Tag: book review

Interstitial

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One little book review squeezed in this balmy February afternoon.

12. the practice of the presence of God by Brother Lawrence. This book was most beneficial and good for my soul. I think it is a book I shall return to from time to time. It is a very tiny book (in both square footage and page count!) but I deliberately slowed my reading pace and stretched this out over a week and a half or so, reading a few pages each night. It is a book that some may scoff at or call simple and that others may gaze warily at suspecting it contains content that is overly mystical and potentially dangerous. I read this and took this book as what I think it was intended to be – a call to be more constantly in communion with our God as we recognize the reality of his presence and the wonder of his love for his children that he has called to himself. Oh how encouraging it is to meditate on the word and work of God! This book is a simple one, written in language that seems old-fashioned and (dare I say) childish at times. Yet the truth contained therein is that which angels marvel at. I’m grateful to read the words and convictions of one monk who spent most of his life seeking to be close to God at all times even in (especially in!) the mundane and everyday activities that at times sap us so. This book encouraged me and convicted me both. I ought spend more time in prayer and constant conversation with my God. I ought form habits that pull me towards such divine contemplation and an intimate realized knowledge that God is real and that He is with me. Do we really believe in God? Do we really believe he is one who is listening and longing to hear our prayers? If so, then why are we not doing more to cultivate and delight in the greatest relationship we will ever have – that of an adopted son and daughter of the living God with this very being himself. I’m grateful to this book for reminding me of such, and of being an aid to renew and spur my hunger and thirst for righteousness – this righteousness only fully realized in saving faith and relationship with Jesus Christ my Lord. Yes at times I read the words of this book and thought – of course it is easy for Brother Lawrence to do this, he’s in a monastery! Excuses excuses. May I more fully and deeply plunge into the deep and true river that is a glorious eternal knowledge and relationship with my God. This book points me towards thinking more of God and less of self, and for that I am grateful. May we ever delight in the most beautiful reality that there could be – eternal peace with God.

Target Bridge is Falling Down Falling Down

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All the books all the books!!

10. Books in Black or Red by Edmund Lester Pearson. Ok so this book was not what I was expecting. It’s more of a hodgepodge of essays on bookish matters than a cohesive narrative and well…I am warned straight up in the author’s note of such. So really it is my own issue that I was a bit caught off guard with how random this book is. But there are some gems here, for sure! If you like books and/or reading and want to read about attitudes towards books in the early twentieth century, well then – you may like this! It is very random though, be warned. Some of the chapters are great, particularly the chapter on the Cary Girls and the Book Shop chapters. Other than that, I think this book is of value primarily for its historical value – we peek from a window into early 1920s America (specifically New York City) and smile as we see the author’s thoughts on dime novels, nonsense tales, literary personae and modern trends. We see sly asides here and there (Prohibition has begun!) and we get a flavor of this author’s very firmly cynical attitudes toward modern ideas of progress. I enjoyed this less than I thought I would, simply because there is much in this book that sailed over my head, as so many of the books and tales he references are…much less known now. Maybe this book hit harder back in the 1920s, I know not. Still though, grateful to have read this and contrary to all the eye-rolling the author would send my way for doing this, I’m likely to keep this book on my shelf purely because of its 1923 print date. Hey, at least I don’t organize my books by colour.

11. The Narrow Road Between Desires by Patrick Rothfuss. I just don’t know anymore, Mr. Rothfuss. I really was excited to read this one – it has been far too long since I’ve read any new material from your pen and I recently discovered this on the shelves of a bookstore in Paris. What! New Rothfuss?!? I must read. Clearly I have been out of the loop and didn’t realize this had dropped. Everything Rothfuss has written, I’ve loved. Slow Regard of Silent Things – purely fantastic and delightful and fully of whimsy and joy and melancholy all. I really must revisit it, now that I think so fondly of my memory of it. And of course the first two books of the Kingkiller Chronicle are superb. Not without flaws, no. But fantastic books in their own right and even if the third book never comes out, I’m ok with just those two on my shelf and I shall re-read every now and again. But…what is up with this Bast novella? Where is the magic, where is the joy? I found the prose strangely wooden and affected. It didn’t have the wonder and joy I remember from the previous works from Rothfuss’ pen. Maybe I have just changed? Maybe if I re-read Name of the Wind I’ll find myself similarly left cold? I think not, but now I shudder at the small possibility. But this book did not do it for me. Honestly as much as I complain about the lacking prose (compared to what I know Rothfuss can do), I think the real problem here is the protagonist. I don’t like Bast. I didn’t realize how much his character irked me until now, but this book did him no favours. I suppose Rothfuss intends to show the wild fae nature of Bast in all his sly glory, yet…honestly? Bast is a creeper. The majority of this book is him hanging around with small children and setting up a situation to spy on a young woman in her bath. Um ok, cool. And maybe this is just me being hyper sensitive and modern in my sensibilities but…I didn’t enjoy witnessing Bast in all his prancing, prying and creepy ways. Not sure if the author entirely realizes it or not. I feel a bit bad because I really do appreciate Rothfuss’ other works. And writing these harsh words feels a bit of a betrayal. But…something is off about this one. And reading his author’s note at the end didn’t help much. Instead of smiling at him providing a touchingly intimate tale about his children and his desire to write a “good” story for them, I just noticed the way he compared the themes in this one to the inferior themes in books such as Narnia, Lord of the Rings, etc. I’m sorry but…no? The truth and beauty in those books are so far above anything this novella could hope to dream of.

