Tolkien Week

Sunday was the first day of Tolkien Week - an annual observation that always occurs in September, during the week in which Hobbit Day falls. Hobbit Day, for those of you who are not card-carrying members of the Tolkien Society (as is Your's Truly) is September 22nd - Bilbo and Frodo's birthday. 

Let us all take a moment to fill our Tengwar-etched glasses with Goodly Libations, and raise them in Toast to the Professor!

I had originally intended to do a post on each day of this week, but though I have worked on a Tolkien related post each day, circumstances have conspired to ensure that I have not actually managed to publish a thing. Perhaps the rest of the week will go better?

I first of all present to you a Playlist! Please observe the sidebar, where a Tolkien playlist has replaced the Christmas one that was up there throughout Christmas.... and Lent and Easter and Pentecost. I will be adding to this Tolkien list, so do check back. I also present a small list of Things You Probably Did Not Know About Tolkien. Yes, yes, many of you count me among your more intimate acquaintances, so some of you will have heard me blaithering about this stuff. I trust, however, that the majority of it will be new.

1.) Most Tolkien fans are aware of the fact that he was a Philologist by profession, and familiar with (if not fluent in) a great number of languages. Many of them will also be aware of the fact that he wrote a number of mythic poems that were partly translations out of their original languages, and partly his own re-tellings of those stories. What most might not be aware of, is that one of his earliest efforts in this line is a poem entitled The Lay of Aotrou and Itroun, which was published in the Welsh Review in 1945. It was modeled after an old Breton style of poetry and, indeed, was taken from a Breton story. It has been notoriously difficult to find since than, and as a consequence, is not well known. It was finally republished in 2002, but only in a Serbian translation of Tolkien's original. That edition was reprinted again in August of 2015. This time, it was bilingual, published in Serbian and English, with several new illustrations commissioned for the occasion. I went crazy with excitement over that, and bought it. It is gorgeous and I love it... Now at last, after 80 years of obscurity, it is slated to be officially republished in November of this year.

From Wikipedia

2.) Most people, (even a goodly number of non-Tolkien-fans) know that Tolkien created a writing system for his elvish languages. It is not, strictly speaking, an alphabet in the same way that ours is. It is a very phonetic system, with allowances for sounds that most people don't think about - such as schwas. Furthermore, he adapted it for different languages. High Elves, who speak Quenya, had a different 'mode' for using the Tengwar, than did the Sindaran speaking Low Elves. Tolkien invented a 'mode' for English as well. (Since then, quite a number of real-life languages have had 'modes' created for them, Check out this website for some of them.) Most Tolkien fans will also be aware of the fact that he created a runic alphabet for his dwarves as well. They show up most notably on Thorin's map of the Lonely Mountain. What is less well known is that he invented yet another writing system for his Elves to use, He called it the Sarati. The Sarati differs from the other two in that it is written in columns, rather than lines. Like the Tengwar, the vowels are merely diacritic markings:

From mansbjorkman.net

3.) Tolkien worked on the Old English Dictionary during the years immediately following his demoblisation at the end of WWI. He became quite obsessed with the etymologies of the words "walrus" and "whale". 

From http://blog.oxforddictionaries.com/2013/03/walrus-in-the-oed/

4.) Tolkien worked on a translation of The Book of Jonas for the Jerusalem Bible, which was publish in 1966. A history of the project, and Tolkien's participation in it, may be found here. (Notice that Tolkien is once again dealing with a 'whale' :-) There is an interesting side note to this story for those of us who enjoy Lord of the Rings trivia. The character of Strider in The Fellowship of the Ring - and his introduction in the taproom of The Prancing Pony - was influenced in part by Tolkien's encounter with the Catholic poet, Roy Campbell, at The Eagle and Child pub, during a weekly meeting of the Inklings. Campbell was originally slated to work on the Jerusalem Bible as well - specifically, the Canticles. Given Campbell's strong, almost Elizabethan poetry, his work would have made for a very gorgeous translation. Unfortunately, Roy Campbell died in a car crash before he had a chance to complete anything. I can't help feeling that this is a great loss to the literary world, akin to Tolkien's uncompleted Fall of Arthur.

