Tag: fiction

Another Turn about the Room

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A few book thoughts this grey Saturday.

26. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. A strange and beautiful delight of a book. Typically one reads a book and feels that one has a decent understanding of it and feels satisfied upon reaching its close. To the contrary with this one – I feel that five more rereads will not begin to plumb its depths. And I greatly look forward to reading it again. I could talk more about the many characters who are so richly presented and teased throughout – the titular Clarissa, Peter Walsh, the Warren Smiths, even all the smaller bits that still receive more lavish study and attention than the main characters in most other novels – the scene-stealing Sally Seton, the contradictory Mr. Dalloway, Elizabeth and Miss Kilman and others. I think that’s what I loved most about this book, the empathetic and deep look into the lives of those who in other cases would be passed over as mere superficial things. Of course the imagery and description is simply luscious. This book is veritably cinematic. But even so, much of the action is internal and in the minds of the characters we follow, so in a way – is this a story that can only be told properly in the form of a novel? Perhaps perhaps. I feel as if I need to read this again in a year or so and see how it strikes me then. The storyline following young Septimus and Rezia – powerful and affecting and the scene near its close still haunts my dreams. I think on how Septimus and Clarissa mirror each other in certain ways yet wonder on the thread that binds them. Also it’s fascinating seeing the comparison and contrast between Sally and Clarissa and the lives they once led and the lives they now lead. Are they so different now after all? Many more words I could write but I fear without insight. This book is not one that can be entirely captured or comprehended on first read.

27. Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar. This book is written masterfully yet I confess I struggled with it at times. The themes in this one are deep and rich and highlight the inability of the mundane and human to fulfill the eternal longings of the soul. For what are we on this earth? Why do our hearts cry? I wish I could write half as well as this author, whose prose is such that it quickly and incisively places one in the midst of a richly textured scene, all the particulars laid out that one can imagine you’re actually there, watching and hearing and getting swept up in the drama of this young man Cyrus Shams. The character work is strong and though I’m not always a fan of many POVs, the author here handles it marvelously, even with the dream sequences that while a bit self-indulgent, are a delight to read and aid well in developing and revealing the character of our protagonist. I do feel though that the scenes where Cyrus is center were my favourite and I was always excited to get another glimpse through his eyes. This book is a weird one yet wonderful – showing us a man who feels a bit lost and searching for meaning, trying to understand how an Iranian-American can feel at all at home in the Midwest, USA. Does he have a home? Or will he forever be an outcast, a wandering pilgrim in a land that knows him not? I will always resonate with a book and protagonist that has poetry and art – I do love a book where I feel a bit akin to one who feels so fulfilled in writing and where the struggles of such are laid bare. There is a great line about the best part of writing being what comes after it has been accomplished and the satisfaction and feeling of completion it brings. I wish I could whole-heartedly recommend, but as those who know me would not be surprised at, I did cringe and wince at times at the profane and graphic content in this book. Not a fan, though yes it is a part of reality of life. Still, I struggled with it and thus would not recommend this book to all. Yet! There is beauty in this book at times. A bit dreamy and searching and I appreciate reading the heart cries of one who knows this world is not enough.

The Process

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What one does when one seeks to relax says a lot about a person. Or at least, that’s what I’m pondering now as I – in my own way – spend a few minutes sprawling on the couch attempting to put words to page. When one’s creative juices have gone dry and there are no more faded memories fit to be mined, what does one write about? Well that’s when it all goes meta and the wannabe author starts talking about the process of writing. Nothing more boring for the non-author, am I right? But for some of my fellow authors, well…maybe you’re interested in what I have to say? At this point probably not, because I’m just spinning my wheels in this endless intro and you may now suspect – and you’d be right – that I don’t actually have a plan for what I’m writing. And there’s a reason for that.

I most certainly cannot speak for all writers but guess what? I can speak for myself, and so I do. Writing is something that ends in somewhat the same destination. There are words on a page (or on a screen, or on a wall, or various other surfaces, who am I to judge) and these words are presumably an expression of the author’s mind. Yet the process of writing varies in an almost infinite kaleidoscope of ways. The routines and the tics, the little tricks an author does to trick himself into writing something that could be construed as creative are some of the most treasured tools in the author’s toolbox. And I cringe that I have finally used the dreaded toolbox metaphor. Oh may I never do such again.

