Tagged: books
Marriage and Family: Arty D vs. Louie Lah vs. C Frazier, A Corner-Joint Review of “Through the Magic Door”, “Passin’ Through”, and “Cold Mountain”, by the Aforementioned Three Greats
Sir Doyle’s book is a must-read for book lovers with a personal library (or bookshelf), but definitely can be skipped by all others. The best moments of it are of the nature of the best moments of all of life, which is to say, the best moments are those in which we unwittingly reveal our core beliefs. For this knight, it comes out in his statements about the barbarians or uncivilized (or the like) that still exist today, but of course we stopped labeling them as such pretty much when the likes of Doyle died.
Mr. L’Amour’s book was exactly what you would expect for an author whose works have sold over 300 million copies worldwide.
And then we come to Mr. Frazier’s masterpiece. Oddly, I first heard of Cold Mountain when in the USAF’s OTS in Alabama after college (you need a degree to be a US military officer, and need to be an officer to be a pilot), and had arranged the third of three terribly awkward and resoundingly terminal “let’s meet up since we spent so much time playing SOCOM together online” rendez-vous’. This online pal was a professor’s assistant or something and so I figured it couldn’t be too weird. And it wasn’t. But the only movie worth seeing after grabbing a bite was Cold Mountain. I figured it looked kinda like Braveheart, so I was a bit surprised how it felt so “Notebook-ee” when viewing with a veritable stranger. Not that I regret the meetup. Live and learn, I say.
I watched the movie later in life for whatever reason and fell in love with it. I bought the piano music even. I even, while in Denver, tracked down a “Sacred Harp” group and used to traipse all the way to it when I could, carrying H- in tow. I probably posted about that actually. H- was adorable at those types of things back then. If you haven’t been, the dozen or so participants sit facing each other in a square. And one person stands in the middle and leads the acapella singing, using a particular and simple arm movement to keep everyone on time. When it was H-’s turn, without blinking or thinking, she just stood up and went to the middle, arm at the ready. So funny and instructional. Form the kids, I say. They can do it.
That was close to a decade ago, and a dozen views of the film. As I looked for something to read with my wife (we started with “The Age of Innocence”), I picked up the book. I figured it had to be good if they made a movie. But I didn’t count on how tricky the English is. Most literate native speakers can handle it, if book sales and ticket sales mean anything, but I found that nearly every sentence contained so much meaning—and maybe just to me and my imagination—that I couldn’t read it to my wife and believe that she was following any of it. In retrospect, it was probably more the simple setting of the Civil War American South than anything else that I saw as the barrier. Try explaining the richness of that history to an alien. As I’m sure they (aliens) have—actually we all know they hold grudges longer than we of the West, how else can you explain Africa?—there is just too much passion and indignation and family, not to mention—or dare I mention—principle involved in that great war for the future of America to be captured by words. And folks who don’t interact with the land of America, just the fruits of America—in other words, “the rest of the world”—just can’t “get it”. They can’t. It’s parroting at best, and falsehood at worst.
How do the three relate? Whether Doyle had any idea he was doing so or not, the way his book ended lumped him into the category of the other two, by virtue of climaxing on the concept of marriage and family. I think Louise writes love stories because he knows women read more than men. Frazier wrote his because it was kinda family legend/history. And then Doyle somehow arrived at marriage and family because he randomly began his trek along his bookshelves at such a point that the end of his collection included Stevenson’s works, thus the platform to display awareness that Robert just chose to bypass marriage/family altogether when writing his classics. It lead to Doyle’s best line, “How many [men] go through the world without ever loving at all?”
Forest, Forrest Gump, A Joint Review of The Overstory by Richard Powers and Forrest Gump by Robert Zemeckis
The film Forrest Gump is simply a classic. I know it. You know it. And that’s all I have to say about it.
The Overstory, by Richard Powers, while provocative, was written with enough smugness to need this direct accusation of thematic plagiarism to ground it. Here is my accusation in full: In the end, Richard Powers’ The Overstory offers its readers little more than they already experienced in the film Forrest Gump—that is, a nostalgia-filled game of “memory”, though this new version is chemically-boosted by a fun combination of fabulist storytelling and apparently un-simpleton plants (or more accurately plantae or vegetation) as lens.
With that out of the way, let’s get to some detailed analysis. First up, I feel that I owe you, dear reader, an explanation of how I ended up reading this book. I owe this to you, faithful follower, because you know that I have stated many, many times that I have nearly vowed to never read anything newer than 100 years old, because the classics are the classics for a reason—they are better! Why waste time?
