Home 15: Living Room

It has an oddly shaped, sloped ceiling that gives it a feeling of being bigger than it is but slightly crooked.  It is painted a bright and glorious white to try to boost the indirect light coming only from the north.  There are tall, white curtains covering the doors to the deck.  There is a dark blue yukata from my sister on the wall that leads to the hallway.  My painting (given to be by a former roommate) is in the random nook.  Around the nook are Christmas pictures from friends and family.  (The nook will be even nicer when I am able to clean off the clutter.)

There's a sofa cast off from a retirement home, a discarded Best Buy break room couch, my lovely rocking recliner (given to me by friends), an ancient television on a cheap, rickety stand, and the mass market paperback fiction.  Furniture is covered in black, blue, or green covers and blankets and pillows in blacks, blues, and greens (and a bit of white).  There's a matching rummage sale coffee table and end table with an ancient rummage sale lamp.  There are two Borders Café rescue chairs  beneath a small pull-out table attached to the wall nearest the kitchen with a beautiful deep geen haori (traditional Japanese kimono jacket) displayed high above it (also a gift).  There is also a huge, ugly Schwinn Airdyne (see part 5), a cheap, foldable stair climber, and a balance ball, but pretend those are invisible.

And there is the accent wall.  Oh, the accent wall.  I knew I would be painting the dark walls (russet red, mustard, and dark gray when I moved in) white to amplify the limited and indirect light, so I wanted one wall that was a color that I found lovely.  I looked at a lot of paint chips, laughed at a lot of paint color names, and eventually chose a beautiful rich green with some blue in it.  My sister painted it when she came to help prep for moving in.  Her text to me after a long day explains why my text message box is always nearly full (I keep the funny ones): "long story short I might burn down your condo to hide my paint job accent wall disaster. redid many times. 1/2 still looks odd but not enough energy to care."

Home Anniversary 8: the boring bedroom

The bedroom is boring.  It has to be because I am allergic to all the things.  I was told my allergies would improve if I could keep the bedroom free of books and dust.  The walls are free of all decorations other than a profusion of ugly nail holes (couldn't afford to also paint it after all the other allergy-proofing).  No furniture, no books, no carpet.

In theory, you sleep better if your room is an empty cave, cool and dark, non-distracting, so there are blackout curtains that don't do a great job, not only because of the cheap-unsafe-apartment-dryer-melting injuries they sustained, but also because I don't have the heart to tape them down on all sides.  It's still pretty cave-like, though, because one of the DIY Demons of Doom who previously inhabited this house added an okay-looking but totally non-functional ceiling light (it's wired for a fan, so it doesn't work with just a light), so I have an ancient, 40-watt desk lamp in one corner doing room-lighting/dimming duties.  It shines up onto the random plant hook on the ceiling where I have placed a single wonderfully gaudy Christmas ornament.

I don't even have a comforter or quilt because it's hard to wash those as often as the allergists recommend.  All totally boring, as it should be for improved health.  But my sheets are a beautiful color between turquoise and jade because there should be something beautiful in every room.  Even the dark ones you can't really see into.  Extra credit if the beauty is machine washable or hypoallergenic.

Home Anniversary 6: The Master Bath closet

I'm going to move around to the back of the house now because, frankly, I want to get it out of the way.  "The Master Bath" sounds all elegant and posh, but it's the size of a closet.  (Actually, that's a lie because the closet next to it is bigger.)  It has a tiny shower, a trendy pedestal sink, and a toilet with one of those fun slow-mo-close lids.

One of the first things I got fixed was the toilet, which was not actually attached to the floor.  My inspector and I considered this a problem, but the seller didn't seem to.  My sister and I got a huge kick out of the fact that the plumber just put the toilet on the bedroom floor while he did plumber things to get it reattached.  We took pictures because it's kind of hilarious.

There was also no storage space in the mirror; it was a fake.  As a result, there is basically no storage space to make the whole bathroom actually functional except under the ridiculous sink.