And I have now wasted another paragraph spinning my wheels. Oh what is this nonsense! I could be smug and say there is a purpose to that and you know what? There is. But I must also be a bit humble and admit that the fact I have spent two paragraphs talking about nothing to illustrate my point is a fortuitous turn of events that I did not realize its ultimate end until now. And that point shall now be illustrated.

Simply this – and I am proud to think that I am alone in this technique but I am sure I am not and I wait for the other writers to hoarde around me and echo that I am not at all unique – I write of random thoughts and tidbits in my brain knowing the writing soul shall not awaken until I give it a good few kicks. Much as one primes a pump, I know that my best output won’t happen right away. Indeed, I can stare at the screen all I want but it is very rare that my best words bloom immediately. Instead, I write. Sometimes nonsense, such as now. Other times, I will visualize a random scene and simply write what comes to me, allowing my imagination to slowly wake and rub the sleep out of its eyes as it looks around and sees what there is to see. But this is the important thing. I write. It is the most basic and excellent writing advice there is and it is preached for a reason. It works. How does one write? You write. It matters not what one writes. Of course eventually one may seek for quality and depth of substance in one’s prose or poetry, but initially? Just write. I stretch my mind and as I write and let my fingers outpace my conscious mind, sometimes I am even stunned at what is eventually resting on the page, alive and vibrant with meaning and truth that I did not myself know was waiting to spring forth from my soul.

I crave to write things that are of beauty and truth. I often fail, it is true. But occasionally I succeed. And I cannot credit my own foreknowledge or depth of craft that I possess in such meagre quantity. Instead, I am grateful for what I have been blessed with, the ability to communicate somewhat of the miraculous, releasing spirit thoughts from my brain to the great beyond, words on a page. If I simply put fingers to keyboard and pound away, eventually some gold emerges from the dross. Not all the time. Not often even. But when from beyond the great sea come words that ring true in a way that leaves my soul in stunned silence at what has been wrought? I lift my eyes to heaven and say a prayer of thanks. For this is how I rest, by pounding out the fresh harvest of my thoughts so that the chaff may be released and perhaps pure silken wheat may be left behind to witness true. I don’t know what it says about me. But in this ultra modern era in which I inhabit, I write to rest. Writing slows my thoughts and reveals inner dreams that soothe and invigorate my very soul. I cannot promise any of these words are or will be of any use to anyone else. But writing them was of use to me. And why not now release them into the wild? These words are not of anymore use to me now – may they run off into the woods and bless who they will.

oh Winter where is thy sting?

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17. Song of Spheres by Walker Larson. Well, this book was definitely interesting. It was a book that I was hoping to love – elements of science, space travel, philosophical questions all. Yet at the end of the day, I found it wanting. Several reasons and I’ll be brief because I don’t really want to spend all that much time writing about this one. Spoilers follow so please be warned if you care for that sort of thing. Firstly, the scientific concepts at the core of this one threw me for a bit of a loop and I’m not quite sure if the author believes in a geocentric model of the universe or not, but I’m left puzzled. I suppose from a conspiracy theory perspective, it’s fascinating to believe it might be true. But for a whole book centered on it? Oh wow. Oh dear. I will give this book some points since I now want to read some actual non-fiction books on astronomy and the earth since this book annoyed me with so much of its science. So yeah, if you want a thriller about a bunch of scientists proving that the sun revolves around the earth? This is your book. Secondly, the prose and craft in this book were…lacking. Thirdly, as much as the book hints and suggestively raises its eyebrow at philosophical questions and the place of man in the world, it never quite goes there. That frustrated me. Either go there or don’t. If you want a book discussing the meaning of life and and the place and purpose of mankind and the possibility of God…well, then, dive in!! This book dances around the edges and never quite commits. All that said? It did keep my attention! I read it in only 2 nights because I really did want to see how the author would wrap up this story. There are certainly thrilling moments! I slightly apologize for being so harsh here, especially as I’m sure this author is still learning his craft and I can certainly not confess I could write anything better. But poor storytelling and wonky science annoys me. What can I say?