Life threw a curveball, however. I recently moved back to Colorado (mental note: never ever leave again) and this event saw me box up my nice library of classic books that I am diligently working through. As a reader and planner, I kept a couple books out, of course. But not enough, it turned out.
On one trip between Minnesota and Heaven, I stayed with my rich brother and his wife and planned to borrow the first of what I recall was a trilogy of fantasy books I had randomly given them at Christmas a few years back. I was jones’n for easy-to-read, escapist fiction. Unfortunately, and tellingly, they couldn’t recall the location of that box set.
None taken.
Genuinely wanting to rectify the situation, my brother looked over a tiny bookshelf—so small—and, like Belle in the bookstore, chose, The Overstory.
“Here. You might like this one. It’s about-”
“-No need, S-,” I cut in. “As long as it’s fiction, I’ll figure it out.
“Oh. And thanks.”
I set off on the second half of my drive and later that week began to read.
It was miserable. Pulitzer Prize? I thought. This is garbage. I think it’s woke, too. Something is off about it. It feels a little too Greta and not enough William.
A few more pages in, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to read some of the critical acclaim and the previously forgone description from the back. I had to get some sort of context.
Eco-fiction? I knew it. This is garbage. It’s not even a novel. It’s propaganda. I feel like a card-carrying Nazi.
However, if there’s anything I hate more than eco-fiction antifa propoganda, it’s quitting on a book.
“S-. Did you actually read this? I’m finding it very hard to read.”
“Na. I only made it about 50 pages, if that.”
“Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I see. I’ll relax then. I was getting worried that you thought I needed to read it. Gotcha. Might still be propaganda, but at least it isn’t brother-on-brother crime.”
So I kept reading. Slowly it grew on me. Like most books tend to do.
Then something miraculous happened.
“But one day she’s reading Abbott’s Flatland…” Powers writes.
“No way!” I said to myself.
You see, on a previous work trip for the new job, I encountered the same problem of no easy fiction. So I found a sweet used bookstore in Denton, TX, of all places, and boldly asked the college dude behind the counter for recommendations in fantasy/sci-fi short stories. After he brought me to the appropriate section of the shelves, he lit up as he pulled down Flatland.
“This is a must read!” he explained.
I fully agree.
But how in the world can you explain my having just read Flatland after a random recommendation from a random bookstore I had no business stopping in, and then stumbling onto a second non-classic book which refers back to the previous one as if everyone would obviously have been aware of the merely cult favorite? It defies explanation. But it was all I needed to keep reading Powers.
And I am glad I did.
The Overstory is not poetry in the sense that Shelley meant. It is far too technical and, as mentioned, smug. Too naive. Too progressive. Too dry, at times. But the story is compelling, and buyer beware, if true, the stuff about vegetation’s intelligence and ability (not to mention old, old age) and the detailed accounts of eco-terrorists and their deluded—yet unshakable—belief that we’re all missing something feels authentic.
Onto the terrible. One example of the smug faults of the book must be offered. And it relates back to that used bookstore in Denton. Besides Flatland, the kid also handed me Fragile Things, by Neil Gaiman, accompanied by his opinion that Gaiman is the “greatest living writer”. Wow.
Juxtaposed against the author’s of the “classics”, I quickly noticed how this Gaiman would attempt to show-off his mental powers by summarizing enormous works of classic literature in a word, or worse, one emotion. Smug.
And Powers does the same. A sign of the times, I guess.
But what I am talking about, the one drop of oil that ruins the entire ships water supply, has to do with more than fancy-pants pith. My children are old enough to pick up The Overstory offy shelf. They would not know the references to literary greats. No harm, no foul. But what about this line,
She has told him about the Judean date palm seed, two thousand years old, found in Herod the Great’s palace on Masada—a date pit from a tree-
…wait for it…
–that Jesus himself might have sampled-
…not yet…
–the kind of tree that Muhammad said was made of the same stuff as Adam.
BOOM!
Are you kidding me?
Do you seriously want me to believe that you believe this?
Only a moron in the 21st century would equate Muhammad and Jesus—themselves separated by six centuries of time, not to mention the plane between heaven and hell. And more to the point, illiterate Muhammad most certainly did not offer any commentary—nor could he have—on some particular species of tree that most certainly was not distinguishable from any other tree to this ignorant man who couldn’t distinguish the biblical Trinity—Father, Son, Spirit—from whatever bastardized version he heard about and further twisted in his undiscerning, savage head into “father, son, Mary”. Give me a fucking break, Dick. You go too far.
Excuse me. Something comes out of me when it comes to the name of our Lord and Savior.
Want me to consider your point about deforestation? Okay.