The sink is one of those big glass bowls that is maybe still a thing in bathroom design, and I was initially not a fan.  I am still not a fan of its functionalness, but there is one thing that makes me very happy about it.  When I am stumbling around clumsily as usual, and I whack or knock something into the sink, it rings out this pure, clear sound like a prayer bell.  It's beautiful.  And frequent.  Who knew clumsiness could make beauty along with bruises and broken bottles?

2014 book party: ending the year on a more organized note

I am finally organizing my nonfiction.  This is much more intense than organizing fiction because I can't just put it all in alphabetical order by author.  I have to group things and then try to guess how my future self will search for them.  Where should the research books on pain go?  Next to the comedy books, of course.   

Philosophy - science - history - literature - aesthetics OR aesthetics-philosophy - science - history - literature?  (Actually aesthetics - philosophy - literature - history - science, in case you're curious.)   

Unread theology/philosophy next to general unread nonfiction?  Or should the read theology / philosophy go next to that?  Organized by last name?  Can't remember author names of some books.  Do those by title and mix in with authors I know.   

Separate narrative from essays / general nonfiction?   

All the poetry and books on writing go to the closet bookshelf in the library; they're hanging out with all the graphic novels and anime, so they're obviously having a good time.   

Why do I have two copies of Basic Theology?  

 Why on earth do I still have two racquetball books, and should they be moved to be with the comedy books at this point?   

And there is only one row tall enough for the big art books, so that throws everything off unless I remember what SIZE the book is.   

It's a really fun way to end a year, for sure: rediscovering the books I have yet to read and the ones I read and liked enough to keep.  And trying desperately to exert enough self control to finish organizing before settling down to drool over the Pre-Raphaelite art book or a beloved new Christmas book that is whispering my name . . .

Happy New Year a bit early.  I'll likely be asleep when the main event happens. : )

Rehearsal

She gives me the part.  Maybe she believed me when I said I'm a choir chameleon who can blend with any group.  Maybe she just liked my voice.  Then again, maybe not because once I have the part, she tells me to sing completely differently.  In her heaven, the angels all have lots of vibrato.  In my heaven, there is no vibrato.

I have never been formally trained.  I used to take a sort of pride in the openness, cleanness, and clarity of my voice (when I wasn't rusty).  I don't actually know how to control and use vibrato for good and not for evil.  Actually, I don't even really know how to use it for evil.  It is not something that comes naturally to me.  I'm not really an alto either, something my old choir director used to say but I didn't really understand until I was out singing with older adult choirs.  Yes, I will now freely admit that I am a mezzo who doesn't have a high range anymore (since I wrecked my health a bit my senior year in high school).  I can't quite bring myself to say I'm a mezzo-soprano, I, who have spent my whole choir life holding up the alto section because I could hit the low notes.

She wants me to sing with more of an alto tone (deep and rich and solid), to keep my voice tall and closed, to pour on the vibrato.  I give it my best shot, trying to memorize the piece so I can spend that mental effort on trying to blend the soprano 1's and alto 2's vibrato while also bridging the openness of the soprano 1 with the closed-ness of the soprano 2 and trying to remind folks about dynamics and to--above all else--listen and make lovely music. 

But at the last practice, our first with the orchestra, I forget everything because the choir is singing and they are getting it right and the orchestra is so full, and I let all the beauty going on distract me, catch me up, pull me away from my duty as bridge/anchor/chameleon, make me forget that I am tasked with singing about the holiness of God so wonderfully it blends into a whole where I don't stand out at all but support and redirect attention where it belongs.

This is why one of the ladies who has also joined the choir just for this events says she likes singing with church choirs more than professional choirs: because this music is not only beauty to us but is also truth.

The Audition

It was my first audition in years, and I am so very rusty.  There were three songs to choose from, and she said she wanted us to work on them in advance so that we really knew them when we were auditioning.  After I finally got access to a piano, I came to the conclusion that I really only had time to get one piece truly audition-ready, so I chose the one that I loved when I first heard it and it sent glorious shivers down my spine.  (The other two were ugly in the recordings I heard because they had opera soloists doing the small ensemble parts, but they were terrible at singing together, and it became this horrible contest of every soloist trying to upstage the others and making ugliness instead of music.)  I spent every spare moment of four days lovingly preparing a performance-worthy audition of that song I loved.  I practically had it memorized, and I had all the dynamics and line shaping mapped out.  I was very nearly ready for anything.  It probably would have gone better if that song were actually used for the audition.