That Which We Confess

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Would that I were not currently sitting in front of an empty desk centered in an empty room bathed by the sweetly luxurious outpourings of the fluorescent lights mounted in the recesses far above. I could wish for another fate this late winter day I suppose, but perhaps it is not a bad thing to be in the stillness and in the quiet when so easily might I be in a shrieking cesspit of calamity and chaos. Is this harshly sanitized environment in which I sit not a respite from the nightmares that howl in the greater world outside? Perhaps it would be desirable to sit in this cheery sanitorium if only I believed that the world outside was truly as uncontrollably monstrous as some cannot help but preach. Instead I think that perhaps I do wish my feet were falling in rhythm upon an old stone path as I ponder the fresh air that piles in from the sea and brings the breezes that so often soothe my weary soul. I cast my mind away from this vacant island of pretense and script that vision of reality that so often sweetly haunts my dreams.

In this staging I walk in an old and hallowed courtyard, one lined by brick buildings laced with ivy and a few nodding northern elms who stand proudly in their nakedness. I have an important appointment to keep with a dear friend and though I don’t particularly want to keep her waiting, I do stop for a moment to admire the way the early morning sun filters through the grey clouds above to grace me with a small slice of beauty. I would love to spend a bit of time sitting against one of the trees and writing in my little notebook, yet I cannot spare the time today. Perhaps tomorrow. I put my feet back on the stone path and urge them back into some semblance of pace as I resume my walk. I feel almost as if I could be alone even as I know there are many souls in the buildings that surround me. Yet in the windows that I peer up at I see no signs of life. Only old oaken furniture and a few fluttering curtains in windows that have been left open. Perhaps my friend was leaning out of one of these same windows earlier to watch the sunrise. I know that she likes to do such, even if the sunrise does not promise to be momentous. Ah but there she is now. At the far end of the green I see her sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches that line the path. She waits for me yet makes the most of the time. I see her scribbling away in a notebook of her own. A poem or treatise on theology? Sometimes they are one and the same. Is not a true poem a very reflection on the reality of God? I like to think so. And that’s why people find poets so pretentious at times, for the fact that we seek to impart the deepest of meanings to the most mundane of words. But what are our words but grasping after the most profound realities that our souls ache to know in full? We know how feeble our words are. Yet still we write, in futility and dreams. Now my steps slow as I crunch through the frosty grass. She looks up and smiles.

Let’s talk about all the things and reflect on what our God has revealed to us this day. Let our hearts sing in harmony with the song of heaven. Let’s fill our minds with thoughts of beauty, for vanity unfilled will tends toward chaos and I’d rather not have that. Instead of vacant half-acceptance of the tossing waves of this raging world, let’s set our course by the star we know and firmly with resolve look towards the horizon where the far country grows. We see it now yet dimly. Yet in faith we see it true.

of lights we sing frantically

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A few little book reviews this night. At least I hope they’re little. We shall see.

13. And Once More Saw the Stars – Four Poems for Two Voices by P.K. Page & Philip Stratford. A strange and wonderful poetry paperback I stumbled across in a random second hand bookshop in B.C. a few years past. Finally picked it up off my shelf and I’m glad I did. This is a strange example of genre that I don’t quite know how to classify, even though I’m sure it’s been done before. It’s two artists writing poetry together – a renga, you may say – and it’s slightly offbeat but yet still beautiful the way the voices weave together. The poetry isn’t always exactly my style or to my liking, but yet I still fell under the spell of this book and perhaps that for a meta reason. Page put together this book following the death of Mr. Stratford who died before finishing their lyric dance. The poems are interspersed with the written correspondence enclosed with each succeeding stanza (sent via the trusty mail service – not quite the internet days!) and to be honest? I think I enjoyed this book primarily just to see the way these two poets talked about their poetry and the process and the struggle and the little quirky asides they tossed out as they cobbled together these whispers of the heart. Like I said, if this was just a book of poetry, I may have found myself most unimpressed. But instead…this is a book that is a bit of a window into two artists, showing the collaboration and writing process in a way I’ve not seen it done before. Even my copy has another meta layer on top, with a previous owner making random corrections and comments throughout! I appreciated the tribute to Stratford here and the vulnerability it takes to publicize this correspondence between writers. Grateful for a window into the creative process and it’s made me think more about why and how I write what I do. And some of the sonnets really are quite good! Especially Wilderness I & II – those burst with greater magic and unveiled greater wonders to my soul. This was a worthwhile book and I shall return to it. I came for the poems. I left with the story of two writers whose hearts yearned yet to write of beauty.