La bohème

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A few thoughts on books this fine cold Friday evening!

7. Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. This book remains a classic for a reason. I re-read this one in order to have proper comparison point for James(finished right before I started this one), though honestly I didn’t really need to. I read this a few years ago and remember being delighted by it and you know what? No changes to my thoughts on it, except to be surprised anew by the power and sparkle of Twain’s prose. He tells a fascinating tale here, a story of a boy in a murderous and insane world. Twain – as he always does – loves to highlight the absurdity of people and he does that all over the place in this one. Books could be written about all the different types of people Twain lampoons. Books could be written about all the different manifestations of barbarism that Twain details. I’m sure they have. Is this book a bit old-fashioned? Perhaps it is. Perhaps it’s not quite as fit for the modern taste and sensibilities of modern days. Perhaps it’s a bit too rambling and a bit too unfocused. I still greatly enjoyed this one. I’ve read books written more recently that read far more alien than this one! Twain has a great ear for dialogue and great insight into the human psyche. Grateful that books such as this have been written. And yes, it is known, but Twain does write some truly hilarious dialogue. I will never not laugh at the conversation about mumps.

8. The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding by Agatha Christie. A fine collection of Christie short stories to read this Christmas season. I haven’t read Christie in a while and this book reminded me how much I love her writing! Some of the short stories are a bit weaker than others, but there are definitely at least a few top notch tales here, worthy of the price of admission. I felt the Marple adventure at the end (“Greenshaw’s Folly”) was weakest of the lot. But seeing Poirot back in action again was very fun indeed. “The Mystery of the Spanish Chest” was great fun and I found myself rolling my eyes at all the tropes pulled out in “The Under Dog” yet somehow still found it a great rollicking read. And not in any of the stories did I quite crack them until the end! I got close a few times, but never quite there. Alas. This was a fun light read and I’m glad I picked this one up. Christie is a master for a reason.

9. The City of God by Augustine. Well, that was a book. I have been reading this one for probably far too long and I feel a bit dazed to realise I have actually finished it. This book is an interesting one to think about and perhaps I will revisit these words in a few weeks once I have more time to let this one simmer (yet Augustine’s words have been simmering around in my brain for the past eight months or so, so maybe that is long enough!). I am glad I read this book, yet I’m not sure I’ll ever re-visit. For this book, more than any I’ve read in recent memory, is a chore. Augustine goes here and there and everywhere. Yes the book is structured. Yes there is a progression. But I find myself slightly baffled at times by the topics that Augustine chooses to spend fifty pages on, and then the topics I would consider slightly more important get barely a page. Editors today would have a field day with this one. I don’t generally consider abridged versions of old books a good idea, but I would not argue with someone who chose to read a (good) abridged copy of this book.

