I did actually do a decent amount of reading in May (once again, for me), I just haven't gotten around to blogging it. Usually, I've been too tired to string together enough coherent thoughts when I'm at home, and I left my page count and publisher information at home so I didn't write while I was at work.
Long overdue, here be some books I done read:
The Shadow Rises
by Robert Jordan
TOR Fantasy, 1992
681 pages
Here we have the fourth book in Jordan's Wheel of Time series. Of the four, this is the book I felt was the least "stand-alone." By this I mean that, had I picked this book up and read it apart from the rest of the series, I'm not sure I would have cared enough to read any further. However, it does not exist independently, and as a piece of the WoT story as a whole, it is a very strong addition. (NOTE: I don't really know how to talk about WoT books anymore without discussing MASSIVE SPOILERS for those who haven't read the series, so if you don't want to know, just skip down to the next book) The majority of this book seems to be spent waiting on something or other to happen. Rand's arc through this book is primarily traveling and asking a lot of questions/learning a lot of Aiel history (I'll admit to getting a bit bored in the scene where he was in the Rhuidean flashback, but then again I was also ridiculously tired that day and was having focus issues). He also spends a lot of time thinking about how strange women are. And it's true, it seems the young women in Rand's life were being more emotionally indecipherable than usual, even for this series. I generally consider the male-female dynamics--and not just the romantic ones--to be one of the most enjoyable facets of the series. Nevertheless, by the middle of the book I found myself thinking, "Geez, give poor Rand a break, girls!"
I felt a little like Jordan considered Elayne and Nynaeve's storyline a bit of an afterthought. It seemed a lot more was happening there than we really got. Instead, all I got was a bunch of Nynaeve being annoyed at the men. I don't know specifically what in this storyline was unsatisfactory, but it just felt like there was a misfire somewhere in the execution. It may have been that I was just never that interested in the Seanchen woman (See? Don't even remember her name) and she was the major player early on in that story. That said: if this series ever gets (unfortunately) turned into a movie franchise, I want Thom Merrilin to get a spin-off solo film. And I loved seeing his and Elayne's dynamic grow. That, and the re-emergence of Bayle Domon, were probably my favorite parts of this arc.
I liked the growth and change to Elayne's character. I'm generally annoyed with Egwene at this point. Which is odd, because she was one of my favorite characters in the first two books. Now that she doesn't love Rand, it seems like she's just stubborn and trying to prove to everybody how grown up she is. For some reason, she's just annoying me.
Since we're talking about women, the capitulation of the White Tower is an awesome story development. Of all the things that happened in this book, that probably has me the most excited moving forward from a story perspective. (Also, why do these books only give us little tiny bits of Min? More Adventures of Min, dangit! Though that's really what amazes me most of this series: on the whole, there's really not a weak character. Certain characters seem to fluctuate in and out of the realm of "interesting" from book to book, but they're all really solid and there's not really any one character who makes me want to skip the chapter as soon as I realize it is going to be told from his/her perspective. (This isn't something I can say about other epic fantasy storytellers I've read recently)
I loved Perrin/Faile's arc in this book. It was probably my favorite individual story arc so far in the series. It was also very welcome because, while Rand was walking for days and the ladies were sailing and then sitting around waiting for information, Perrin was rallying his homeland to rise up and repel a full-scale Trolloc invasion while sorting through a painfully enjoyable relationship and, reluctantly, becoming a hero. From a beginning-middle-end aspect, clearly the most satisfying arc of the book. Heck, it ends with him riding off (to the inn) on his horse with his new bride to the cheers of his army. Perrin is easily my favorite of the three ta'varen (as I suspect one particular recommender suspected would be the case) and is vying with Loial, Thom, Faile, Lan, Min, and Moiraine for favorite overall character. (It rarely stays the same from one book to the next) And Faile is the perfect foil for him. The "Price of a Departure" chapter is probably the biggest "Awwwww" chapter so far in the series. Nice for a brief bit of feel-good in the midst of all this killing and soul-eating.
One last thing, and then I've really got to move on: As much as I felt like we, as readers, were just waiting for Rand to meet with all the Aiel, once he does finally make it there, HOLY CRAP. My second-favorite Final Boss Battle of the series thus far. Also, I loved how, when Lanfear steps out to make her big "OMG it's the Big Bad!" reveal, Rand's response is basically, "About time you revealed yourself. Where's the other one?" And Lanfear's reaction is roughly akin to, "Wait...you already knew? So, you're not surprised at all???" So often, you want the hero in a fantasy or adventure story to realize that yes, the mysterious stranger is not just a recluse, he's actually the Dark Lord of All Things Evil, yet they're still surprised by it every time it happens. Not this time. Rand's got this whole "Everybody's Out to Get You" thing figured out. And a very cool twist, Asmodeon forced into training Rand in the One Power.
The pieces continue to move into place in what is an impressive Magnum Opus for Mr. Jordan. I could fairly easily get lost in this series for about eight months if I allowed myself to.
War Horse
by Michael Morpugo
Scholastic Press, 1982
165 pages
War Horse, War Horse! War Horse, War Horse! He rides across the nations way back in World War One. Dodging shells and barbed-wire fence is not much fun! An armored tank is coming, so run run run run run! He's saddle up with no recourse, so get that kaiser! Go War Horse!
*Ahem.*
This is a children's book from 1982 that is now a Broadway play famous for its amazing puppetry. When I heard of the show, however, I thought the story sounded good, so I checked out the book. If you like horses, sad things happening, or sad things happening to horses, then this is the book for you! It's told from the horse's perspective. A farm-raised horse forms a special bond of love with his owner's son, but the farmer gets low on cash and so he sells the horse to the army. You even get a nice scene with the boy running up to the serviceman about to take the horse away, shouting "You can't take him! You can't take him!" and "I'll come find you!" It's pretty sad. From that point on, the horse is taken care of by a kind, animal-friendly officer--who is shot and killed in battle. He then escapes the battlefield with his closest friend (whose rider was also killed) and is eventually taken care of by an old German man who lives alone with his sickly young granddaughter. She loves the horses, so naturally the army eventually forces them to leave her. This kind of thing happens for about a hundred and fifty pages. It's kind of like a Lassie story where Lassie gets kidnapped and nearly dies several times as everyone who treats her kindly along the way suffers some tragic end before she finally makes her way home to an overjoyed adult Timmy, who dies of pneumonia a week later.
Okay, it's not quite that bad. Still, it's a downer. And that isn't to say it's bad. I think the book is trying to be an introduction to the horrors of war for young (I'm saying 4th-6th grade?) minds. A lot of sad things happen, but it never takes you to Where the Red Fern Grows-levels of depression. Still, it doesn't sugar-coat the harshness of war. A lot of characters that you come to like don't make it through the book.