Want me to overlook your hubristic take on religion while doing so? No can do.
But not every book can be a classic. So it’s forgivable. I forgive you, Mr. Powers. Both for the Muhammad thing and for the Forrest Gump thing.
Maybe next time.
As for me, back to the classics.
With Great Books, It Happens Every Time
February 2, 2023 CE I began the fourth reading from the third volume of The Great Ideas Program, which, as longtime readers know, is intended to be used alongside the voluminous Great Books of the Western World sets. This fourth reading was the introductory salvo of Nichomachus of Gerasa’s Introduction to Arithmetic, written sometime around 100 AD.
Today, just now, after four long months and many fits and starts—not to mention giving serious consideration to giving up the reading of such dry and pointless prose in favor of books that align with my intellectual habits—I concluded the reading.
And I feel great. I feel like I have a new lease on life.
Before we address whether it is the coffee, which I confess I am running high on or not, I want to clarify that I actually have a new understanding of early math and this new understanding is actually useful to me. (As it would be to anyone.)
The understanding and its usefulness goes like this, “Life is huge.” Followed immediately by, “It cannot be exhausted, used up, depleted, drained, found out, solved, or emptied.”
But you, the driver, have to challenge yourself. You have to read books. And I say, “Start with good books. No, start with the Great Books of the Western World. You will not be disappointed.”
I have lived with the rule-of-thumb that I’m “not gonna read any book that’s newer than 100 years old until I have caught up” for nearly 20 years. I haven’t adhered to it perfectly, but it has served me well and I heartily recommend it.
Best wishes.
Peak Excitement
Most of you know I have been working my way through many writings and volumes of the 60 volume Great Books of the Western World set, via the 10 volume Great Ideas Program guided readings. Most readings so far have tended to be political essays, and so when I saw that the next volume, Volume 3, is Foundations of Science and Mathematics, well, you can imagine my thrill.
I am nearly finished with JS Mill’s On Liberty, meaning tonight may be the night. Queue DeVito’s serenade to Arnold in Twins, “Tonight, is your night bro!”
I have never considered myself a math guy and I hated physics and chemistry in high school. Chemistry was actually the class that ruined my chance to get a motorcycle in high school. Straight A’s? See ya!
But as I attended seminary, I dug into epistemology and all the reasons folks don’t believe in Christianity and the resurrection etc. and have ended up finding myself intrigued to always have a leg up on the ability to intelligently and succinctly speak to the origins and limitations of science and mathematics.
Have I said that tonight could be the night? It could be. Queue Tony and Maria, “Tonight, tonight…”
Usually Tuesday’s are when my wife joins her friends in prayer for hours and I get a movie night to myself. But I don’t think so for tonight. Tonight I get the chance, no, the privilege to open new doors of mind-space.
I ask you, faithful reader, does it get any better than these moments?
All I’m Asking For
Some days I have this window of time to read. The 19-month-old settles into her nap, the wife is somewhere, doing something, and I can finally sit on my fainting couch and apply the full focus of my mind to the ink on the page. Some days. Today was one of those days.
The coffee was wonderful. The reading even better.
The climax of these days is a moment when I know time is almost up, when I feel the caffeine buzz is at its peak, and when the clock tells me if I start right now, then I can probably squeeze out a post before the pacifier hits the floor.
As usual, I started with the Bible. Today was some backwards reading of Ezekiel. Starting at the end and reading to the beginning of a section can be a tool to help bring the familiar pages to life. It worked. I came across a beautiful confession by Yahweh.
‘As I live!’ declares Lord Yahweh, ‘I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that the wicked turn from his way and live. Turn back, turn back from your evil ways!’
Then I opened Hegel. The portion of his Philosophy of Right that I’m on is section 273, where he is detailing his view of the separation of powers. “The development of the state to constitutional monarchy is the achievement of the modern world…” he begins. Distasteful, I know. But then he brings forth an anecdote, as follows.
“It is true enough that in quite simple social conditions these differences of constitutional form [monarchy, aristocracy, democracy] have little or no meaning. For instance, in the course of his legislation Moses prescribed that, in the event of his people’s desiring a king, its institutions should remain unchanged except for the new requirement that the king should not ‘multiply horse to himself…nor wives…nor silver and gold.’”
That’s all I’m asking for.
Interact with the Bible. Don’t ignore the Bible—interact. I’m even fine if you debunk it. But to treat it as irrelevant is to reveal your most hidden motive—vanity.
You want to be remembered more than Moses? Good luck. But here’s the thing. I’ll only respect the attempt if you fight him head on. He fights you head on. Return the favor. It’s the least you could do.