Am I really being so harsh on Augustine, one of the prominent theologians of the Christian world? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike this one. I simply find it a bit unfocused and probably not entirely worth the time and effort it takes to read. In a way though, I think I understand why I feel as I do. In some ways, this book has far more value as a historical work than as a theological one. Yes, there are many solid and brilliant theological insights contained therein. Yes, Augustine’s devotion to the faith and high view of Scripture cannot be denied. Yes, Augustine’s clinging to Christ as the only way of salvation and his understanding of being eternally with God as the prime good of mankind was encouraging, and thrilling to meditate on! Yet, I also realise that this book was (as all books are) a product of its time. This is actually quite a polemical work. Augustine is responding to the philosophies of his day and speaking to the world in which he lived. So this book is enlightening and fascinating as we consider the topics that were of supreme and dire importance to the great minds of the late 4th century. In this day we do not perhaps need pages and pages detailing the natures and deficiencies of the pagan gods who were so quickly fading into irrelevance. But still? This book is important because it shows a great man of God (and indeed a great intellect, though that is of lesser importance) defending the faith and boldly speaking forth the gospel of God to a world that was so lost in its own pride and ignorance. Maybe the pride and ignorance of that long-ago world seems odd to us now, yet we cannot smirk too much. In this present world we are just as proud of our ignorance, though we would not put it in such terms. Anyway! I go off the topic. This book is important and it is quite fascinating to see Augustine discussing the Christian faith in a world that had just known the name Jesus Christ for barely four centuries. And I am exceedingly encouraged to see the faith Augustine has in both the nature and work of God, as well as his utter confidence in the Scriptures. Yes, sometimes Augustine says things with absolute confidence that I would…question. Augustine is not perfect and this book is not perfect. Yet still, there are many times where Augustine humbly confesses that he does not quite know the answer and simply puts forth his thoughts in the wisdom that he knows God has given him. Would that we all in this day exhibit more of Augustine’s humility.

This book is an odd one. I think I’m glad I read it? Would I recommend it? Unsure. At least, if you’re going to read Augustine, read Confessions first. I am grateful to ponder the truths that Augustine expounded, though the journey was messy at times. It is good to think that God indeed has a people that He has called into communion with Himself. We are now truly part of the city of God and someday we shall fully and intimately know God in a way we do not know Him now. For that day we long. We do not know exactly the future or how God shall accomplish His will. Yet we do know that God’s will shall be accomplished and that He shall not abandon the people He has called to Himself. There always has been a remnant. And someday this remnant shall weep and rejoice as the bride beams to welcome her bridegroom. Oh come quickly Lord Jesus. This is a desire that burned just as hot in Augustine’s own soul. Someday I wish to talk theology with this dear brother and rejoice as we look on the face of our Lord, even if now we cannot quite imagine what that will be like. We do know it shall be far better than we can think now. Oh Lord Jesus, come quickly.

unchained

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Another day, another book.

6. James by Percival Everett. A quick read but certainly not an easy one. This book is one that is eminently readable and hard to put down, as the story moves quick and true and without mercy, much like the big river that features so prominently. It is hard to go into this book without expectations, as the book that inspired this one is so well known (and indeed, one I read again several years back so it is fresh in my mind). So I knew this book was a companion piece with Huck Finn – a parallel re-telling, so it might be thought. And well. Yes? But this book is quite different in both tone and style. Everett certainly doesn’t have as light a touch with his prose. Whereas Twain’s tale bobs and floats along and written masterfully as a biting commentary on contemporary society, Everett’s book isn’t trying to win any awards for beauty. The writing is hard-edged, concise, utterly direct. There is an elegant brutality to Everett’s prose, as surely as he lays bare the utter brutality of 19th-century America’s peculiar institution. Do not expect any hands to be held or any guns to go unfired. This book will not coddle you. Yet this book very much is in dialogue with Twain’s masterpiece. They are telling the same story with the same basic aim, yet in very different fashions. Twain’s tale is the story of a boy told through the eyes of a boy, with all the wit and sparkle that Twain can muster. Everett’s narrative is the story of a man told through the eyes of a man, with all the pain and rage and sheer disbelief for what one man can do to another. Both of these books dissect the idea of the nature of man and the humanity of such (or lack thereof) but the focuses are different. For how could they not be? The story of a white boy vs the story of a black man. How do they compare? Huck Finn – even with all the darkness that lurks and shrieks – is a story of a boy growing up. James is the story of a man grown who has seen too much.

Why am I talking so much about Twain’s novel? I think Everett demands such. He is consciously writing in response to Twain and he is very deliberate in how he tells (and re-tells) the story that Twain first put to page. Because at the end of the day, as much as Twain does what he can to show the shocking inhumanity of those who proclaim to be so pious, Everett can and does do so much more as he both highlights the humanity of blacks while laying bare the utter inhumanity and animality of whites. There are quibbles I could make. I’m not sure all of Everett’s changes to the narrative quite work (especially Huck’s origin story – seemingly attempting to redeem him from the sin of whiteness?) and while I find myself amused by the way Everett uses language to highlight the demarcation between black and white society, the conceit eventually wears bare. Yet I think Everett’s attempts to portray the Other in race-essentialism-fashion hammer home the point of the evils of a race-based society. There is a tinge of discomfort at the depths Everett goes to show the amorality and evil of white society. Yet that is proper and I don’t think needs to be excused. The ending of this book is difficult to read. You could argue that Everett’s work lacks nuance, but well…nuance isn’t the point here. This is supposed to be a hard book to stomach. We should be frankly shocked and horrified at the tale Everett tells. This is not an easy book to read. Nor should it be.