So, a good book, and a valuable one. But it's not a surprise it didn't become a beloved classic like Charlotte's Web or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
The Rise and Fall of the Bible
by Timothy Beal
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2011
225 pages
Timothy Beal is a Christian who doesn't believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God. And in this book, he lays out why. Doesn't sound like the sort of thing I'd be up for, and yet I loved most of this book. Here's the weird thing: I agreed with a lot of Beal's thinking and reasoning, but I don't come to his conclusions. He spends most of the book on what the Bible is not and he presents these points very clearly and, I think, accurately. He talks about many people loving (or hating) what he describes as the "cultural icon" of the Bible and not the actual words of the Bible, and I think that's a really strong point. Folks go into the Word having already decided what it says, and they dismiss anything that challenges those ideas. He also writes a fantastic chapter on how Bible-printing became Big Business, and how many of the Bibles that are in print today actually seem to discourage readers from searching the scriptures. Really good, thought-provoking stuff. Beal's encouragement is not to look at the Bible as a book of answers, but rather a catalog of questions. And ultimately, that is where we disagree. Because I believe the Bible both gives a lot of answers and leaves us with a lot of questions. All of the questions--both the answered and the unanswered ones--are designed to direct us to God. I don't consider the fact that the New Testament was not canonized as scripture during the time of the early church substantial reason to set it aside as "not necessarily scripture." I don't believe the Bible was thrown together completely separate from the will of God. I think there's a lot of value in much of what Beal asserts, but he comes to consider the Bible to be a discussion piece and not an authority, where I think there is, in fact, a lot of authority that is guiding the discussion.
We may be splitting hairs here. On the whole, I really liked the book. As I said, I found myself agreeing with much of it. Just not it's conclusion. Not quite. And admittedly, I didn't think the conclusion was nearly as clear as the chapters that lead up to it, so I may not be properly understanding exactly which position Beal does propose. Still, a recommended read for most (though, admittedly, not all) of my believing friends, and a great book to sit around and discuss over a cup of coffee. :-)
*************
Now, I've made a bit of a deal with my 4th-6th grade AWANA students. I challenged them each to read through the entire New Testament this summer (it's not actually that long). My challenge is that I've allowed them each to recommend any two to three of their favorite books, and I'd read them all by the end of the summer. If we all meet our goals, we'll have a party in September. To track my progress, I've offered to set up a blog where I'll write about each book when I finish it. It won't be the same kind of blog as this one is, because I'll be more summarizing story elements so they can tell I've actually read the book. I'll link to that once it's set up. I will still be here occasionally this summer, since I have a few grown-up books I'll be reading on the side, but my summer reading will be just about entirely YA literature. Which will be good for me as a writer, but I will be ready for some more meaty material when I finish the summer reading project.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Surf, Swords, and Shootin'
Man! I read a lot! For me, anyway. What happens when I'm left alone without Internet for a weekend? Books happen.
The Way of Kings
Brandon Sanderson
TOR Hardcover (Tom Daugherty Associates, LLC), New York
2010
1,007 pages
The last Sanderson book I read left me frustrated and annoyed initially, bored about 1/3 of the way through, and riveted for the last 1/2 of the book. Oddly enough, this book followed almost exactly the same path, though it was 600 pages longer so it took me longer to get to the payoff. It still felt like the book went out of its way to belabor some points that I think were already pretty clear, at least from the emotional angle. The novel could probably have stood a little less brooding from the hero, a little less indecision from the heroine, and fewer interludes involving characters who supposedly will make their way into the series at some point, but for now just served to break up the central narrative of the story(s). Also, as in Elantris, I got sick of everyone--especially the impartial narrator--telling me how clever the young heroine was. If she's actually witty and clever, I'll figure it out. I'm a guy who enjoys bad puns, but I'll generally use them with the realization that no, they're not actually that clever.
Character A: "...if I may be so forward."
Heroine: "Actually, you're walking backwards."
Novel: No one could get used to the fact that she was astoundingly clever!
(Exaggeration mine)
As in the other book, however, once they stopped trying to prove how witty Shallan was, or how honorable Kaladin was, or how loyal Delinar was, everything worked together very well. I will admit that, at about page 500, I'd decided I would finish the book and probably not bother with the rest of the (yet unwritten) series. After all, there's a lot of good fantasy out there, and while this was a good book I thought I'd be fine without the rest.
Here's the problem with that, though: ultimately, Sanderson's stories and mythologies are really stinking fantastic. So they take a little time to pick up steam. Doesn't matter. When things were rolling, they were really rolling. The last hundred-and-fifty or so pages were "Do Not Put Me Down" exciting. This is one of the few books that I've read that drew multiple audible reactions from me toward the end. The major reveals in the final arc of the story are masterful. And I don't really think there's any way I'm going to be able to skip book two of The Stormlight Archive. Hopefully, now that we've established the kingdom and the government and the characters and some of the magical rules, we can jump into the story a bit quicker next time. Because ultimately, this was a really good book.
Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family, and Fighting to Get Back on the Board
by Bethany Hamilton with Sheryl Berk and Rick Bundschuh
Pocket Books and MTV Books
2004
213 page
I was pretty juiced by the time I finished Book of Kings because it had been a pretty long process, and my family was out of town so I had nothing better to do, so I picked up and read this book as soon as I finished that one. There's a movie out about this book now, and the only reason I read it was because my wife had it from the library and said I ought to read it. So now I've read two autobiographical books about people losing their arms in the last three months.
This book was written by a thirteen-year-old girl in Hawaii who had her arm bitten completely off by a shark while surfing and has since worked her way back into competitive surfing. She and her family are committed Christians, so while she dislikes the spotlight she's excited about using her story to inspire others to find faith in God. So that's cool. The book itself isn't all that interesting, because the girl isn't really a writer. But it is pretty short. I finished it in about three hours. And I'm sure for its target audience (fellow pre-teens and early teenagers) it probably hits the spot profoundly.
True Grit
by Charles Portis
The Overlook Press, New York
2004 (originally published 1968)
235 pages
This was the last of this year's Best Picture Nominee books. It was quite different from the other two westerns I've ever read as it did not take place on a trail. It was kind of a tamer, western-er version of Winter's Bone. A fourteen-year-old girl (Mattie) sets off for vengeance after her father is shot and killed by a drunken horse thief. She gets help from a couple of federal marshals who don't want Mattie to come along on their manhunt, but she shows her moxy and comes along anyway, so eventually they let her. The first half of the book has an awful lot of setting up the trip and the last half is the adventure itself. There are moments of action-packed tension and moments of sitting around wrangling for dollars and cents. It's a strange book. Enjoyable, though. After plowing through Sanderson's rich histories, mythologies, backgrounds, and character developments, it's a bit of a switch to take Charles Portis' "Here it is" approach to storytelling. Nice to remember that you can tell a story without spending more than a couple of pages on biography per character. A good study in the distinctness of different authors' styles. Also: the narrative voice (an older Mattie looking back on this episode of her life) is quirky, engaging, and enjoyable. It does sound like an old lady sitting on her rocker on the porch telling you the way it used to be. Only the story happens to be about hunting down a murder in the Indian territory. And there are snakes involved. And it's all quite matter-of-fact to this dear old Christian woman. She's funny without trying to crack jokes, and that's often the best kind of funny.