14. The Overstory by Richard Powers. There were some things in this book I really loved and there were some things in this book that I really…did not love. And I walked away from this book wondering if maybe Richard Powers is just not the author for me. This is Powers’ magnum opus, the book that won him the Pulitzer and so I assumed that this book would properly wow me. Yet. And. Still. Something in me just doesn’t respond to the way Powers writes and I fully confess it may be my inability to grasp entirely what Powers is attempting to communicate. If anything, it puzzles me because I had a similar reaction when I finished Playground (his most recent book and maybe not the right Powers to start with!). When I finished that book, my ending thought was “Hm.” Same here. I will definitely say one thing though, this book is better than Playground!

Yet I’m already writing too many words and to prevent myself from going overly long, let me say a few of the thoughts I had on this one in more details. Spoilers may follow, be warned if you care about that sort of thing. This book is the tree book. Anyone that’s heard of this book or glances at the title can guess that. And one of the strongest recommendations I can make for this book is that this book definitely makes me want to know more about trees!! As I walk around my neighborhood and my city, I have found myself looking at trees and noticing them in ways I certainly didn’t before. What tree is that? Is it good that there are that many young trees planted close together? Why is half the tree flowering and the other half not? So many questions that I want answers to! I am shamed (though I hope I’m not alone) in realizing how many trees I walk past every day that I can’t name. I am too Olivia (though not Maidenhair, as we’ll get to). If anything, this book made me wish this book was simply a science book about trees and all the wondrous fascinating facts about them. I need to source such a book. But instead…well, and this gets to one of my issues with the book, I struggled to know which was truth and which was fanciful imagery and which was anthropomorphic language and which was possibly some magic realism. There is so much going on with trees here. Yet as much as Powers continually makes it clear the sins humankind is committing against the planet and the trees that inhabit it (and ourselves and our descendants), I was left much fuzzier on what Powers was attempting to communicating about the true essence and reality of trees. Are trees sentient and attempting to communicate to us in a way we simply can’t understand yet? If we had sufficiently advanced computing power and the eyes to see, could we understand the many whispers of the winds that bear the wisdom of countless living, flowering arboreal wonders? In a way, I think Powers may be too clever for me and that the messages he seeks to communicate are cloaked in ways I struggle to grasp. I had the same issue with Playground.

I did much enjoy the early parts of this book – I loved all the individual short stories that told of the lives of so many different people. I initially thought this book was to be entirely a collection of short stories and their connection to trees and the trees’ connection to them and I was here for it. I was so psyched for that book. And I think I was mildly disappointed when those expectations were dashed and I realized all the characters would all interact in their various ways (some more obvious than others). The second part of the book was the weakest by far. Yes, I suppose it was a bit interesting in some ways to see the futile warring of the few against the apathetic selfish tyranny of the many and the attempts of the so-called “eco-terrorists” to save mankind from itself. Yet for some reason the characters in this section all felt a bit caricaturized, a bit plastic. I lost the thread of who was who and what their motivations were. I did really like Dr. Patty Westerford’s sections and though profoundly depressing for multiple reasons, I thought Neelay’s sections were fascinating as well. Yet the rest? They all tended to blend together a bit and I found myself pushing through the brutal horror of it all just to see where Powers was taking us.