The World Does Not Need More Children’s Books By Minority Authors
I saw a headline the other day about LatinX and other minority authors. It went on about how, while they are publishing some children’s books, there is still a great deficit and a need for more. Let me be clear: that’s simply not true. The world does not need more children’s books by minority authors.
I’ve mentioned on this blog before, more than once, that I attended an evangelical seminary for three years. It was a fairly robust graduate program, so far as I could tell—though I did not decide to obtain a master’s degree. Why not? Because I’m a man of action. And my professor and advisor could not answer the following question satisfactorily: “I’m a pilot. I wasn’t born a pilot; I had to learn how to fly. Likewise, I want to know what skill I will have by working so hard to get the degree. What skill, that I don’t already possess, will I have?”
He couldn’t answer it. I remember he tried; I remember he talked a lot in the space that naturally followed my question. But I also remember that he seemed to almost be speaking gibberish. There was some kind of mental block or other in that interaction.
Over a year later or so, I finally figured out “the academy”. So I emailed the advisor (I was no longer a student) and told him as much. In short, I said, “Higher education is all about writing the primer for the field. In this case, it’s the Bible. You all want to get on the translation committee of the best-selling Bible. In other fields it’s the History 101 text or the Biology 101 text that is taught at Harvard or wherever is most elite.”
My advisor replied, “So are you ready to come back and finish your degree?”
This is why I maintain and declare that the world does not need more children’s books written by minority authors. It just doesn’t. As always, minority authors have nothing to say. And if they did, they certainly wouldn’t need support from the majority. And if the majority, people like me and my old advisor, get them to quit writing, that means they certainly have nothing to say.
I haven’t gone back to finish my degree and I won’t. Like I said, I’m a man of action. I can already do everything those folks can do. But I do not care to write the primer for any field. Except maybe “Bravery”. Yeah. Maybe I’d like to write a book on Bravery.
Here’s my Bravery primer: If you really have something to write, then I wouldn’t be able to stop you no matter how hard I tried.
Helping A Friend: Introducing “Book God the podcast”
Peter Adams is my friend. More than a friend, I would call him a “thematic offspring” of mine—when he’s not listening. Well, like me, he isn’t afraid of books. But unlike me, he isn’t afraid of podcasting. So he finally began the podcast that he has been dreaming up for the past four months. And I had told him, to encourage and taunt him, that I’d throw up a post supporting his endeavor when he finally got three episodes out. You can listen to it here, where you’ll also find links to it on any of the many podcast listening apps: Book God the podcast.
I know Peter, so it’s difficult for me to be objective. But I love the podcast. It’s the only podcast of its kind, and there’s just something about it—maybe his voice—that keeps my hands off my phone as I listen. Episodes are about 30 mins. It’s great to listen to while exercising, or eating, or when you just need to escape. In fact, that’s the best word for it. Episodes of “Book God the podcast” are probably the greatest escape in the podcast-o-sphere.
In any case, I have done my part. (Hope you’re happy, Peter.) Check it out: Book God the podcast.
Re-Engaging With the Study of Politics
I’m working through a guided reading of the Great Books of the Western World, as you know. Sometimes, not often, certain passages are not compelling. The author’s divisions feel forced and the destination blurs.
Because of my high literacy, I began noticing that the more I read the more I learned. And the more I learned the more I began wondering, more clearly than ever before, why am I studying this so fervently? I don’t want to be in politics. I don’t want to be a politician. It’s an interesting field of study, but there are many others just as interesting that may prove more practical, I couldn’t help thinking. But I kept coming back to the fact that Locke said that man first existed in the State of Nature on his own and only later, when it benefited him, gathered into political society. Aristotle, on the other hand, had started with man as a political creature. There was no isolated man. For Aristotle, no man was an island.
Obviously, Locke is right. But whichever side you come down on, the reason to study politics as a hobby is that everything (except religion) is post-politics. Your politics influence your decisions in every other facet of life (except religion). And the only thing that influences your politics is your religious beliefs.
Want to chat about the weather? Me too. But that’s not half as interesting as why you believe America is or should be a democracy. And it’s not one hundredth as important as why you believe that Qu’ran:Bible::Black Ink:Red Ink.
Will my study of politics help me in any measurable form or fashion? It might. That’s why I do it.
In Defense of the Dark Ages
The other day I was on a video conference and while we were awaiting the leader, I took a moment to sell my “Great Books of the Western World” set. I do this any chance I get. These books are fantastic. Anyhow, the most intriguing part of the set is the concrete evidence of the so-called “Dark Ages”. Sitting between Augustine (vol 18) and Aquinas (vol 19) is a whole lotta nuthin’. That’s about 600 years of “darkness”. I find that nothingness exceedingly compelling.