The afterward for this book was kind of weird, as it was basically a graduate-level book review written by a True Grit fangirl. The bulk of it is a recap of the book you've just read with a few comparisons to Huck Finn and The Wizard of Oz thrown in for academic purposes. That said, apparently this book had been out of print for a while, and the recent movie revived interest and so it's making a comeback. That's good, I think, because Portis provides a different view of the West than, say, Louis L'Amour leaves us with.
***
I also read a Pearls Before Swine collection that I bought with a Borders' 20% off coupon for my birthday. I ought to start keeping track of comic collections and graphic novels I read, even if I don't count them as part of my annual "List of Books."
The Way of Kings
Brandon Sanderson
TOR Hardcover (Tom Daugherty Associates, LLC), New York
2010
1,007 pages
The last Sanderson book I read left me frustrated and annoyed initially, bored about 1/3 of the way through, and riveted for the last 1/2 of the book. Oddly enough, this book followed almost exactly the same path, though it was 600 pages longer so it took me longer to get to the payoff. It still felt like the book went out of its way to belabor some points that I think were already pretty clear, at least from the emotional angle. The novel could probably have stood a little less brooding from the hero, a little less indecision from the heroine, and fewer interludes involving characters who supposedly will make their way into the series at some point, but for now just served to break up the central narrative of the story(s). Also, as in Elantris, I got sick of everyone--especially the impartial narrator--telling me how clever the young heroine was. If she's actually witty and clever, I'll figure it out. I'm a guy who enjoys bad puns, but I'll generally use them with the realization that no, they're not actually that clever.
Character A: "...if I may be so forward."
Heroine: "Actually, you're walking backwards."
Novel: No one could get used to the fact that she was astoundingly clever!
(Exaggeration mine)
As in the other book, however, once they stopped trying to prove how witty Shallan was, or how honorable Kaladin was, or how loyal Delinar was, everything worked together very well. I will admit that, at about page 500, I'd decided I would finish the book and probably not bother with the rest of the (yet unwritten) series. After all, there's a lot of good fantasy out there, and while this was a good book I thought I'd be fine without the rest.
Here's the problem with that, though: ultimately, Sanderson's stories and mythologies are really stinking fantastic. So they take a little time to pick up steam. Doesn't matter. When things were rolling, they were really rolling. The last hundred-and-fifty or so pages were "Do Not Put Me Down" exciting. This is one of the few books that I've read that drew multiple audible reactions from me toward the end. The major reveals in the final arc of the story are masterful. And I don't really think there's any way I'm going to be able to skip book two of The Stormlight Archive. Hopefully, now that we've established the kingdom and the government and the characters and some of the magical rules, we can jump into the story a bit quicker next time. Because ultimately, this was a really good book.
Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family, and Fighting to Get Back on the Board
by Bethany Hamilton with Sheryl Berk and Rick Bundschuh
Pocket Books and MTV Books
2004
213 page
I was pretty juiced by the time I finished Book of Kings because it had been a pretty long process, and my family was out of town so I had nothing better to do, so I picked up and read this book as soon as I finished that one. There's a movie out about this book now, and the only reason I read it was because my wife had it from the library and said I ought to read it. So now I've read two autobiographical books about people losing their arms in the last three months.
This book was written by a thirteen-year-old girl in Hawaii who had her arm bitten completely off by a shark while surfing and has since worked her way back into competitive surfing. She and her family are committed Christians, so while she dislikes the spotlight she's excited about using her story to inspire others to find faith in God. So that's cool. The book itself isn't all that interesting, because the girl isn't really a writer. But it is pretty short. I finished it in about three hours. And I'm sure for its target audience (fellow pre-teens and early teenagers) it probably hits the spot profoundly.
True Grit
by Charles Portis
The Overlook Press, New York
2004 (originally published 1968)
235 pages
This was the last of this year's Best Picture Nominee books. It was quite different from the other two westerns I've ever read as it did not take place on a trail. It was kind of a tamer, western-er version of Winter's Bone. A fourteen-year-old girl (Mattie) sets off for vengeance after her father is shot and killed by a drunken horse thief. She gets help from a couple of federal marshals who don't want Mattie to come along on their manhunt, but she shows her moxy and comes along anyway, so eventually they let her. The first half of the book has an awful lot of setting up the trip and the last half is the adventure itself. There are moments of action-packed tension and moments of sitting around wrangling for dollars and cents. It's a strange book. Enjoyable, though. After plowing through Sanderson's rich histories, mythologies, backgrounds, and character developments, it's a bit of a switch to take Charles Portis' "Here it is" approach to storytelling. Nice to remember that you can tell a story without spending more than a couple of pages on biography per character. A good study in the distinctness of different authors' styles. Also: the narrative voice (an older Mattie looking back on this episode of her life) is quirky, engaging, and enjoyable. It does sound like an old lady sitting on her rocker on the porch telling you the way it used to be. Only the story happens to be about hunting down a murder in the Indian territory. And there are snakes involved. And it's all quite matter-of-fact to this dear old Christian woman. She's funny without trying to crack jokes, and that's often the best kind of funny.
The afterward for this book was kind of weird, as it was basically a graduate-level book review written by a True Grit fangirl. The bulk of it is a recap of the book you've just read with a few comparisons to Huck Finn and The Wizard of Oz thrown in for academic purposes. That said, apparently this book had been out of print for a while, and the recent movie revived interest and so it's making a comeback. That's good, I think, because Portis provides a different view of the West than, say, Louis L'Amour leaves us with.
***
I also read a Pearls Before Swine collection that I bought with a Borders' 20% off coupon for my birthday. I ought to start keeping track of comic collections and graphic novels I read, even if I don't count them as part of my annual "List of Books."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
One at a time, I guess
So I've read half of another book, but not in order, and I'm about to lend it to someone else, so I don't know when I'll finish it. Also, my reading schedule has been very wonky lately. Hopefully I'll catch up in the summer.
Anyway, I recently finished another Stephen King book that I picked up more or less on a whim, so I'll go ahead and talk about it now.
The Dead Zone
by Stephen King
426 pages
Penguin Books USA Inc., NY
1979
Here was a book that I just felt really let down by. I never thought it was bad, but I always felt like it was misfiring somewhere. It would captivate me for a few chapters at a time and then just sort of amble into fairly uninteresting character development or political back story for long stretches. It was still fun to read because I enjoy King's style, but I just wasn't able to get into this world as easily as I've been able to access the Tower, Tom Gordon, The Stand, or even Cell.
Well, it took me a little while, but I did finally figure out why that is, and I don't think either the book nor I were really at fault.
The premise of the story is pretty good. A guy has an auto accident and experiences some massive head trauma, spends four years in a coma, suddenly wakes. When he wakes, he can tell things about people through touching them. Secret things. Sometimes good, sometimes really dark and scary. Sometimes it's seeing into the future. Specific details are often a bit hazy, and it doesn't happen all the time, but it does happen, he can't control when it's going to happen, and it almost always leads him to take action whenever he can. So not the most original concept in the world, but in the hands of a guy who made a book about people turned into psychic zombies by cell phones work, it could go to some really cool places.