From tolkienlibrary.com

5.) There is a strong artistic streak in the family. Tolkien seems to have inherited his flair for handwritting from his mother's family: his grandfather was want to draw a circle around a little sixpence, and write out the entire Our Father in fine copperplate writing. Mable Tolkien herself wrote in a very fine hand, and taught her boys to do the same. Tolkien's grandson, Michael G. R. Tolkien, is a poet, who has also written a children's book. (The audio edition is read by Gerald Dickens, the great-great grandson of Charles Dickens!) Tim Tolkien - a great nephew of the Professor - is a sculptor of some note. He is best known for Sentinel, a modern steel sculpture of 3 Submarine Spitfires, peeling off in 3 different directions. Of more interest to Tolkien fans, he is assisting in the designing of a memorial to his great uncle, at Pembroke College. And then there is great granddaughter, Ruth Tolkien: singer, songwriter, and fencer. A blind fencer, who fights competitively. 

And on that note, I shall bid you all a good evening. I am going to have a nice cup of tea, and read Looking for the King - a book about the Inklings, which thus far has allowed its protagonists to meet Lewis and Williams, but not Tolkien - and, let us be honest. When I read a book about the Inklings, I am doing it for Tolkien.

Sumer Is Acumen In...

Lhude Sing..... oh blast.

I think I gave myself a mild case of sunstroke yesterday. Or it could just be that this, the first truly hot day we've had thus far, triggered the heat headaches I generally get during this time of the year, when the rest of the world is lhude singing "cucu" and I am considering moving to Antarctica. Or it could be that I had a restless sleep last night. I remember waking at least once to strange dreams. Though I remembered nothing of the dreams when I crawled out of my bed in the pale grey of early morning... I hope all of you Sun Worshippers are pleased. 

But that was a digression. I did not come to lament the passing of clement weather. Not to complain about heat headaches. No! I Came Burdened With Glorious Purpose. I came with a plan. I came to review books! 

I have been making more of an effort lately to read things. I know that such a statement, coming from the mouth of a legitimate book person, must smack of irony. But I am in earnest. I have not been reading nearly as much as I like, and this grieves me. The trouble is twofold: One, that my own predilections in literature are rather quirky, and run very counter to popular trends in books these days. And two, that I have a remarkably low toleration for the style of writing in most popular fiction, coupled with an intense dislike of the obligatory tough female romantic interest (and all the paragraph-skipping nonsense that goes with it) which current storytelling finds impossible to dispense with. The result of this is a discouragement that quite puts me off reading for a while - a state of existence which my teenage and young adult selves would have found inconceivable. It is most unpleasant, as I miss the singular satisfaction that come with immersing oneself in a good book. So I have been making more of an effort to find things to read. The results have been mixed:

The Short Reign of Pippin IV by John Steinbeck

I did not have very high hopes for this one. I dislike Steinbeck, mostly on principle, and doubt I shall every read another one of his books again. However, once or twice a year I try to read something nominally 'classic' that falls outside of my comfort zone, and had stumbled upon a review of this particular work that made me think it worth a shot. I was pleasantly surprised.

The action takes place some time after the close of WWII, and France's dozens of political parties are so at each other's throats, that they are unable to elect - much less keep - a government in power. Once they have all argued themselves hoarse, they decide on a most unexpected course of action. They decide to re-instate the monarchy. What they are looking for is a patsy. What they get is Pippin Héristal, legitimate heir to Charlemagne and amateur astronomer, whose sole ambition is to gaze upon the heavens in peace… and who astonishes the nation (and himself) by taking the job of monarch seriously.

It is a very light work, and the satire is merely farcical, not mean-spirited. Pippin is a rather endearing. Like many good kings of myth and story, he goes out to meet his people, incognito. In Pippin’s case, this means dressing in his oldest clothes, and dashing about on his little motorbike. He talks to the people and he listens to what they have to say. The story bubbles along, cheerfully pitting the unworldly Pippin against the self-interested modern world he has been dragged in to. There is a chapter near the end that gets a bit bogged down with the sort of political ideology that makes me so leery of Steinbeck, but it is brief, and gentle, slightly bittersweet ending makes up for it.

Would I recommend it? Well I wouldn't exactly go around shouting its praises. The Napoleon of Notting Hill takes the idea more seriously. The Mouse That Roared is more fun. Still it is quite charming, and Pippin is such an altogether nice man that I quite enjoyed my time with him. So, yes. If you are looking for some pleasant reading for an evening or two, give Pippin IV a try.

Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz

This might be the one and only time in my life that I have completed a book by a popular author. I was going to say that it is the first bestseller that I ever got all the way through, but due to the vagaries of human nature, both Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society were on the bestseller list. So let it be noted that I am capable of enjoying popular fiction. But Dean Koontz falls into a category of author I avoid with almost snobbish superiority. To a man, these authors churn out books with impossible frequency, and write with a curiously voiceless prose that serves merely to tell the story. There is nothing special about it, nothing to give pleasure to the inner ear of the reader. It is a vehicle, nothing more.

Why, then, you might well ask, would I bother with such a book at all? Well, in part so that I could say that I had actually read one of those authors that everyone else seems to love, and that, having tried, I can be honest in my dislike. And in part, because I had read a review about the Odd Thomas series, extolling its orthodox Catholic underpinnings, and I believe that much good can be accomplished by weaving traditional philosophy and theology into a popular story in a modern setting. So I took the plunge and read the thing.

I shall be honest right off the start and admit that the protagonist, the premise, and the way the story plays out, reminds me a bit of Matt Murdock and Neflix's Daredevil. It is possible that I would have enjoyed Odd Thomas more, had I not already seen Daredevil - and had Daredevil not done it better. It did have some good things going for it. The story itself was not bad at all, though a bit too much like a popcorn film. There was enough conscious morality to save it from banality. The titular hero is a 20 year old fry cook, whose first name really is Odd. (Odd is actually quite a popular name in Norway. It comes from an old Norse word meaning a sharp edge.) Our Odd can see dead people, as well as a creepy sort of spirit which he terms bodachs, which are heralds of coming death. They bear only the slightest resemblance to the bodachs of folklore - it is simply the word Odd uses for them. Because of his ability, he is about to assist in the solving of old crimes, and in preventing new ones. Odd himself is a very good character, old for his age, wise and wry - given to an entirely understandable discouragement at times, but retaining a sturdy hopefulness. He tries to be virtuous and is honest about his weaknesses. He doesn't bother with whether his ability is a blessing or a curse. It is merely a responsibility, and it makes him selfless. Odd regularly goes out in to dangerous situations, in an attempt to use his gifts for good, and often comes home quite the worse for wear. I really like Odd a lot, and if I ever read another book in this series, it will be solely on account of himself. It was refreshing to come across such a wholesome and principled character.

The writing is what killed this one for me. For the most part, it was merely bland. It disappeared into the landscape, and so long as it stayed that way, it was bideable. However, it occasionally lapsed into a hard boiled attempt at something vaguely poetic. Every time it did that, I was pulled violently out of the story, recasting the phrase in my mind, trying to twist it into something that wasn't trying so hard. The short, taut chapters made it easy to keep turning the page and reading "just one more" before getting on with the rest of the day, but I think the momentum fell off a bit about halfway through. By the end, I was just frustrated with the pat way the story covered all the points. There was nothing superfluous in the writing. It was very economic, which is not a bad thing, but... well, for me, at any rate, there was no joy in the telling. The story was just there. 

Would I recommend it? You actually get a caveated answer. I would not recommend it to my friends, as their taste runs similar to mine, and they would probably all be as frustrated with it as I was. However, it was an entirely decent book - a good deal is made about the chastity of an important couple's relationship - and I can see what the author was doing with it. I wanted to like it. It just didn't suit me. But, I would have no qualms whatsoever in recommending Dean Koontz to librarian patrons, who are fond of that sort of thing. Indeed, it is rather nice to know that I have that option now.