Instead, bits of the other two songs were used.  And I had never really heard them, especially not my parts.  And I suck at sight reading.   While the men auditioned elsewhere, I vampired off other ladies who could sight read (music-by-ear is a gift and sometimes a curse) to pick up one of the parts, but then we had to audition, and I was kind of flustered by the new music and focused on somehow trying to give a performance when I'd never even seen it until that day and getting the totally unfamiliar notes right, and I was reminded of why I hated group work in gym class.  Group jump-roping routines, in particular, taught me that being right (on the beat, executing moves properly, etc.) sometimes matters less than blending in (rhymed with giving in and lowest common denominator and failure). 

I wish I had remembered that before I started singing at the audition.  We were auditioning for small group pieces.  Being on the right note on the right dynamic doesn't really matter if others are making a different (wrong) chord, and you are the only one who is right or you are beautifully bringing out the drama of the line as the dynamics are written to shape it, and everyone else is singing the same (wrong) dynamic.

It was hardly an embarrassing disaster.  I wasn't having an asthma attach from other people's perfume.  I didn't totally make a fool of myself.  Things could have been way worse.  So.  I suppose this is a good learning experience.  I need to remember to listen when I am doing group work and blend in.  Someday, maybe I will learn this lesson for real, and it will stick.  Because the Lord knows I'm not an opera soloist, so I have no excuse.

Peace Like a River - Have you read this book yet? Go, get it, and start reading now!

b Peace Like a River by Leif Enger:  This book.  Wow.  It has been on my list for a long time, and I will not waste time kicking myself for not reading it when it first came out or in any subsequent years.  It is amazing, and I love it.  There is something so incredibly kind about it that makes me want to go out and read it again as soon as I finish because I don't want to let the characters and their voices go.  There were things about the audiobook that I wasn't fond of, but on the whole, the reading of the story was very good.  Chad Lowe helped to bring each character to life with a different, distinct voice, and his narrator's voice just made this a wonderful story to listen to. 

The characters were wonderful.  They didn't always do the right things, and the consequences were often hard to swallow.  I got angry, I laughed, I cried.  The plot wove together beautifully, and the stories just rolled out.  I loved the journey; I really didn't want it to end.  And then what an ending.  Holy cow.   

I liked what it had to say about miracles, about how they intrude and make people uncomfortable because they overturn the natural order of things.  This God is not tame or predictable, and His people suffer.

I wish I could communicate to you how much I loved listening to this book.  There was a sale at Half-Price Books while I was finishing it, and I went to 4 different stores before finding a good paperback copy.  I want to see if the physical reading experience is as good as I think it will be.  I suspect this will be a book/audiobook I will revisit many times over the coming years.

Why you should keep writing

"Keep writing and submitting and asking and trying, but don’t forget that the joy of it is in the simple movement of pen over paper. Of finding the exact right word. Of finding yourself carried into the next paragraph by some wild thought. Of getting a new, startling glimpse of the holy. Publication may come, or it may not, but it will never get better than this." - Addie Zierman

Amen.

My Name Is . . .

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I was looking up the movie version of The Chosen, based on the book by Chaim Potok (a book that allowed me to forgive John Knowles for A Separate Peace).  I liked this cover with its baseball scene showing that the opening of the movie would probably match the book.  It reminded me of this old post, and I found myself wondering if anyone made a movie of my favorite Potok book: My Name Is Asher Lev.

It seems no such movie exists, and I find that I am glad.  I might love it as a miniseries or even a really good stage play, but I don't think I could love a movie version of Asher Lev. I'm not entirely sure why.

Anyway, in my search, I discovered a link to a thought-provoking essay about Potok, Asher, and art that I thought I'd pass on to you since art is probably important to you. 

One of my favorite quotes:

"Where their concept of holiness is too narrow to include the world of art, Kahn’s concept of art is too narrow to include the world of holiness."