Only it didn't seem to. It was more a series of episodes with interludes where the protagonist (Johnny Smith) would try to run away from everything to live a "normal" life while his mother's dying words (about accepting God's gift) haunted him. Eventually, Johnny brushes up against a U.S. House of Representatives hopeful and discovers that the man is actually very evil and will soon become President and will start a nuclear war. (And I guess that's sort of a spoiler, but it's set up very early in the book. This ominous evil man who doesn't really play into Johnny's story for 3/4 of the book but clearly has political ambitions pops up from time to time, and if you've read King you know they're going to end up as enemies) To be honest, I was pretty let down by this development. Really? I thought. You have a guy who can see the future, and you're using him to expose...get this...a crooked politician??? Riveting. Don't let the Bad Man run for office, Johnny!
However, as I reflected back on the book about a day after I finished it, I thought about what a different world 2011 is from the 1979 of Stephen King. The Cold War is harsh reality. Nixon just happened. Carter just happened. The feel-good Regan era has not happened. Not only were Americans unhappy, they're scared. They wondered if everybody was keeping secrets from them. They wondered if anybody, especially those in power, could really ever be trusted. And so, bang. King creates a protagonist who discerns secrets with a touch and unleashes him on the heart of America's fears: crooked politics and nuclear war. Actually pretty chilling stuff in context.
So, no, I'm probably not going to read The Dead Zone again. It's not one of King's long-standing classics. I am not, however, sorry I read it, and I imagine if I'd been around to read it in the late 1970s it would have either been terrifying or cathartic.
Anyway, I recently finished another Stephen King book that I picked up more or less on a whim, so I'll go ahead and talk about it now.
The Dead Zone
by Stephen King
426 pages
Penguin Books USA Inc., NY
1979
Here was a book that I just felt really let down by. I never thought it was bad, but I always felt like it was misfiring somewhere. It would captivate me for a few chapters at a time and then just sort of amble into fairly uninteresting character development or political back story for long stretches. It was still fun to read because I enjoy King's style, but I just wasn't able to get into this world as easily as I've been able to access the Tower, Tom Gordon, The Stand, or even Cell.
Well, it took me a little while, but I did finally figure out why that is, and I don't think either the book nor I were really at fault.
The premise of the story is pretty good. A guy has an auto accident and experiences some massive head trauma, spends four years in a coma, suddenly wakes. When he wakes, he can tell things about people through touching them. Secret things. Sometimes good, sometimes really dark and scary. Sometimes it's seeing into the future. Specific details are often a bit hazy, and it doesn't happen all the time, but it does happen, he can't control when it's going to happen, and it almost always leads him to take action whenever he can. So not the most original concept in the world, but in the hands of a guy who made a book about people turned into psychic zombies by cell phones work, it could go to some really cool places.
Only it didn't seem to. It was more a series of episodes with interludes where the protagonist (Johnny Smith) would try to run away from everything to live a "normal" life while his mother's dying words (about accepting God's gift) haunted him. Eventually, Johnny brushes up against a U.S. House of Representatives hopeful and discovers that the man is actually very evil and will soon become President and will start a nuclear war. (And I guess that's sort of a spoiler, but it's set up very early in the book. This ominous evil man who doesn't really play into Johnny's story for 3/4 of the book but clearly has political ambitions pops up from time to time, and if you've read King you know they're going to end up as enemies) To be honest, I was pretty let down by this development. Really? I thought. You have a guy who can see the future, and you're using him to expose...get this...a crooked politician??? Riveting. Don't let the Bad Man run for office, Johnny!
However, as I reflected back on the book about a day after I finished it, I thought about what a different world 2011 is from the 1979 of Stephen King. The Cold War is harsh reality. Nixon just happened. Carter just happened. The feel-good Regan era has not happened. Not only were Americans unhappy, they're scared. They wondered if everybody was keeping secrets from them. They wondered if anybody, especially those in power, could really ever be trusted. And so, bang. King creates a protagonist who discerns secrets with a touch and unleashes him on the heart of America's fears: crooked politics and nuclear war. Actually pretty chilling stuff in context.
So, no, I'm probably not going to read The Dead Zone again. It's not one of King's long-standing classics. I am not, however, sorry I read it, and I imagine if I'd been around to read it in the late 1970s it would have either been terrifying or cathartic.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Between a Rock and a Hardcover
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
by Aron Ralston
Atria Books, New York, 2004
352 pages
Have you heard of the movie 127 Hours? It was nominated for best picture last year, and it's a true story based on an incident where a young man from Colorado got his arm trapped behind a boulder while climbing down a remote canyon somewhere in Utah. He spent six days stuck like that before he finally cut off his trapped arm and hiked to rescue workers and lived to tell the tale. Sounded like an amazing story that I really didn't want to see, so I decided to read it instead.
Aron Ralston (the protagonist and author) is a good writer. He tells his own story in this book in a style that was apparently inspired by Quentin Tarentino movies. (Read the acknowledgments, people!) The first chapter is about his fateful hike and ends with him getting his hand caught. The next is back story. The third recounts his first full day in the canyon, and the fourth is another story from his past. And so it goes. Ultimately, this format is what made it difficult for me to finish the book quickly. While I found many of the stories from past hikes to be interesting, the chapters were pretty heavy in hiking-related details. And since I didn't feel like flipping back to the glossary every couple of sentences, I was a little lost as to the significance of using this piece of equipment or that specific climbing technique on a specific adventure. Plus, I was more interested in the story of the man in the canyon, and at times it felt these interruptions were only slowing that down. While I liked these chapters (for the most part) they did slow the momentum of the book, and one held almost no interest for me whatsoever.
A little over halfway through the book, the format changes somewhat. While still alternating subject matter, Ralston changes from going back and forth from past to present and instead focuses these even-numbered chapters on the rescue effort that is going on while he is trying to survive without food, water, or sleep. Once I hit this point in the book, I was almost unable to put it down (until I fell asleep, which was more a comment on my lack of sleep these past few weeks than it was on the book itself).
Overall, I'd recommend this book to anybody who's interested in the autobiography of a guy who survived six days in a canyon before cutting off his arm. It's quite grim and grisly at times, and the language can get harsh, but I think that's pretty understandable given his circumstance, wouldn't you? Ralston's writing is engaging and his reflections on his life and his family are stirring. You also find yourself cheering for Ralston's early attempts to extricate himself from the rock, even though you know they're obviously not going to work because you most likely think of this already as "The story where that one guy cuts his arm off." When he finally figures out the secret of his escape, I found myself ready to cheer out loud. Though it's good that I didn't, because my wife and month-old son were sleeping nearby. That to say, it's a book that will affect you. Or occasionally bore you. Or both, as in my case. Of course, if you're really into reading about scaling mountains, then this is probably your new favorite book.
by Aron Ralston
Atria Books, New York, 2004
352 pages
Have you heard of the movie 127 Hours? It was nominated for best picture last year, and it's a true story based on an incident where a young man from Colorado got his arm trapped behind a boulder while climbing down a remote canyon somewhere in Utah. He spent six days stuck like that before he finally cut off his trapped arm and hiked to rescue workers and lived to tell the tale. Sounded like an amazing story that I really didn't want to see, so I decided to read it instead.