I also think I struggled with Powers’ writing style. The metaphors and analogies he uses so often threw me out of the story in their odd juxtaposition to what was occurring on the page. Too often the phrases and imagery felt just a bit too carefully-constructed and artful instead of beautiful and true. This may just be personal taste on my part, but I think I just don’t resonate with his writing style – a bit too much crudity and even a tending towards voyeuristic tendency at times.

Though I struggled with the middle of this book, the end definitely got better and I’m glad I finished this one. I still don’t quite understand what Powers is trying to say – but I appreciated the fact that the ending tone seemed a bit hopeful and optimistic despite the cynical undertone running throughout. Powers is not leaving us in despair – he believes there is reason to hope for good things for the future of this world. Though I’m not quite sure computers and their ilk are the answer, it is fascinating to think of such. Is our incapacity to love each other and our world a product of our own innate selfishness and apathy or simply an inability to understand the messages written in every corner of this world? Do we have an excuse to enable us to continue our way without considering the fact there may be greater truths in this world than we now consider? Perhaps. I’m sure myself and Powers would disagree on what these greater truths are, but I appreciate that he is seeking to use his skills as a writer to tell a story that makes a difference. For true stories have the power of change. But only true stories can do such. This story contains kernels of truth and though I do think Powers’ style simply isn’t for me, I’m grateful this book is in the world.

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.

Waves Crashing Upon the Seaside

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Happy Wednesday, one and all! It is a Wednesday which is also kinda a Monday…as this is my first day back at work following a nice long Thanksgiving holiday. So I sit here at my desk, peppermint mocha to warm me this fine cold morning. And although I could write all about my holiday in Florida with the fam, I fear I do not have the time at the moment. So…let’s catch up on book logging, shall we?

41. Halcyon Drift by Brian Stableford. A classic sci-fi novel. Apparently I am still very much in a science fiction mood…and my appetite for old sci-fi has been most thoroughly whetted by the last few books I’ve read. This book, published in 1972, actually reads almost more like a 50s’/60s’ sci-fi novel, which for me is not a bad thing! I apparently liked this book enough that I’ve now ordered the second book in the series. I shan’t describe the plot of the book, but like a lot of older sci-fi books, the characters aren’t necessarily well-formed but…I shall say that the cypher-like nature of the main character actually enhances both the stunning wonder and pulse-racing danger of the cosmos. The descriptions of space-flight in this novel were both highly original and utterly gorgeous. The main spacecraft in this one…so lovingly described that I could almost imagine the author was a space-pilot himself. And this book moved right along…I read it in just a few days? Not a masterpiece this, but a very serviceable enjoyable read. Looking forward to reading more by this author.

42. Triplanetary by E.E. Smith. Speaking of classic sci-fi…this novel was originally published in serialized form in…wait for it…1934! So back we go! My paperback version I picked up was a 1949 version. Still four years before Dad was born!! This is another book that isn’t a masterpiece, but still highly enjoyable, partly just for getting a window into the 1930s mindset! This book has a lot of great action pieces that are a bit ridiculous but…hey, it’s still good old fashioned fun. You can tell when it was written because one of the most deadly weapons in the book (used twice) is a type of nerve gas (still very much on the minds of people back in the post Great War days). The dialogue in this book is fantastic…mostly because it’s really not how people talk today, but it tickled my imagination to have all these futuristic characters using 1930s American slang! Love it. I haven’t yet decided if I will get any more books in this series, but I definitely enjoyed reading it. A good book to read on the airplane as I flew to Tampa a few weeks ago…

43. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. Finally a modern book. Published in 2014, this is definitely not a classic science fiction novel. Actually, it’s not really a science fiction novel at all. A few weeks ago, I told Meagan I needed to find more sci-fi novels and she was gracious enough to lend me this. (Thanks Meagan!) But I discovered soon upon reading this that it is much more of the dystopian/post-apocalyptic future genre than sci-fi. But no matter that, it was a gorgeous read. I read this in…I think a day? My first few days in Tampa, wasn’t feeling great, so spent a lot of time on the couch reading. And this book made it all ok. The highly literary style of this book tended to sometimes overwhelm the actual plot of the story…but honestly I was alright with that. It was incredibly fascinating to read about the fall of a civilization through the eyes of several characters that were all connected to each other in some way. The character tying all the other characters isn’t even alive for the main plot, but his shadow looms large over the rest. The flashback scenes were some of my favourites and the character of Miranda, the author and artist of the titular “Station Eleven” comics, was most definitely my favourite character. The dinner scene with her and Arthur and others…so vivid I can even now see it in my mind. Honestly, the main plot wasn’t even as fascinating to me as just finding out more about the history of the characters and seeing how everything tied together. The main villain? I figured out who he was fairly early on, and while tragic, he didn’t amount to as much of a menace as I was anticipating. Again though, loved the characterization of Miranda…loved reading about her great work – “Station Eleven”. The short bits of the novel describing those starlit seascapes were some of my favorites. Final verdict? Can’t unreservedly recommend, as it definitely is a bit of a depressing read (post-apocalyptic fun!). But I sometimes enjoy those works tinged with melancholy and regret, so I was perfectly alright with it. I can still picture the glittering snow falling down upon the fallen King Lear, that fallen Arthur Leander.

New Moon

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Before my day starts spiraling into madness, thought I’d update briefly! I’m once again behind with my book logs, so here’s a couple more:

38. All Things Made New by John Flavel. This is not a very long book, but…it is deep and rich enough that I’ve been taking my time with it. Written by Flavel (a Puritan minister from mid-17th century England), this book contains so many invigorating and encouraging and (as always necessary!) convicting words about who God is and what our response to Him of necessity must be. Honestly, there are so many different different topics in this book (mostly composed of his sermons on various occasions) and so I shan’t take the time to give a detailed summary of this book. Just know that it encouraged my soul. I need to read more Puritans.

39. Children of the Mind by Orson Scott Card. And finally my OSC re-read has drawn to a close. Last book of the Ender series here. And as I remembered, this is definitely the weakest book in the series. I still enjoyed it, as I enjoy most of OSC’s books (but not Homecoming series. Never that series!!), but this book didn’t grip me and pull me onward as most of his books do. He tries to get a bit metaphysical and well…it doesn’t quite work, in my opinion. Yes, he wants to somehow describe the mechanisms of the soul, and what distinguishes man from animals, and dabble in the meaning of our true identity. But…it’s a bit weak, and rightly so. For without a clear understanding of who God is (which I daresay OSC does not have), it is most certainly impossible to describe the true nature of man. How can man’s glory be proclaimed when the far greater and most perfect glory of God is ignored? It cannot be. And yes, I understand OSC is trying to “keep his religion out of it” as far as it goes. He’s writing a science fiction novel, not a religious treatise. Nonetheless, I would argue that his Mormon theology is a detriment to his interweaving of metaphysical ideas into what masquerades as a science fiction novel. This book is the weaker for his indulging himself with overly numerous philosophical maunderings. But! Enough of that. Now on to other books. Which I have not decided on yet.

Now, my friends – it is time that I begin to ponder on my tasks for the day as I sip on my coffee. I thank my God for this day He has made. It is from Him – the Father of light! – from whom all good things come. All my praise to my Lord, my God alone.

Redemption

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Quick update this Wednesday morn! Firstly, a few of my latest book logs…I just cannot keep up lately for some reason. My latest three:

35. Shadow Puppets by Orson Scott Card. As said a few entries ago, I sort of read the Bean series out of order. So this is the last one I read, even though it really should have come earlier. Not going to go into plot details, but yet another gripping adventure with amazing characters – I really do love Bean, Petra, Peter et. al. so much!! I think(since it’s been a few weeks since I’ve read this so I’m already forgetting) that this is also the book that Peter’s parents (and Ender & Valentine’s…but they’re not in this book) play a much larger role. They are simply hilarious and I love them much as well. Finally they get to be a bit more than just “the parents”. Fun times. And the ending to this book. I cannot talk about it without spoiling, but to this day I can remember the stunned exhilaration I had when I first realized what had happened near the end of this book. Orson Scott Card is one of my favourite authors for a reason. Speaking of…

36. Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card. The OSC train continues! This is technically the sequel to Ender’s Game but it is a very very different book to that. I was trying to explain the plot of this book to John the other night and…it was a bit difficult. It’s set some 3000 years after the first book. Ender is basically grown up now? He comes to a planet where a Portuguese Catholic colony has been founded and made first contact with an alien species(the pequeninos…) and he meets a very messed up family and there’s also a deadly virus that’s trying to kill everything and I am really going to stop talking about this plot because it’s impossible to summarize for someone who isn’t going to read the book. But it is truly a remarkable book. It starts the trend of each book in the Ender series being more philosophical and “talky” than the last. It starts to get a bit wearing by the final book, but here…this book…masterpiece. And apart from the mystery that must be solved(why did the pequeninos brutally massacre the human scientists? What’s their secret??), the thing that I remember the most about this book is the thrilling human relationships and interactions that OSC describes. Again, OSC is a master at talking about interpersonal relationships and painting vivid characters. So the main family in this book…they have six children right? A lot of times when a lot of characters are described, they all run together and you don’t really remember who’s who. Not this book. I can tell you the name of each character and describe them to you in detail. (Miro, Ela, Quim/Estavao, Olhado, Quara, Grego…) So reading this book – it’s more than just a science fiction novel (although it is that). It’s reading about a family and their problems and their pain and their fears…and what shall be their hope? If you can’t tell, I much enjoyed this one.

37. Xenocide by Orson Scott Card. Next book in the series. Actually just finished this one last night! Shan’t write long about this as I’m very much running out of time. This book is slightly more difficult to read, firstly because of the slightly overwrought philosophical discussions. Secondly because the story of Qing-Jao and the “gods of Path” (actually just an overly aggressive and tragic form of OCD) is definitely not always fun to read. The mental illness aspect is uncomfortable in and of itself. And although OSC is a religious man (his Mormon tendencies do come out at times, as much as I wish they wouldn’t), he does love to play with the idea of religion just being a way for humanity to explain the universe…and in this book in particular, he likes to explore the idea of a character (Qing-Jao) being able to explain any situation or circumstance (whether good or bad) as just being the will of the gods expressed in the disguise of explainable human action. I know what OSC actually believes, so I respect him for having the intellectual honesty to approach this question rigorously…and for these novels, in and of themselves, to take the humanist/agnostic perspective! Nonetheless, it still is slightly irritating, for I do believe in a real God that works in this world. And I believe God is sovereign over all. Of course, Qing-Jao’s dogmatism and unshakable faith in the cruel gods of path is something that I cringe at. Yet I am aware that some others in this world would cringe at my own faith in a God whom many would see as cruel and unloving. Somehow I really did still enjoy this book though. And thinking of things in a religious light, I do long that all in this world would come to know and understand the true God of this universe, a most perfect, just, loving and sovereign God. A God whom we may call Father – if we would only believe in Him. Thus is my heart.

Now I really am running out of time. A few more words and then I shall fly. Last night got to go to a Rockets game with James – Rockets v Blazers! Firstly, the Rockets are…not great right now. So they got destroyed. They’re 1-5 now I think? 1-6? But apart from that! Was an awesome night. Me and James – great talks as always…good to catch up, especially since he is no longer part of Cameron…sad and tragic but great for him so I am happy. And apart from the good chat and good food (classic Rockets meal for me = buffalo chicken strips and fries!), it was an extra-special game night, as James met up with his ticket rep beforehand…and because of…er…how terrible the Rockets are now?…we were offered free seat upgrades to lower level (bonus!) and even more exciting, we got to stand court-side for warm-ups! Sadly the Blazers were warming up on our end, but it was still pretty cool watching the players warm up. I realized I am very small. And just standing on the actual Rockets court – so incredibly amazing for a basketball nerd like me!! And the very best part…? The Rockets starters always get announced after the lights dim, intro video plays…right? And they run onto the court when their name is called, right? Anyways – a few of us who were court-side got to make a little tunnel and high five the Rockets starters as they were announced. So yes, I got to high-five Chris Paul, Carmelo Anthony, PJ Tucker, Clint Capela & Eric Gordon. Pretty sick. It was pretty amazing to be standing feet from them pre-announcements and watch them get psyched up for the game…Paul is so incredibly focused and intense, stretching, swaying back and forth…game face. No wonder he’s as good as he is. But seriously now…standing right next to these men, you do realize (even though you know this!) that they are regular humans. I may see them on TV and read about them online…but they’re as human as you or me. They are not titans (although they are very tall). They are but men. Severely flawed ones, to be sure. As am I. And so although too often our adulation and praise for sports stars can veer towards the idolatrous, let us remember that our worship belongs to only One. Our Lord, our God. And on that note…let me share a couple verses from a song that encouraged my soul this morning as I drove to work…

