” The chapter on curses is pretty good, too.
Parts aren’t really written for a popular audience; part way through chapter three, Wex writes:
If you’ve never wondered about the difference between kugl and kigl or meshuge and meshige, the remainder of this chapter could prove a little heavy going. You might want to go on to Chapter Four and return to this section after reading the rest of the book.
And much of the reality of the world and way of life in which Yiddish evolved is harsh. Unsurprisingly (but no less uncomfortably), the Yiddish language and mindset reflects its birth in oppression.
Finally, the structure and pacing, in my opinion, could use a lot of work. And the author photo? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a worse one.
The Da Vinci Code
OK, so I finally gave in and bought “the #1 worldwide bestseller, now a major motion picture,” Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code
What did I think? Well, I bought it, and I stayed up very late one night to finish it. So by the standards of the book publishing industry, it was a great success.
And I did enjoy it. But when I read “A dark stubble was shrouding his strong jaw and dimpled chin” on page 8, I thought I was in danger of embarking on a romance novel. And there continued to be moments of purple prose. But not to fear! The moments of turgid, faux-academic exposition more than compensated.
Not an unqualified success, but on the whole a good yarn.
Shame on them
There’s a skirmish in the culture wars under way in Lexington, Massachusetts. Elementary school principal Joni Jay is holding her ground about a teacher’s decision to read King and King to a second-grade class. The newspaper account describes her as a real pro, as well as having a balanced and sensible attitude. She’s met with parents who were upset about the reality of sexual orientation being raised at school and who are bringing suit against the school.
”She wanted to make us feel that our concerns were heard,” Rob Wirthlin said, ”and that’s what she left us with — that our concerns were heard.” That was insufficient, he said.
Exactly. She heard you, but you’re wrong.
Shame on them:
- Rob and Robin Wirthlin
- The Parents’ Rights Coalition, a Waltham group
- David Parker
And hooray for:
- Joni Jay
- Lexington’s Joseph Estabrook Elementary School