Aron Ralston (the protagonist and author) is a good writer. He tells his own story in this book in a style that was apparently inspired by Quentin Tarentino movies. (Read the acknowledgments, people!) The first chapter is about his fateful hike and ends with him getting his hand caught. The next is back story. The third recounts his first full day in the canyon, and the fourth is another story from his past. And so it goes. Ultimately, this format is what made it difficult for me to finish the book quickly. While I found many of the stories from past hikes to be interesting, the chapters were pretty heavy in hiking-related details. And since I didn't feel like flipping back to the glossary every couple of sentences, I was a little lost as to the significance of using this piece of equipment or that specific climbing technique on a specific adventure. Plus, I was more interested in the story of the man in the canyon, and at times it felt these interruptions were only slowing that down. While I liked these chapters (for the most part) they did slow the momentum of the book, and one held almost no interest for me whatsoever.
A little over halfway through the book, the format changes somewhat. While still alternating subject matter, Ralston changes from going back and forth from past to present and instead focuses these even-numbered chapters on the rescue effort that is going on while he is trying to survive without food, water, or sleep. Once I hit this point in the book, I was almost unable to put it down (until I fell asleep, which was more a comment on my lack of sleep these past few weeks than it was on the book itself).
Overall, I'd recommend this book to anybody who's interested in the autobiography of a guy who survived six days in a canyon before cutting off his arm. It's quite grim and grisly at times, and the language can get harsh, but I think that's pretty understandable given his circumstance, wouldn't you? Ralston's writing is engaging and his reflections on his life and his family are stirring. You also find yourself cheering for Ralston's early attempts to extricate himself from the rock, even though you know they're obviously not going to work because you most likely think of this already as "The story where that one guy cuts his arm off." When he finally figures out the secret of his escape, I found myself ready to cheer out loud. Though it's good that I didn't, because my wife and month-old son were sleeping nearby. That to say, it's a book that will affect you. Or occasionally bore you. Or both, as in my case. Of course, if you're really into reading about scaling mountains, then this is probably your new favorite book.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Wizard and Winter
Got a fun idea: While I was watching the Academy Awards, I realized I'd much rather read many of the stories nominated for Best Picture than I would care to actually watch the movies. So with that, I went online the next day and reserved as many books that had become BP-noms as were available. (There were only four in this year's crop) Started reading The Accidental Millionaires (the book The Social Network was based on) and ended up dropping it after 73 pages. This wasn't because it was a bad book (it was a bit crude, though obviously I've been able to overlook that in the past); rather it was because I had just recently seen that movie and was kind of bored with the story since I already knew where it was going. So that's two books I've given up on this year.
Anyway, two books finished recently. One is not a best picture nominee, the other is.
Wizard and Glass (The Dark Tower IV)
by Stephen King
1998 Locus Award for Best Fantasy Novel (nominated)
698 pages
Published by a lot of different distributors, and I can't find the exact edition I read on Amazon
This was a re-read. I first read The Dark Tower right when I was starting to get back into reading and around when Robbie was born. This has always been one of my favorite books in the series because it has sort of a self-contained novel smack in the middle of the overarching narrative of the series. The majority of this book is a flashback providing some welcome back story to King's gunslinger, Roland Deschain. And it's a thrilling, frightening, passionate Western about young love and small-town politics and conspiracies and reality-altering mysteries. And Hey Jude. Trust me, it works so much better than it sounds like it ought to.
The opening of the novel is a continuation of the ten-year cliffhanger from King's previous Dark Tower novel (The Waste Lands, which is also superb). It's pretty intense. Following the opening episode, the characters find themselves in Topeka, Kansas, during the events of King's non-DT novel The Stand. Then Roland takes on the role of storyteller and delivers the origin of his quest for the Tower and his ill-fated romance of the daughter of a horseman in a small outer-barony town. It's really compelling stuff. Also occasionally grisly and disturbing. If King sees an opportunity for a disturbing scene, he'll always take it. Likewise, the passionate love-making sequences are largely unedited, so proceed with caution. Overall, though, the story itself is a great adventure epic that augments the rest of the Tower saga. And after Roland's tale is told, the book takes one of the strangest crossovers in the entire series. ("There's no place like home...")
All said, this was a good choice to re-read, even if I had forgotten exactly how creepy Rhea of the Coos could be. A solid tale well-told if you have the stomach for it.
Winter's Bone
by Daniel Woodrell
224 pages
Back Bay Books, 2007
Running out of time, so I'll try to make this quick.
This was one of this year's Best Picture nominated films. It's very good and very disturbing as it depicts the lives of a family of drug-makers in the Ozarks. Our protagonist, Ree, is truly a heroine worth rooting for. If she doesn't work, the whole book is a waste. But she does. In an environment that seems to be breeding perpetual self-destruction, she holds on to hope that things can one day be a little bit better for her family. Not in a Pollyanna, pie-in-the-sky sort of way, but realistically.
In the story, seventeen-year-old Ree's father has disappeared (again) and is wanted in court (again). He's signed their house away as evidence that he'll show, and if the man doesn't come to court the city will be able to seize the family's property. Ree sets out to find her dad, and you learn that the entire surrounding area is inhabited by a family that protects itself and its secrets. At every turn, Ree is commanded to give up her search, and pretty soon she can tell that whatever has happened to her father, it was bad news. As she uncovers bits of information, she challenges a lot more than tradition, determined to either save her family or die in the process. And there are times when you're pretty sure she'll do both.
I enjoyed this book. It was very dark and dismal, but not without hope. Again, it's all in the heroine: she makes the whole thing work. Woodrell writes of a world far removed from my own reality in such a way that I feel I can understand and relate to it, and that right there is the mark of an incredible narrative.
Oh, and since it's been stuck in your head since the post title:
Anyway, two books finished recently. One is not a best picture nominee, the other is.
Wizard and Glass (The Dark Tower IV)
by Stephen King
1998 Locus Award for Best Fantasy Novel (nominated)
698 pages
Published by a lot of different distributors, and I can't find the exact edition I read on Amazon
This was a re-read. I first read The Dark Tower right when I was starting to get back into reading and around when Robbie was born. This has always been one of my favorite books in the series because it has sort of a self-contained novel smack in the middle of the overarching narrative of the series. The majority of this book is a flashback providing some welcome back story to King's gunslinger, Roland Deschain. And it's a thrilling, frightening, passionate Western about young love and small-town politics and conspiracies and reality-altering mysteries. And Hey Jude. Trust me, it works so much better than it sounds like it ought to.
The opening of the novel is a continuation of the ten-year cliffhanger from King's previous Dark Tower novel (The Waste Lands, which is also superb). It's pretty intense. Following the opening episode, the characters find themselves in Topeka, Kansas, during the events of King's non-DT novel The Stand. Then Roland takes on the role of storyteller and delivers the origin of his quest for the Tower and his ill-fated romance of the daughter of a horseman in a small outer-barony town. It's really compelling stuff. Also occasionally grisly and disturbing. If King sees an opportunity for a disturbing scene, he'll always take it. Likewise, the passionate love-making sequences are largely unedited, so proceed with caution. Overall, though, the story itself is a great adventure epic that augments the rest of the Tower saga. And after Roland's tale is told, the book takes one of the strangest crossovers in the entire series. ("There's no place like home...")