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art

High King of Heaven, my victory won
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heav’n’s Sun
Heart of my own heart, whate’er befall
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all

The Reading Goes Ever On and On

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29. They Were Found Wanting by Miklós Bánffy. Book number 2 of the Transylvanian Trilogy (or the Hungarian trilogy – as I call it to my friends!) has been conquered. This one took me a little while to complete, but I did truly want to enjoy it…so not attempting to rush through it. I wrote a pretty decent summary of this trilogy when I talked about book 1, so shan’t repeat that. But this book(as I guess middle books of trilogies are wont to do?) got even more depressing…and the characters are not exactly in the best of places. Will things get better? I’m slightly worried that they may not, especially as the Great War looms even closer now. There was definitely a lot more focus on the European political atmosphere in this book…oh so tragic with hindsight. Oh so blind were oh so many. I am hoping that the characters somehow get to a better place in the third book though. We shall see? Balint, Adrienne, Laszlo…surely things can’t get much worse. But I could most definitely be wrong. After I closed this book on a wonderfully emotional note, I wrote in my little notebook (for I knew I wouldn’t log this for a few days, so wanted to jot my thoughts down while they were hot) the following: “What a wistful, melancholy end. Beautiful. Yet oh so sad.” And there you go. Book 3 awaits. I may not read it for a bit though – want to savour this trilogy. I can only read a book for the first time once.

30. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. Ok so yes. This is definitely a re-read. I first Ender’s Game…freshman year of high school, I believe? I had to pick a book for a English I reading project and I grabbed this off the shelf in the media center. It was a most fortuitous choice, for it began my love affair with OSC’s work. All through high school and beyond, I named him as one of my all-time favourite authors. I don’t know if he would rank quite as highly now (simply because I’ve read many more authors since that time!). But I still own multiple of his books (10 or so?) and after reading this, I remembered why I loved him so much. His characters are just amazingly well realized. Almost no author does better in writing full, breathing characters than Card. And it gets even better with the next book in this series – “Speaker for the Dead”. But anyway – I’m talking about Ender’s Game! I’ve read this a few times before, so the plot is a known quantity. But I did forget how imaginative it is. It’s good solid sci-fi…with fun innovations and incredibly cool concepts. And the drama flows hot and heavy. I first read this in high school, so I guess this escaped me then, but I did forget how crude and crass some of the dialog is. I guess kids talk that way sometimes? So I didn’t enjoy those parts quite as much, but once I got past that…I really just fell in love with the book and with Card all over again. This book is quite philosophically sophisticated as well…it’s not just a “good humans defeat evil aliens!” sci-fi novel. Oh no, there’s so much more to it than that…I don’t really want to write out the whole plot here, but I will say that as I finished the book last night – sitting in EQ – I was incredibly satisfied. The whole sequence at the end…with Ender visiting the land of his dreams on a far-away planet…and his subsequent communion with the queen of the race that he destroyed…beautiful and tragic. As the queen communicated to Ender, “They didn’t forgive us – we shall surely die,” my heart nearly broke. And on that note, I’ll end this overly long review. But any book that summons forth such emotions surely deserves my praise.

Now…back to sipping on my coffee here at Starbucks. This Saturday rolls ever on.