Definitely Full of Wind

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A little book review of a big book.

5. Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson. I am disappointed but not surprised. This book was enjoyable enough in its own right and I read it fairly quickly, all things considered. Yet? This book, the ending to the first major arc in Brandon Sanderson’s magnum opus series, was not a book I found joy in reading. The plot hooked me well enough! If anything, this book has reinforced my belief that Sanderson is a magnificent plotter. He has his story and he knows where he’s going with it. The ending of this book was actually thrilling and the climax caught me genuinely off guard. Yet it fit so well (and was even well sign posted earlier in the book if I’d been paying attention!) and I am actually intrigued to see how the latter half of the Stormlight Archive plays out. The plot is all there. Yet. Do I actually want to read the latter half of the Stormlight Archive? Honestly? I may pass. The reading experience is getting more and more excruciating with each successive book. This may be worse than Rhythm of War. And that was the previous low, in my opinion. Am I being overly harsh? Possibly. Am I just being contrary? Also very possibly. I think I’m just frustrated because I care. I want Sanderson’s books to be great. I’ve seen and read his books that are! Yet this book has little of the charm, whimsy, creativity or gravitas of his earlier books. The character beats are starting to feel rote, even as the plethora of one-liners and italics proclaim the important moments just to make sure that we don’t miss them. (I’m sorry. The italics are something that I just continue to roll my eyes at as they grate me so) And the prose – while Sanderson’s prose has never been great – has continued to decline in quality? Maybe I’m being overly harsh. I know I can’t write like Sanderson and I’m grateful that he has a story he wants to tell. But his characters are continuing to sound more and more similar to each other and less and less like real people. The character moments Sanderson is trying to highlight are straining to be real and vivid yet for all that the author is doing to tell, I struggle to see the show. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just starting to burn out on Sanderson? Way of Kings and Words of Radiance were two books I much enjoyed. The next two? Less so. And this one? It’s similar. Not abysmal yet…not great. Not even good. Average? Yes, I suppose so. As stated earlier, I really did enjoy some of the ending beats. Dalinar’s decision caught me by surprised and propelled things far more forward than I was expecting. I could talk about the other characters but I don’t really want to bother. Except Adolin. Adolin continues to be awesome and I will always love him.

At the end of the day? I read this fairly quickly because I was genuinely interested to see where Sanderson was going. Not sure if or when I’ll want to re-read though, with the journey being such a slog. There is little beauty in this book, little that I will want to return to. Also the truth – as grandiosely self-proclaimed as it is – is somewhat barren in this one. The philosophies espoused are humanistic in the extreme, self-centered and self-glorifying. The grand truths unveiled are trite and simplistic. There is very little in the base philosophy of this book to enliven and hearten the soul. Many books lack true vigor of truth and beauty. I know this. Maybe with this one it grates more simply because of how loudly the book protests the worth of which it contains. Maybe. Or maybe I’m simply becoming slightly less eager to read works that don’t encourage my soul. Maybe this book truly is the pinnacle of modern fantasy. If so, that makes me sad. This may be the last Sanderson for me.

Snowdrifts

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A book review this Monday afternoon.

4. Surprised by Oxford by Carolyn Weber. A worthy read, this book both encouraged my soul and delighted my heart. I came into this book expecting something I would resonate with, and indeed I did. It is a possibility that I had my expectations for this book set perhaps too high (expecting something similar to “A Severe Mercy” or “Surprised by Joy” – really, the title is asking for such!) and so I was initially a bit disappointed at how this book played out. Not quite the beautiful thoughtfulness of Vanauken or the bracing clarity and wit of Lewis, but well…there are few books that can compare with those. As I’ve considered this book more as I’ve finished it over these last few days, I’ve come to appreciate this book for what it is – a beautifully honest telling of one woman’s journey to faith in Jesus Christ. Yes, the Oxford bits are a delight to read (and if you are at all similar to me and have a wistful longing to go to Oxford and wander the streets and even perhaps study there, then this book will simply increase that desire – be warned!!) and yes all the discussions of art and poetry and music made me smile (as much as I got a bit tired of all the U2 references!). But at the end of the day, my favourite part of this book was seeing the unashamed joy the author has in the knowledge and peace of Christ. This book felt a bit disjointed at times and I wished for maybe a more prolonged prologue explaining the book and setting forth the author’s purpose. And the premise of the book left no doubt as to the outcome, so there is very little tension in the author’s journey. We know she will end up a Christian! But how will she get there? And that’s what this book is about.