All said, this was a good choice to re-read, even if I had forgotten exactly how creepy Rhea of the Coos could be. A solid tale well-told if you have the stomach for it.
Winter's Bone
by Daniel Woodrell
224 pages
Back Bay Books, 2007
Running out of time, so I'll try to make this quick.
This was one of this year's Best Picture nominated films. It's very good and very disturbing as it depicts the lives of a family of drug-makers in the Ozarks. Our protagonist, Ree, is truly a heroine worth rooting for. If she doesn't work, the whole book is a waste. But she does. In an environment that seems to be breeding perpetual self-destruction, she holds on to hope that things can one day be a little bit better for her family. Not in a Pollyanna, pie-in-the-sky sort of way, but realistically.
In the story, seventeen-year-old Ree's father has disappeared (again) and is wanted in court (again). He's signed their house away as evidence that he'll show, and if the man doesn't come to court the city will be able to seize the family's property. Ree sets out to find her dad, and you learn that the entire surrounding area is inhabited by a family that protects itself and its secrets. At every turn, Ree is commanded to give up her search, and pretty soon she can tell that whatever has happened to her father, it was bad news. As she uncovers bits of information, she challenges a lot more than tradition, determined to either save her family or die in the process. And there are times when you're pretty sure she'll do both.
I enjoyed this book. It was very dark and dismal, but not without hope. Again, it's all in the heroine: she makes the whole thing work. Woodrell writes of a world far removed from my own reality in such a way that I feel I can understand and relate to it, and that right there is the mark of an incredible narrative.
Oh, and since it's been stuck in your head since the post title:
Monday, March 7, 2011
...so then that happened
Reading has taken a hit lately since the new baby was born. Also, my writing has picked up a LOT over the past week, which has eaten further into my recreational reading.
Looking for balance, people. Trying to find the balance.
Nevertheless, I've been reading more than it seems like I have. I've got two books that are almost finished, one of which was pretty lengthy, and while I've been working on them I've finished three shorter books, none of which were amazing and two of which took a surprisingly long time to get through (mostly because they were boring and I was sleepy, so I could literally fall asleep while reading).
Here they are, then: The books that I done did finish in February 2011.
How To Run a Theater
A Witty, Practical, and Fun Guide to Arts Management
by Jim Volz
Backstage Books, New York, 2004
181 pages (because I'm not counting the index, seeing as how I didn't actually read it)
This was a good beginner's book in being a theater administrator. A lot of it had to do with managing your schedule, reducing stress, running an efficient meeting, representing your company well, treating your employees with respect, developing a healthy infrastructure for your theater company...it was a little depressing, actually, given current circumstances. Still, it's amazing to me how much "be a good person" seems to have the same checklist as "be a good manager."
Still, a good how-to book that was both concise and thorough. Not nearly as witty or fun as the subtitle would want you to believe, however.
The War of Art
Winning the Inner Creative Battle
by Steven Pressfield
(Forward by Robert McKee)
Rugged Land Publishing, New York, 2002
165 pages
Way back when I was keeping track of a recommended reading list, this book was on it. And after reading it, I can see why the person who recommended it liked it. This is a book you're probably either going to love or hate. I tend to gravitate closer to the "hate" side, though I think Pressfield's point is valid and important. I liked the basic idea of what the book has to say, but I'm not too crazy about the way the author said it. I think you could probably have published the most important ideas in a pamphlet and it would have been equally impactful on my life. And it did have a definite impact, don't get me wrong. Basically, Pressfield says that there is this Resistance that tries to keep artists from creating. It comes in many different forms: excuses, conflicts, writer's block, fatigue, need for (and lack of) validation, et cetera. To truly be an artist, one has to overcome Resistance if one hopes to succeed and fulfill their fullest potential. (This is part one of the book) In order to overcome Resistance, the artist must learn to "Be a Pro." That basically means discipline. Treat your art with the same discipline you give your job. Get to it every day, whether you feel like it or not. Do your best work. Force yourself to stay in the habit of creating. Deny Resistance the opportunity to slow you down. (This is part two) When you commit yourself to your art, you will become better. Your imagination will sharpen. Your senses will hone. You will become a better artist. (This is part three) And I thought, "Yes, this is right. I will start writing every night again, because if I don't I will always find a reason to put it off, and I'll never be a writer." And that's more or less what I've done.
Two points the book loses me on: First, I always dislike a book that I feel is belaboring it's points. (This was part of my case against The Sacred Romance last month) I get what you're saying, let's move on. (To Pressfield's credit, this is a surprisingly quick read because a third of the pages are only half-full of words)
Second, and this is why you'll either love or hate this book, Pressfield goes into a lot of divine mysteries of the artist sort of things that I don't usually like. Part Three of the book is all about accessing a Higher Realm that sends emissaries (angels or muses) to whisper into artists' ears while they write, paint, sculpt, or whatever. A higher consciousness comes to us in our dreams because we are artists, and this other realm that exists just outside the physical realm really just wants to watch us make good art all the time. He justifies this approach by using a single line of poetry as evidence and then proceeds as if this necessarily makes it so. I tend to agree more with the writer of the forward of this book (odd when the guy who writes the forward disagreed with a book before you've even had a chance to read it) that such inspirations are more often born from within the artist though I don't discount the possibility of divine inspiration. But then, I've always bean leery of the "artists are holier than everybody else" school of thought. It's part of why I didn't want to consider myself an artist for a number of years. So again, you'll either love this idea, or you'll be more than willing to pass on it.
The Pig Did It
by Joseph Caldwell
Delphinium Books, New York, 2008
195 pages
Hey, a book without a subtitle!
This was actually one of Kim's library books. She put it down after about page 10. I decided to give it more of a shot and wasn't ready to drop it until I was two-thirds of the way through, and by then I figured I'd just finish it up. It's not a bad book, and it had several scenes that were fantastic. It just never seemed to gain any significant momentum. The language was pretty witty, but even that grew a bit tiresome after awhile. It looked to be a romantic comedy with a whodunit type twist, but the book never really seemed to care much about either storyline. And I'm sure that's the style this particular novelist was going for. And, I know this novelist is good, because he's won the Rome Prize for Literature by the American Academy of Arts and Letters. So he's got far more pedigree than I have, this one just didn't suit my fancy.
Again, I have to point out that parts of the book were really very enjoyable, and I even caught myself laughing out loud on more than one occasion. But the bizarre, wandering, disconnected nature of the narrative often left me flipping to the back to figure out how many pages away from 195 I was.
Looking for balance, people. Trying to find the balance.
Nevertheless, I've been reading more than it seems like I have. I've got two books that are almost finished, one of which was pretty lengthy, and while I've been working on them I've finished three shorter books, none of which were amazing and two of which took a surprisingly long time to get through (mostly because they were boring and I was sleepy, so I could literally fall asleep while reading).
Here they are, then: The books that I done did finish in February 2011.