Vango by Timothee de Fombelle

I have been trying to read more books for adult, and get away from YA stuff - mostly because I like a certain amount of maturity and thoughtfulness in my reading - even when I am reading for fun. That is not to say that I don't read a fluff. I do. I have, indeed, been reading far too much fluff and I am a bit tired of it. Vango, however, sounded intriguing  "....In a world between wars, a young man on the cusp of taking priestly vows, is suddenly made a fugitive..." The first chapter opens with Vango, laying on the ground with other young men, at the beginning of the ordination ceremony, and ends with him climbing the Gothic carving of the cathedral face, to escape a gunman who is inexplicably shooting at him... and catching a ride on the zeppelin which miraculously appeared at that very moment. From that point on, we get an understated, old-fashioned story, full of chases and shadowy men, mystery, intrigue, and adventure. The book is set between the wars, and the tone of the book matches the time period. It is impossible to give any sort of a summary without spoilers, so I shan't try. The downside of it, to get that out of the way, is that this book is apparently the first in the series, and ended without any real resolution, which disappointed me. But the book itself.... Well, for all the familiar feeling of an old-fashioned yarn it had about it, I can't remember the last time I read anything quite like this - certainly nothing that has been recently published, and definitely no other YA book that I can bring to mind. There is a hidden monastery on an island, that figures largely into the plot, and I doubt that anyone else has ever come up with such a swashbuckling reason for a monastery to be hidden. I want to live there. Vango is believable as a young man who wants to be a priest, but he is not annoyingly pious or faultless - quite the opposite. He is sweet, quiet, meek, obliging - and also stubborn, reckless and impetuous. I really want him to be a priest... but there is a dashing young woman in the book too, who is not a love interest yet, but shows every indication of turning into one in the next book. I didn't want to like her for that reason, but she is so spunky and fun, that I do like her. Quite a lot. I just would rather she remains Vango's sisterly friend. 

Would I recommend it? Oh, come on. There is a zeppelin. And a hidden monastery. And Italian islands. And a hidden treasure. And a young man on the run. Of course I recommend it.... I should however, in fairness, point out that Vango tells its story on its own terms. It is not a fast paced book, for all the drama and suspense it generates. The author has an easy affection for the story, and easy affection for his characters, and a delight in the landscape and time period he has set the story in. I keep using the phrase "old fashioned" to describe it - and it is. But sometimes, old fashioned hits the spot, and on that level Vango delivers. I am looking forward to reading the next book in the series. 

Maððums

One of my jobs at the library where I work, is to sort through the boxes of donations we receive. I go through the books and divide them into categories: 

 - The ones we can add to the Library's collection

 - The ones that are very fine, but we have no use for, and which the Friends of the Library sell in the lobby.

 - The ones that are very decent, but a bit on the older side, which we set aside for a big everything goes sort of book sale, which occurs three times a year. Stuff as many books as you can into a bag, and we'll give it to you for $10!

 - And lastly, the books that do not fit into any of the above categories, and which we pass on to Better World Books. 

It is quite a fascinating job as the books that come through the donations can be quite diverse. Some are most excellent. Some are quirky and fun. Some are downright inappropriate. And some, I regret to say, are health hazards, and I am covered in dust (but, please God, let that not be spiderwebs) when I am finished. Some are just plain ridiculous, and you wonder what, exactly, possessed anyone to buy such a thing, much less hang on to it for years, before deciding to bequeath it to the Public Library. At some point, I am going to do a funny post on some of the real winners we've received, though I regret to say that that post will not feature pictures of the 20 volume series on microwave cooking - yes, you read that correctly. Apparently, microwave cooking is so complex as to require 20 volumes to cover it all.

Today is not the day for a funny post. Today is the day I brag about how I made out like a bandit with the donations. (The best thing about sorting donations, is that you get first dibs on whatever strikes your fancy. I love that.) Today, someone came in with a lot of beautiful old books.  I was up to my elbows in dust and crumbling pulp fiction when she arrived with them, I was shaken with great joy at the sight of civilised literature. I sort of pounced on the new stuff... and oh, golly, I was in heaven. Here is what I hauled home:

 

There was a book on swords in it! 

 

It is a very cool book with illustrations like these in it:

 

There is fold-out picture of the Bayeux Tapestry:

 

 The original must be staggeringly impressive, as this wee, fold up version just keeps coming and coming:

There is a copy of the Odyssey:

Translated by none other than Lawrence of Arabia:

 

There is this incredibly beautiful leather bound Latin book, containing the Sacred Liturgy for Holy Week and Easter Vigil.

 

See how beautiful it is:

It has its own cover:

Which is beautifully braid-stitched:

And the interiour is just as comely:

 

There was also this charming little folio:

Which upon being opened, contained drawings like this:

 

There was an Anglo Saxon Reader! 