Sounds regrettably about right . . .  It's most likely something all Christ followers who are makers of art wrestle with.  Why is that?
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On the power of fiction and faith

"In the end, neither proselytizing nor polemics will allow us to find common ground. . .  Beauty and the imagination provide a space where we can find ourselves entering that common ground almost unawares." - Gregory Wolfe

Thoughts?  Examples?

Will beauty save the world?

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From an advertisement for the book:

"Beauty Will Save the World.  Image editor Gregory Wolfe has said more than once that public intellectuals are a dying breed: writers who proceed on the assumption that regular people read novels old and new, go to museums and art exhibitions, and may even dip into theology and aesthetics. The public intellectual writes as if these interests are not the exclusive territory of academics and specialized reviewers, but are the marks of a well-rounded, curious human being, be she project manager, chemistry teacher, cop, or stay-at-home mom. A dying breed, perhaps, but not quite extinct. In Wolfe and a few others like him, the species lives on. His new book’s title, Beauty Will Save the World: Recovering the Human in an Ideological Age, taken from an enigmatic journal entry of Dostoyevsky, summarizes Wolfe’s own way of thinking: beauty is no frill, but a foundation of a full human life. A cheerful, erudite generalist, Wolfe has the rare gift of tackling weighty and complex ideas in engaging, readable prose. What gives particular warmth to this collection is that he is also occasionally personal. The book would never be mistaken for a memoir, but the outline of Wolfe’s own story is there. Its arc is the discovery that the arts have value to a culture, and to individuals, that goes beyond uplift, diversion, and entertainment, and in fact can shape how we think and live more deeply than abstraction and ideology. We participate in a discovery that is also Wolfe’s own, as he grows from an avidly political youth to a sadder, wiser, more catholic reader of poetry and novels, viewer of art and film, and listener of music, who still cares just as passionately about the state of human societies, though now from a different angle. The book’s earlier sections describe the role of art in the contemporary age—a fractured, shifting time, to be sure, but no more so than any other, Wolfe argues—and make the case for beauty as a vital underpinning to the life of the soul and a humanizing, vivifying, mellowing, and enriching force. Throughout, Wolfe is generous with examples. His special joy is in holding up particular gems for our appreciation, including the work of artists and writers both canonical and lesser-known. Later chapters give consideration to novelists dear to his heart (Endo, Berry, Waugh, Woiwode), visual artists (Folsom, McCleary, Fujimura), and the conservative mentors who shaped him as a young man. Wolfe’s engagement with culture is broad and welcoming. Novels, poems, painting, philosophy, aesthetics: the feast is open to everyone. With stunning cover art by painter Laura Lasworth."

Sounds interesting to me.  What about you?
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Thinking with Fire

I adored Graceling (along with a lot of other people including critics), but I have to say I was afraid that the next book would be too similar, so I held off buying and reading it.  Unfortunate repetition happens to a lot of YA authors.  In Fire's favor was the fact that it was not a sequel, always a good sign.  Also in its favor was the fact that it took place in the same world as Graceling but in another part of it where the rules were different.  (Echoes of Tamora  Pierce, hooray!)  I found the world fascinating and was all for more exploration of it.

In Fire, the situation the heroine was in was sort of vaguely similar, and it was destined to be a romance from the beginning, so there was a certain amount of predictability there, but there was also a lot of court intrigue and reversals and hard decisions and bad things happening to lots of people and misunderstandings and nuanced characters and other bits to keep one reading and guessing.  I enjoyed Fire. 

I must admit that, at first, while I was reading it, I wondered if it sold very well.  Lots of people are sort of Method Readers: they have to find something they can identify with in the main character to keep them reading.  I wonder how many teenaged girls struggle with being so effortlessly, ridiculously beautiful that they literally have to fight off men attracted to them.  The answer is probably not many.  So what would make this book appealing and relevant to them?

I actually found my answer in the responses of those around this main character.  Many wanted her dead because she was by her very nature a temptress (even though she didn't consciously use her powers, especially not for evil) who caused strife, and they were afraid of her potential if she chose to be evil.  They were scared of their weakness and her power over them, so they hated her and tried to confine her or even kill her. 