Anyhow, while waiting, this lady says something that I’ve heard my whole life—without seeing a single shred of evidence—like, “I thought we’ve found that there really was plenty written by other cultures during that time.”
I said something like, “Nope”
Now, she thought she had the upper hand and she struck with something like, “So then why do people say that?”
I said, “Well, essentially, it’s just a lie.”
This never goes over well. Oh well.
Today I wanted to clarify my thoughts and record them for posterity.
If you don’t think the Dark Ages existed, you’re not just saying, “I think recent archeological enterprises have resulted in unearthing writings from between 400AD to 1000AD.” You’re actually saying, (without having even submitted one entry into the written record), “I know more than every human being who has lived since Augustine.” In other words, you’re saying, “My thoughts deserve to be in the Great Books,” despite having not even written them down.
Too strong? Don’t believe me? Allow me to explain.
It’s not just that some editor left out recently discovered writings, it’s that every other author whose genius (unlike yours) has made the world turn and given you almost every thought that you ever have or ever will have conceived left them out.
The negative claim that there was a “dark age” is not limited to a “dark age” for the West, unlike the positive claim that the Great Books of the Western World is limited to the “West”. It is about a “dark age” for human genius. And human genius, by definition, requires permanent results. And permanence is found in one of two ways—directly and indirectly. Directly, the genius is still in play. (Socrates’ skepticism, Trojan Horse, and “Oedipus’ complex” to name a few early ones.) Indirectly, the genius inspired other genius. (Euclid’s Elements > Space X’s reusable rockets. Even if Euclid stops being taught, his (and others’) ideas in the “Elements” can never be forgotten so long as we’re more technologically advanced than mankind was in 300BC.)
In any case, consider the pride in, “I thought we found writings during that period,” before you utter it. I really don’t believe that you intend to be so vain.
That’s the lasting beauty of the Great Books. To criticize them, you have to either willfully ignore them or submit your own entry. The danger in ignoring them is being played out as we live and breathe through masks in the West. The danger in submitting your own entry is public humiliation.
To be sure, the “Dark Age” was real.
This Time I Resolve Why There Are No More Great Ideas (And This Also Explains Why Good Ideas Didn’t Ever Really Come Out Of Anywhere But The West)
I’ve had my “Great Books of the Western World” set for over two years now. Not including the Synopticons, books 2 & 3, I am on book 5, I think. Aeschylus. I think. Anyhow, the thing that has been unresolved until now is how no one else cares about these amazing books and ideas.
Finally, today, it hit me. To put it avant-garde, the reason no one cares about the “great books/ideas” is because there are too many Indians to kill this time around. Put inversely, the reason no one cares about the “great books/ideas” is because there is no vast, unexplored, unconquered, and ungoverned terra firma to be again treated like New Eden. After all, it’s “you’ve been kicked out of the Garden”, not, “You’ve been kicked out of wherever you settled after being kicked out of the Garden.”
We don’t seem to be able to think more than one step ahead.
Put another way, great ideas and great books—so says the zeitgeist—have become meaningless. We ask, “What’s the point? Where could we put them into practice and try to build up a utopia for a third time?”
“Is anyone really going to redraw European boundaries? Will untamed regions of Africa and South America and Siberia and Northern Canada really find themselves useful to man?”
“Where is the Neo New World? Or the Ultimate Final Frontier?”
“Speaking of, will it be ‘New USA’ once we’re living somewhere off earth? Or just ‘USA’?”
My step-son just finished reading about Columbus, from an author who adored Columbus—rightly so—and on no follow-on ACT/SAT-prep style reading comprehension test is Columbus:Spain::Musk:USA, no matter how many dictionaries or books I let him use.
Changing generations, my good, in fact, great friend is working on his History PhD, and in so doing writes on mountaineering and exploration. I used to think he was writing the history of mountaineering and exploration. Now I see that he is writing that mountaineering and exploration are actions and ideas which can only be found in history—like the word “homespun”. The crazy part of this aspect of my realization is that many people and cultures never climbed mountains for pleasure or explored uncharted vistas in the first place. It seems that nature is not equitable when dishing out bravery. We might say that bravery is actually unnatural. Better to hide, run, and go hungry.
In the end, despite the depressing nature of the above, I am terribly excited to have resolved this.
Stay tuned for a post about how I resolve the follow-up quandary, which is deciding how to let fellow earthlings know that they are not very nice neighbors without killing the men, raping the women, and enslaving the children. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
Captain’s Log 