 

Which contains a good deal of Anglo Saxon verse:

And finally..... There is a very simple little book called Word-Hoard:

 

Which is merely what its title page implies - a word list - but, oh, I got ridiculously excited about it. I jumped up and down, and felt very foolish and ashamed afterwards... but not sorry. I got excited about this entry:

not merely because it is the word sweord but because if you look closely at the blurry little shot, you will see the word maððum. Those two crossed 'd's - ðð - those make a 'th' sound, so that words is mathom, and I know what a mathom is. It is a treasure, an object of value, etc. Tolkien uses it in The Lord of the Rings for the nicknacks which the hobbits accumulate. But I am using it as the heading of this post, because that is what I came away home with today - maððums!

 

The High Crusade

My aged computer hath given up the ghost. This is a source of some sadness and more difficulty to me. I am no good at gadgety shopping. Quite frankly, I was rather fond of the old laptop and am not like to take to a new one, just at first. But ah well, that is Life for you. If my posting becomes more spotty than usual, you know that I have a good excuse for it.

And now... a book review. The High Crusade by Poul Anderson:

I picked this book up on a whim that had next to nothing to do with that cover, and a good deal to do with the jacket summary:

In the year of grace 1345, as Sir Roger Baron de Tourneville is gathering an army to join King Edward III in the war against France, a most astonishing event occurs: a huge silver ship descends through the sky and lands in a pasture beside the little village of Ansby in northeastern Lincolnshire. The Wersgorix, whose scouting ship it is, are quite expert at taking over planets, and having determined from orbit that this one was suitable, they initiate standard world-conquering procedure. Ah, but this time it's no mere primitives the Wersgorix seek to enslave—they've launched their invasion against free Englishmen! In the end, only one alien is left alive—and Sir Roger's grand vision is born. He intends for the creature to fly the ship first to France to aid his King, then on to the Holy Land to vanquish the infidel. Unfortunately, he has not allowed for the treachery of the alien pilot, who instead takes the craft to his home planet, where, he thinks, these upstart barbarians will have no choice but to surrender. But that knavish alien little understands the indomitable will and clever resourcefulness of Englishmen, no matter how great the odds against them. . . .

I am not sure what I was expecting from the book. I am no great fan of science fiction, and I have been suffering from Tolkien-deprivation since reading Beowulf, which I received for Christmas this year. The High Crusade is definitely not Tolkien, but it does make for good reading. It is a short story, narrated in a curiously tongue-in-cheek, medievally-flavoured English. It is over-the-top, full of flashy battle scenes, led by Sir Roger, mounted upon his horse and crying, "God save the right!" or "For England and St. George!" - paradoxical pageantry splashed against cold, metallic technology. It is light-hearted and good-hearted at the same time. Yet, despite the sheer jollity of the narrative, and the slenderness of the volume, it touches upon serious themes: what constitutes true freedom, and the dangers of a society too much dependent upon the government; the folly of under-estimating the inspired 'little-guy'; the value of commitment, of sacrifice, of duty and nobility. It isn't so much that the book explores the themes, but that the characters simply take a certain outlook for granted, and view Life through the lens of that outlook. It is hearteningly decent and honest - a farcical tale, with truth at its heart.

Furthermore, I was delighted by the treatment of religion in The High Crusade. One of the things I find particularly vexing about fantasy and science fiction, is the tendency to be somewhat slighting, if not down-right hateful, about religion in general, and Christianity in particular. This book is told from the perspective of the monk, Brother Parvus, and everything that happens to the Englishmen is recounted in a simply Christian worldview. There were one or two times, early on in the book, which seemed a trifle flippant about certain practices of the Faith, and it niggled - not because it was particularly offensive, but because the monkish narrator would not have written in such a tone. However, as the story goes on, and the English regularly pray before battle and celebrate Masses of thanksgiving afterwards, I think I was mistaken to read so much into it. I do not believe that Poul Anderson was a Catholic. I'm not even sure he was a practicing Christian, but he had respect for the Faith, and that came out in his storytelling. Moreover, the Epilogue finished up with a brief note on the spread of the Faith throughout alien nations, with a surprisingly orthodox comment about the Papacy, which delighted me to no end.

I short, should any of you be looking to kill an evening with a bit of adventure, I'd recommend The High Crusade unreservedly. Indeed, I intend to read a good deal more by this author in the near future. 