I found myself remembering that in many places in our real, modern world, women are forced to cover themselves completely and hide away because the men around them believe that their existence and visibility leads men to sin.  Of course, the men can't be expected to control themselves; that would be too hard, so let's blame the women.  It's their nature to tempt men to sin simply by existing, right?  The way the story raised and handled these issues was great.  There wasn't any preaching; no one made speeches they wouldn't have made if they really existed, and I still walked away thoughtful.

I like the conclusions Fire comes to by the end of the novel.  I really do.  She wrestles with her demons and her nature, and she comes to a peace with them.  If only other women in captivity to the weak men around them could have such a hard-fought, hard-won happy ending.  If only all teen girls could successfully fight their way to peace with themselves about their bodies and their responsibility to the people around them.  I hope some of them can.  Maybe reading this book will make them think about it. If not, it's still a great read full of adventure and romance and sacrifice and redemption and good and evil and other things that make a story worth hearing.  I'm looking forward to Cashore's next book.  It's coming out . . . soon, I hope.

Are you more of a "Method Reader" or a total omnivore (omnibibliovore)?

Art, faith, and film: top 100

This is an interesting list of films folks put together to showcase what they thought were the best films in terms of art and faith.  What does that mean?  They talk about it a little at their site and have links to some longer explanations and discussions. 

I would be lying if I said I hadn't heard of half of them.  (More like 80+ percent since I was familiar with about 17.)  I've seen a grand total of 2 of them (Chariots of Fire and The Burmese Harp).  I forced a bunch of friends to watch Chariots with me.  They weren't very appreciative of the music in general, but I think they enjoyed its story and thought-provoking nature.

The Burmese Harp devastated me for weeks, and it was only #20.  I'm almost afraid to see any ranked higher.  I'm also very curious . . .

How many of them have you heard of and/or seen?  Can you make any recommendations?

(Also, the great library migration is mostly over, so I should be returning to my regular schedule of posting every Monday and Thursday.  See you then.)

Let's have a poetry jam session even though none of us are poets

A former co-worker of mine who coaches high school debate was helping a student who wanted to perform poetry.  Being the extremely bright person he is, he did tons of research.  A few times we had lunch breaks together, and we talked poetry, everything from theory to history to terminology to interpretation.  He told me that he dug the old kind of poetry, the kind that was popular entertainment, education, art, and history all mixed up.

He decided he'd like to get a bunch of flexible, creative people together and have poetry nights at his place, so he did.  (That's pretty much the kind of person he is.  It's awesome.)

The first meeting was a blast.  We didn't really have any set agenda, but we ended up looking through reference books, reading some poetry, doing some free-writing exercises based on art/drawing classes he took, and passing around some poetry we all contributed a line to.  Also, we played one of the variations of chess that he made up.  (He loves game design, too.)  I lost.

I also found this incredible poem by that master poet, Anonymous.  I am kind of totally in love with it (please ignore the post-script), and I don't even garden.  It should be read aloud to someone else for best effect but only if you can do it without laughing.  Good luck.

There was high-brow and low-brow.  There was laughing.  There was silence and squirming and even some good ideas for essays and short stories.  Also, a great drawing of a stick figure throwing up and some dinosaurs.  It was a totally enjoyable evening, and I'm looking forward to the next one. 

Have you ever done something like that?  Or thought of doing something like that?

Loving the fallen sparrow

We're back from the dead and ready to roll.  Thank you for your concern about my dead computer and lack of internet access for, er, too long.  My lack of access to the net (and several delayed and canceled flights) meant I read a great book lately, and I wanted to tell you about it while I am still gobsmacked.

READER GEEKING OUT

I loved the characters.  I loved the plot.  I loved this book.  It made me cry so much that my nose peeled from tissue over-use, and I had to do all kinds of wonky things to prevent my awkwardly peeling nose from being what people at my new job remembered about me henceforth. 