How To Run a Theater
A Witty, Practical, and Fun Guide to Arts Management
by Jim Volz
Backstage Books, New York, 2004
181 pages (because I'm not counting the index, seeing as how I didn't actually read it)
This was a good beginner's book in being a theater administrator. A lot of it had to do with managing your schedule, reducing stress, running an efficient meeting, representing your company well, treating your employees with respect, developing a healthy infrastructure for your theater company...it was a little depressing, actually, given current circumstances. Still, it's amazing to me how much "be a good person" seems to have the same checklist as "be a good manager."
Still, a good how-to book that was both concise and thorough. Not nearly as witty or fun as the subtitle would want you to believe, however.
The War of Art
Winning the Inner Creative Battle
by Steven Pressfield
(Forward by Robert McKee)
Rugged Land Publishing, New York, 2002
165 pages
Way back when I was keeping track of a recommended reading list, this book was on it. And after reading it, I can see why the person who recommended it liked it. This is a book you're probably either going to love or hate. I tend to gravitate closer to the "hate" side, though I think Pressfield's point is valid and important. I liked the basic idea of what the book has to say, but I'm not too crazy about the way the author said it. I think you could probably have published the most important ideas in a pamphlet and it would have been equally impactful on my life. And it did have a definite impact, don't get me wrong. Basically, Pressfield says that there is this Resistance that tries to keep artists from creating. It comes in many different forms: excuses, conflicts, writer's block, fatigue, need for (and lack of) validation, et cetera. To truly be an artist, one has to overcome Resistance if one hopes to succeed and fulfill their fullest potential. (This is part one of the book) In order to overcome Resistance, the artist must learn to "Be a Pro." That basically means discipline. Treat your art with the same discipline you give your job. Get to it every day, whether you feel like it or not. Do your best work. Force yourself to stay in the habit of creating. Deny Resistance the opportunity to slow you down. (This is part two) When you commit yourself to your art, you will become better. Your imagination will sharpen. Your senses will hone. You will become a better artist. (This is part three) And I thought, "Yes, this is right. I will start writing every night again, because if I don't I will always find a reason to put it off, and I'll never be a writer." And that's more or less what I've done.
Two points the book loses me on: First, I always dislike a book that I feel is belaboring it's points. (This was part of my case against The Sacred Romance last month) I get what you're saying, let's move on. (To Pressfield's credit, this is a surprisingly quick read because a third of the pages are only half-full of words)
Second, and this is why you'll either love or hate this book, Pressfield goes into a lot of divine mysteries of the artist sort of things that I don't usually like. Part Three of the book is all about accessing a Higher Realm that sends emissaries (angels or muses) to whisper into artists' ears while they write, paint, sculpt, or whatever. A higher consciousness comes to us in our dreams because we are artists, and this other realm that exists just outside the physical realm really just wants to watch us make good art all the time. He justifies this approach by using a single line of poetry as evidence and then proceeds as if this necessarily makes it so. I tend to agree more with the writer of the forward of this book (odd when the guy who writes the forward disagreed with a book before you've even had a chance to read it) that such inspirations are more often born from within the artist though I don't discount the possibility of divine inspiration. But then, I've always bean leery of the "artists are holier than everybody else" school of thought. It's part of why I didn't want to consider myself an artist for a number of years. So again, you'll either love this idea, or you'll be more than willing to pass on it.
The Pig Did It
by Joseph Caldwell
Delphinium Books, New York, 2008
195 pages
Hey, a book without a subtitle!
This was actually one of Kim's library books. She put it down after about page 10. I decided to give it more of a shot and wasn't ready to drop it until I was two-thirds of the way through, and by then I figured I'd just finish it up. It's not a bad book, and it had several scenes that were fantastic. It just never seemed to gain any significant momentum. The language was pretty witty, but even that grew a bit tiresome after awhile. It looked to be a romantic comedy with a whodunit type twist, but the book never really seemed to care much about either storyline. And I'm sure that's the style this particular novelist was going for. And, I know this novelist is good, because he's won the Rome Prize for Literature by the American Academy of Arts and Letters. So he's got far more pedigree than I have, this one just didn't suit my fancy.
Again, I have to point out that parts of the book were really very enjoyable, and I even caught myself laughing out loud on more than one occasion. But the bizarre, wandering, disconnected nature of the narrative often left me flipping to the back to figure out how many pages away from 195 I was.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Perspective!
So, I gave up on a book.
There have been several books over the past couple of years that I've said, "I'll give it to page 100, and then I'll decide whether I want to finish it or not." And up to now, I've always finished them, even the ones I haven't particularly liked.
This time, however, I closed a book for the last time on page 106. And it really wasn't a bad book. I was just ready to move on, so I did.
So what was the book in question, the first book to fail the one-hundred page test? Surprisingly, it was The Sacred Romance: Drawing Closer to the Heart of God by Brent Curtis and John Eldridge. I know a lot of people who loved this book. And it's a book that I found myself agreeing with on a conceptual level most of the time. Which is probably why it started boring me: Curtis and Eldridge weren't exactly telling me things I hadn't already thought of. I remember having a similar feeling when I read Wild at Heart in college, though I didn't have a book of borrowed books waiting when I read that one so I plowed through it anyway. And besides, my fiance had asked me to read it so we could talk about it. This time, though, it felt like we weren't covering any new territory, and it was taking a long time to not cover new territory, and the pages of rhetorical questions were also grating on my nerves just a bit, so I dropped it. No hard feelings, John and Brent.
Oh, and please stop referencing Paradise Lost as a primary source. I like Paradise Lost, but I'm not ready to say, "See? This is so totally what actually happened!"
That said, I did take one very good point out of reading Sacred Romance. And then I found the same point put much more succinctly in the next book that I picked up (and devoured in three days).
A Million Miles in a Thousand Days
What I Learned While Editing My Life
by Donald Miller
Thomas Nelson Publishing, 2009
254 pages
(Amazon tells me this edition was 288, but I just read it last night and I know it was nowhere near that many, so 254 is a pretty good estimate. If I'm way off, I'll just edit this when I get home)
A little over a year ago, I read Miller's Through Painted Deserts. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't a book that really stuck with me.
This book sticks with me.
It's also the perfect thing to read right after Hornby's A Long Way Down. Hornby wrote a story about four fairly pathetic people whose lives are going nowhere. Eventually, they become less miserable. Miller writes about himself and the point when he realized that his life was going nowhere in spite of his recent notable successes as an author, speaker, and Christian celebrity. See, Miller wrote this other book, Blue Like Jazz, that lots and lots of twenty- and thirty-somethings absolutely loved. One day years later, he received a phone call from a movie producer (who happens to be one of my favorite songwriters, oddly enough) who wanted to make his book into a movie. Blue Like Jazz was sort of an autobiographical series of thoughts and essays on religion in general and Christianity in specific, so the producer and Miller had to work to put together a story that would make an interesting movie out of intellectual and spiritual ramblings. In the process, Miller decided that his real life--get up, write something, piddle around for awhile, go back to bed--made for a boring story. And as he started learning more about what it takes to craft a great story, he started applying those principals to his life. The process of examination and application transformed him into a new man. And out of that came this fantastic book.