It is not perfect and like I said, some of the episodes felt a bit superfluous. But this book demands a re-read and to be read more slowly I think. There are some truly lovely moments and some of the wordplay is simply fantastic. The literary references will make you smile and think (when you catch them). And yes, probably I would enjoy this book much more if I liked U2 and understood all the author’s song references. The more I slowed down as I read this, the more I enjoyed it. There are moments where I felt a bit uncomfortable or annoyed at some of the characters’ interactions. Not sure if that was entirely intentional by the author, but I had to remind myself that this book was placed almost thirty years ago now, when standards and norms were a bit different. I wished the secondary love story in this one (the author and her TDH – “tall, dark & handsome”) hadn’t had quite as much screen time. But regardless of all my little quibbles, I did enjoy this book. It encouraged my soul and I found my eyes watering near the end as the author professed her faith and got baptized. It is remarkable and always a joy anew reading of a person’s encounter with the God that is real. The author is vulnerable and not telling this story to proclaim her own virtues and talents. No, the author here tells the raw and messy story of her journey to God and the real and persistent joy she now finds in a real and vibrant relationship with Him.

Suspension

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One more book to discuss this beautiful Christmas Eve day.

69. Good Tidings of Great Joy by C.H. Spurgeon. A fantastic little book pointing us to the beauty and wondrous truth that is the incarnation of Christ. A book I’ve been looking forward to reading for some time, I decided it was a perfect “Christmas read”. And so it has turned out to be. Reading this these last few weeks leading up to Christmas (and writing this now on Christmas Eve!) has been delightfully encouraging and soul-enlivening. Oh how good it is to consider the foundation of our salvation – the very person and work of Christ! This book is an ideal devotional book, with each “chapter” being only 3-4 pages long and each full of rich truths and passionate declarations of God’s mercies towards us. As always with Spurgeon, his writings are both pastoral in nature and exceedingly glorifying of God, full of rich metaphors and heartfelt pleading for us to consider Jesus. I found my heart stirred as I read this book. It definitely helped to give myself time to sit and be quiet in both body and soul as I read, as we are oh so harried these days by all the stresses of modern life and it is easy to let ourselves be distracted by all the troubles that surround us. But as I took a deep breath and read and meditated on the truths of God expounded by Spurgeon in this little book, I found my heart exceedingly blessed and I enjoyed true rest. We ought to spend more time meditating on the truths of God and our salvation and letting our minds soar to think of things above as we muse on the salvation that is ours in Jesus Christ our Lord – and this book mightily assists with that.

Tears Upon the Angel’s Face

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Book review post! (Surprise!)

68. Art and Fear by David Bayles & Ted Orland. A book about making art and all the perils that come with. Was a bit disappointed by it as I think maybe I expected something a bit more profound? Yes, the authors weren’t trying to write a treatise on the meaning of Art or about what comprises art (Everything? Nothing?) and they also weren’t necessarily trying to classify who belongs in the Artist category. Yet still? This book felt both a bit perfunctory and a bit unfocused. Definitely a few good takeaways here and there (especially the idea that the very creation of a particular piece of art is something done only once, as the artist is given of himself at a particular moment in time and the process of creating necessarily changes both the artist and the world in that moment) yet perhaps this is a book that should be read all at once. I may have done it a disservice by reading it disjointedly over the span of two weeks. I did enjoy mulling over the idea that the only work worth doing is that which is focused on something the artist cares about. Only that is “true art”, perhaps? Maybe I was not the right audience for this work. Very much felt like the authors were writing to “professional” artists, those who make their living from their art (or at least want to). Is it possible to be an artist who creates art yet not be an Artist? Maybe? The authors didn’t really engage with this. Also was uncertain of a few statements made that we can only really make art that dialogues with the ethos in which we live – obviously making religious art in these post-modern days doesn’t really work, according to the author. Of course that’s me stretching the point perhaps farther than the author meant to imply, yet I was amused at the idea that all of us today are so monolithic in thought that certain old ideas are no longer feasible as artistic subjects. I would beg to differ, as I would postulate (from at least my own experience) that religious truths are even now a very present concern and impetus for the creation of true Art. To sum up? Not a bad book by any means. But it feels a bit dated (even though it was written a bare 30 years ago!) and I don’t think adds much to the general conversation. If you are an aspiring professional artist? This would probably be at least mildly worthwhile.