This is a difficult and beautiful story.  The characters are lovable and believable and painfully awkward and broken in so many different, normal ways, and that's why this book may break your heart.  It's challenging and moving and heartbreaking and harrowing and full of fragile happiness and despair and death and sadness and tragedy and seeking and surviving and not-finding and truth and grace and faith and hope and love in so many forms.  I can't give you details because it must be read to be understood. 


WRITER GEEKING OUT

No plot summary could possibly do it justice.  Such summaries only serve to cheapen it (as I have proven by trying and getting less-than enthusiastic reactions.  This is a tight book, a finely crafted piece of speculative fiction no "literary fiction" reader should feel ashamed of reading.  World and plot and characters are melded to each other.

The parallel narrative structure is pulled off wonderfully.  I've read other books that try to be this good at a parallel story, and I ended up feeling jerked back and forth, always in the middle of things, as if constantly being in media res is a good thing.  No thank you; I don't appreciate the whiplash.  There is no whiplash here, just elegant execution.

Great balance of new information, great use of point of view to control what is withheld and what we learn and what the characters learn without making the readers feel like the writer is toying with or torturing them.  It's all remarkably organic.  We are on a journey with the main character in the present, and we are reliving the past with him.  We are restricted, but it doesn't feel manipulative because it rises from the story itself and the way it is being told.

It deals extensively with ideas and themes I wish more people would think about (good and evil, maturity, change, celibacy, society, community, mistakes, hindsight, judgment [without facts or love], respect, kindness, tenderness, love and friendship, dignity, fate, good intentions, God, sin, nature, and some other things).  This is a smart book with smart characters, and you will think whether you plan to or not.  Also, regard the calm foreshadowing with awe and dread.

The paperback version I read had some extras at the end, including author insights, and I was blown away by Russell's comments about how we look back at the past and judge harshly, as if we are better people now who would not do these things, as if we are not still the same human beings who make the same mistakes ad nauseum, as if we have the right to judge based on our imperfect information and the twisting of facts and historical records.  If you have any smugness in you, it might be beaten out of you by the end.  Read the book before you read the extra bits because it's kind of like being punched (in a thought-provoking way) if you read it in the context of the whole story.

AND FINALLY

One of the most amazing things about the book is that when you come to the end of the story, having been pummelled and rung out and smashed, somehow there is hope.  This is a miracle.  Don't miss it.

If you've read The Sparrow, feel free to gush or just talk about it or recommend other books people might like.  It's vaguely similar to but clearly better than Out of the Silent Planet and is somewhat redolent of Madeleine L'Engle to me (criticisms I've seen of this work and some of her thinkier works are very similar, and I couldn't help but connect this with The Arm of the Starfish for the sparrow quotes alone).

I'm sorry I waited so long to read this for the first time.  Feel free not to repeat my mistake.

Why I'm glad (again) that I am not a critic

I was reading a review of a group whose music I have really enjoyed on the radio.  The review was condescending, and, in my experience, inaccurate when it talked about how unremarkable the album was because the group sounded like everyone else on the radio at the time of the album release. 

I had never heard a group that sounded like them.  Why would a reviewer say that, I wondered, if it was obviously not true?  What I forgot is that most reviewers get paid to listen to a lot more music than I do. 

The radio station I normally listen to (because I have good reception) is more Adult Contemporary, and this group getting airplay was probably more due to the fact that they're local boys than that they fit the station's format. 

When I recently tuned in to the other station, the one that's more rock/alternative oriented, I understood what the reviewer was saying.  Another reason I don't listen to this other station (aside from the poor, are-they-broadcasting-from-a-shoebox reception) is that there is a certain everyone-sounds-vaguely-the-same vibe.  Ah, this is what the reviewer meant.  If I listened to this station more, maybe the songs I loved from this specific band wouldn't have stood out as much, which would have been a shame, since the songs really spoke to me when I needed them.

I felt bad for the reviewer.  It would be awful not to be able to enjoy the huge, sonic hug aimed at those who have been kicked around and stomped on by the world we live in.

I feel the same way about some book reviewers.  It's sad that they don't get to just enjoy books.  It's sad that they demand originality in order to enjoy something, that they've read so much that originality is often the only thing that matters to them.  It makes me glad, once again, that I have chosen not to be a critic. 