Obviously, this book really hit home to me as a writer, a believer, and a man seeking new adventures in the year to come. It's hard for me to pinpoint exactly what in this book spoke most directly to me without writing a 10-page paper on it. At points, it was a refresher on writing technique. At points, it offered insight into my own spiritual life. At points, it almost read like a personal life pep-talk. But really, it was just one guy being real and saying, "Look, we can all change the stories of our lives. But to do it, we really have to do it." In a way, Miller's story felt like the most healthy mid-life crisis a man could possibly have.
Unlike in Painted Deserts, Miller really tackles some tough stuff with this book. You can really tell the growth, not of the writer, but of the story's protagonist. Which is, of course, the point. The book doesn't have a strong vibe of "Hey, I did it, and you can, too!" Though really, that's what it's saying. Now that I think of it, this really is the best type of autobiographical story. It's self aware without being obnoxiously so; the author never speaks as though he has the great hope or the answers to all of his readers' great struggles. He tells his story simply and honestly, and the story itself holds a mirror to my own life and my own perceptions, and I am left with the question, "What am I to do with what I've just read?"
I'm not going to get all cheesy here. I'm not going to say "This book changed my life!" But it has certainly changed my week. And that's significant enough. If nothing else, it's re-opened my mind to the possibility that I have got choices. I've kind of come to see myself as "locked in" to the life I'm living. But I'm not. Not really. Not if I want badly enough to change it. Miller may have a great point in his thesis that the same elements that create meaningful stories and be applied to any human life.
Oh, and that one point that I mentioned I took away from both Curtis/Eldridge and Miller? Sacred Romance said it thus: that so often we consider God to be the Author of our story rather than realizing we are all characters with Him in His story. Miller put it this way: you are a tree in a forest, and the story about the forest is always better than the story about a tree.
Either way, it's all about perspective. And perspective, or lack thereof, is why Hornby's characters will end up at the top of the building every six months, why Eldridge's audience needs their hearts reawakened to the Sacred Romance, and why Don Miller was able to write himself into a better story than he had been living.
Well, it seems everything in my life is currently conspiring to get me thinking about life, death, adventure, family, and storytelling these days. I suppose there are far worse things to ruminate upon.
There have been several books over the past couple of years that I've said, "I'll give it to page 100, and then I'll decide whether I want to finish it or not." And up to now, I've always finished them, even the ones I haven't particularly liked.
This time, however, I closed a book for the last time on page 106. And it really wasn't a bad book. I was just ready to move on, so I did.
So what was the book in question, the first book to fail the one-hundred page test? Surprisingly, it was The Sacred Romance: Drawing Closer to the Heart of God by Brent Curtis and John Eldridge. I know a lot of people who loved this book. And it's a book that I found myself agreeing with on a conceptual level most of the time. Which is probably why it started boring me: Curtis and Eldridge weren't exactly telling me things I hadn't already thought of. I remember having a similar feeling when I read Wild at Heart in college, though I didn't have a book of borrowed books waiting when I read that one so I plowed through it anyway. And besides, my fiance had asked me to read it so we could talk about it. This time, though, it felt like we weren't covering any new territory, and it was taking a long time to not cover new territory, and the pages of rhetorical questions were also grating on my nerves just a bit, so I dropped it. No hard feelings, John and Brent.
Oh, and please stop referencing Paradise Lost as a primary source. I like Paradise Lost, but I'm not ready to say, "See? This is so totally what actually happened!"
That said, I did take one very good point out of reading Sacred Romance. And then I found the same point put much more succinctly in the next book that I picked up (and devoured in three days).
A Million Miles in a Thousand Days
What I Learned While Editing My Life
by Donald Miller
Thomas Nelson Publishing, 2009
254 pages
(Amazon tells me this edition was 288, but I just read it last night and I know it was nowhere near that many, so 254 is a pretty good estimate. If I'm way off, I'll just edit this when I get home)
A little over a year ago, I read Miller's Through Painted Deserts. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't a book that really stuck with me.
This book sticks with me.
It's also the perfect thing to read right after Hornby's A Long Way Down. Hornby wrote a story about four fairly pathetic people whose lives are going nowhere. Eventually, they become less miserable. Miller writes about himself and the point when he realized that his life was going nowhere in spite of his recent notable successes as an author, speaker, and Christian celebrity. See, Miller wrote this other book, Blue Like Jazz, that lots and lots of twenty- and thirty-somethings absolutely loved. One day years later, he received a phone call from a movie producer (who happens to be one of my favorite songwriters, oddly enough) who wanted to make his book into a movie. Blue Like Jazz was sort of an autobiographical series of thoughts and essays on religion in general and Christianity in specific, so the producer and Miller had to work to put together a story that would make an interesting movie out of intellectual and spiritual ramblings. In the process, Miller decided that his real life--get up, write something, piddle around for awhile, go back to bed--made for a boring story. And as he started learning more about what it takes to craft a great story, he started applying those principals to his life. The process of examination and application transformed him into a new man. And out of that came this fantastic book.
Obviously, this book really hit home to me as a writer, a believer, and a man seeking new adventures in the year to come. It's hard for me to pinpoint exactly what in this book spoke most directly to me without writing a 10-page paper on it. At points, it was a refresher on writing technique. At points, it offered insight into my own spiritual life. At points, it almost read like a personal life pep-talk. But really, it was just one guy being real and saying, "Look, we can all change the stories of our lives. But to do it, we really have to do it." In a way, Miller's story felt like the most healthy mid-life crisis a man could possibly have.
Unlike in Painted Deserts, Miller really tackles some tough stuff with this book. You can really tell the growth, not of the writer, but of the story's protagonist. Which is, of course, the point. The book doesn't have a strong vibe of "Hey, I did it, and you can, too!" Though really, that's what it's saying. Now that I think of it, this really is the best type of autobiographical story. It's self aware without being obnoxiously so; the author never speaks as though he has the great hope or the answers to all of his readers' great struggles. He tells his story simply and honestly, and the story itself holds a mirror to my own life and my own perceptions, and I am left with the question, "What am I to do with what I've just read?"
I'm not going to get all cheesy here. I'm not going to say "This book changed my life!" But it has certainly changed my week. And that's significant enough. If nothing else, it's re-opened my mind to the possibility that I have got choices. I've kind of come to see myself as "locked in" to the life I'm living. But I'm not. Not really. Not if I want badly enough to change it. Miller may have a great point in his thesis that the same elements that create meaningful stories and be applied to any human life.
Oh, and that one point that I mentioned I took away from both Curtis/Eldridge and Miller? Sacred Romance said it thus: that so often we consider God to be the Author of our story rather than realizing we are all characters with Him in His story. Miller put it this way: you are a tree in a forest, and the story about the forest is always better than the story about a tree.
Either way, it's all about perspective. And perspective, or lack thereof, is why Hornby's characters will end up at the top of the building every six months, why Eldridge's audience needs their hearts reawakened to the Sacred Romance, and why Don Miller was able to write himself into a better story than he had been living.
Well, it seems everything in my life is currently conspiring to get me thinking about life, death, adventure, family, and storytelling these days. I suppose there are far worse things to ruminate upon.
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