Me and all the other rabid fans who love this music (or that book), regardless of what the critics say because this art is what we need now in our lives. 

Graceling: a book that took self-control to stop reading

I just read Graceling by Kristin Cashore!  I am ecstatic!  I am on an adrenalin rush!  I want to go write something great right now!  I loved this book!

Some reasons why it's great:

• It's a standalone novel.  Yes, an entire story and world in one book!  I have no patience for series right now!  Bring on the standalone novels!
• There is action.  Much is kicked.  Fighting is integral to the plot and characters.  Hooray.
• The characters rock.  I love me some grouchy characters.  They tease each other.  You can tell they have known each other for long times.  They relate to each other like people.  I like them.
• It has a sweet, funny, heart-twisting romance.  Wow.  Just, wow.  (No, really.  Woooow.)
• My sister will like the ending.  Yes, I said it, ST!  You will not hate the ending!  (Maybe a little.)
• It's in great company.  In a spot on review, Publisher's Weekly said, "Tamora Pierce fans will embrace the take-charge heroine; there's also enough political intrigue to recommend it to readers of Megan Whalen Turner's Attolia trilogy."  PW is so right!  I love both of those authors for those reasons among others, and I found similar things to love here.  Now I want to go re-read Turner's stuff . . .

If I were looking for a good example of world-building and seamless, organic plotting, I could start right here.  Too often, characters behave in certain ways because of cliches and tropes that have been established in certain kinds of genre literature.  They don't act like people; they act like characters.  A great author can take those tropes and cliches and 2-dimensional characters and turn them around so that the very same actions/set-ups/character relationships have meaning and are integral to the plot and world, so that there are people populating the world, and they do things the way real people in the real world do. 

For example, sometimes you might find yourself rolling your eyes because the young, male character says something wise and tender beyond his years, and you think of the times you've seen that (so many times) in YA fantasy books or romance, and you get to thinking about those guys and how it doesn't work for those words to come out of their mouths because it's obvious they're present in the story to play that role of the wise, supportive male character who will help the female character become empowered (blah blah blah), and then you remember the circumstances the actual character you are reading about in Graceling grew up in, and of course he said that, of course he would say that and think that; it's who he is, and you know why, and it practically breaks your heart watching them interact. 

I'm explaining this badly.  You should probably just go read the book right now.

It's impressive.  For every cliche (meaningless action or set-up), the author negates its status as a tired, pointless device by showing you how it is a necessary part of this world and by revealing enough about the characters that you know things really would be this way if this world existed.  It's just wonderful. 

I am adding her to my list of authors I will read no matter what they come up with next.  (In this case, Fire!  Also a standalone but vaguely related to this world.)


Have you encountered any authors who made you excited like this lately?

Beautiful music makes me feel happy to be alive

We performed a couple of songs in a lovely little cathedral for the Homecoming service today, and I was able to be pretty mellow all day as a result.  I felt all glowy.  Not even the fact that I got all choked up on page 2 because of how shiveringly beautiful we sounded could get me down.  Not even the Crazy at work could drag me out of my cloud of bliss.  It's even better than a good book. 

Yes, I said it.

I'm trying to figure out why, and I think it's because a musical performance is short and over quickly.  A book lasts longer, takes more from you, and leaves you really frustrated if you can't read it all in one sitting or if the story doesn't end with the end of the book.  When that happens, I'm kind of grumpy because I want to be at the end, where I can just be all glowing and reflective and mellow, where I can remember the beauty (as it used to be defined--as completeness).


Are you a fan of classical orchestral or choral music?  Are you a performer or a listener?  How do you compare what you get out of it to what you get out of other art forms? 

What is permissible

A friend of mine recently read a book series I recommended to those who could deal with adult content in literature.  He enjoyed the series but had this to say about it. 

"I don't think I could bring myself to produce that many swear words and 'scenes' in a book and still claim to be a Christian . . .."

I am interested in this topic as a reader, a writer, and a Christian.  I know that a lot of believers, especially those who grew up in the church, automatically equate depiction with endorsement in stories.  (This sometimes makes me wonder if people have actually read the Old Testament of the Bible because if depiction is equal to endorsement, then we have some serious problems to discuss about lots of those books.)

I think maybe Sarah Zarr, a National Book Award Finalist, said it well recently when she talked about stories.

"The world is not always a beautiful place. Sometimes it is. Sometimes life is beautiful. And I love to see that reflected in stories and art. But, often it is harsh, and perplexing, and sad. Often there’s no justice. Usually there’s a gulf between how things are and how they could or should be. Can stories step into that space between what’s beautiful and good, and what’s broken and unjust, and make a bridge? Walk along side? Hold a hand? Shine a light? Expose what’s wrong or evil and call it what it is? Flash a warning? Redeem?

"I say yes, and without intending it, that yes is there in everything I write, because that’s what I believe about stories."

What do you think?  Is there content that Christians shouldn't depict?  Is there content Christians shouldn't read?  (I'm not talking about pornography/erotica here; let's exclude that from our definition of stories for this debate.)  How should we shape our discernment in this area?  How should be be "sensitive to others" while not flinching from the hard and unlovely things (and the grace and mercy and hope) in real life?

More dead characters

So, continuing yesterday's morbid thoughts on character mortality . . . 

Some authors go out of their way to bring mortality into the story early.  It's part of the world they're building.  They want you to know that in their world bad things can suddenly happen to anybody, that sometimes people die by accident or for stupid reasons, that good things can be smashed and destroyed between eye blinks.  Brent Weeks mentioned that he learned from George R.R. Martin that killing off a main character early on shows you're serious and gets people to pay attention. 

Or, as my sister points out, it makes some people stop reading.  Her philosophy is that the world is dark and sad enough, thank you.  Why spend additional time reading depressing things?  She doesn't like to start watching epic shows unless they're over, so she can know who dies and who lives.  She wants to know who she can safely attach to. 

Don't we all.

However, in real life we have no guarantees.  We can't take anyone for granted because we could all die really at any moment.  To take it down a notch, we don't make friends only with those who we foreknow will stick with us through life.  I frequently strike out in this area.  I befriend people and enjoy their company immensely and think they enjoy mine just as much, but then they drop me and leave. 

It's true that I am more cautious about investing in people now, but I seem to have transferred that fearless befriending ability to characters in stories.  Shows where everyone dies in the end?  Bring it on (and bring the tissues).  Books where everyone pretty much dies in the first chapter?  Hit me.  Stories set in dark and horrible worlds full of unexpected mortality, cruelty, and the evils of humanity?  Yup. 

Sometimes experiencing works like this is like being spiritually pummelled.  It's like having your face ground into the broken fallenness of humanity.  Of course no one likes that!  That's not what I like about these works. 

What I like is hope.  I have become a bloodhound of hope.  I sniff out the faintest traces in the story, the smallest whiffs of grace and mercy and God, and when I find them, it's like He's whispering in my ear, "See what I can do?  I love you."

I think maybe most of us in American are too used to being comfortable and having things our way.  We like nice things.  We don't like to think about things that aren't nice.  We are self-deluding and blind, aren't we?  We like to imagine the world is a nicer place than it is, and so we try to only listen to stories that make us feel good and safe and happy.  We only want our children to know about nice, safe, happy things.  But is that what's best for them?  For us?  Is that's what's best for the world we live in?

It's not that I like pain.  I think maybe I love pain transformed.  I want to write stories like that.  I'm sad that I will lose a lot of readers who aren't willing to go through the grit and dirt and sludge to see just how amazing that hope is, shining like a diamond in a swamp. I wish more people would brave the swamp for the chance to see the beauty.

I wonder if this is part of my wishing for the last lines from the story "Aftermaths" from Bujold's Shards of Honor to be true: 

"Yes, he thought, the good face pain.  But the great--they embrace it."

How do you react to character mortality in stories?  Do you try to avoid the sad ones?  Do you try not to read anything too dark and gritty?  Too graphic?  Do you read just about anything?  What will make you stop reading a story, and why?