Ender's Game

Ender's Game is one of those books that I always intended to read, but have never quite managed to actually bring myself to do so. I knew that it was supposed to be quite good. One of my author sisters speaks well of it. I knew that it is considered a classic in the Science Fiction genre. I have actually tried a number of times before now, to read it, but have always given up after the first few chapters. However, Ender's Game is being made into a movie - a movie which is being boycotted because it's author is a staunch proponent of traditional marriage, so this seemed like a good time to give the book another chance, and I managed to get all the way through with it this time, though it was a struggle at first, and the first few chapters are every bit as dreary as I remember them being.

To be fair, I am a pretty hard-sell when it comes to Science Fiction. It is not a genre I feel naturally at home with. It seems a bit sterile to me - the Stars stripped of their magic and mystery, Earth too tame, its creatures too ordinary, so that we have to have alien worlds and alien creatures to replace all the natural mythos that the power and glory of our own home planet once inspired. For all of that, I have read some Science Fiction and enjoyed it. I have a rather soft spot for the original Star Trek. So there was more to my trouble with Ender's Game than a mere dislike of the genre. It was the fact that, for those first few chapters, I cannot connect with the characters or the setting. Indeed, I heartily detested everything about story. I hated the vision of Earth, in the midst one of those oppressive times of peace that seem to show up uncommonly often in futuristic fiction, with population control firmly in place, and the Powers That Be able to implant the population with feeds that allow for remote observation of behaviour. I can't help feeling that if this is the price we have to pay for peace on earth, we'd all be better off with war. And... I actually hated all the characters too, including Ender himself, which seems a terrible thing to say, as he is just a six year old child at the story's commencement, and an unfortunate one too, with a scary older brother tormenting him at home, and a group of bullies hounding him at school, until he is forced to defend himself from them. But Ender is introduced so dispassionately. He is too intelligent for his own good. He doesn't act like a child. He barely acts human. There is something just a bit too cold and calculating about wee Ender Wiggins.

There is something just a bit too calculating about the whole Wiggins family, actually. Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins have turned their backs on their religious backgrounds, conforming outwardly with the secular requirements of their society, but they play both sides, by baptising their children, and giving them saint's names. Peter, the oldest child, a bully and psychopath, knows just how far to push his younger sister and brother, and always stops his games before they are driven to tell on him, or the adults catch on to his behaviour. Even Valentine, Ender's sister and protector in those early days, knows just how to manipulate Peter's cruelty and egoism, to keep him in check. And then, there are the enigmatic characters who have been keeping an eye on Ender - Graff and Anderson, who exist, at first, as mere conversation on the peripheral of the narrative, vague and faceless. Between the bleak vision of the future, and the loveless family life of the Wiggins, and the disconcerting presence of those two voices, I nearly gave up on Ender's Game this time around, as I have always done  before - and at just about the same place as usual. But I had made my mind up to read the thing, so I stuck to it, and got through those early dismal bits and into the heart of the story. Gradually, I lost my impatience and dislike. Once I accepted the story on its own terms, it sucked me in completely, and I devoured it. The ending came when I was not expecting it too, a powerful ending, that nearly made me cry. I closed the book, surprised by how much I had liked it after all.

The plot of Ender's Game is quite simple. Some years before the story begins, the Earth was attacked by an army of aliens. After a horrific battle, the aliens were defeated, but the Earth is still recovering from the attack, and is in immanent danger of another invasion. In order to train top-notch fighters, the Battle School is set up, and promising young children are recruited for rigourous training as elite soldiers. Ender is the most promising of these students, and from the start, he is singled out for the closest observation, the harshest and most extreme training. He rises to each challenge, and grows believably into a great tactician and leader. Summed up like that, Ender's Game sounds boringly predictable: poor but talented boy, lifted from obscurity, to become the hero upon whom the survival of the planet depends. And yet, the way the story is told, seriously, thoughtfully, and with a moral back-bone, raises it above banality.

The pacing of the book is very deliberate, and the action is largely restricted to the final chapters. However, the  descriptions of tactics and strategy are fascinating, the war games which are used for training, are exciting. There is a high level of tension running through the whole narrative, which manages to keep the reader on the edge of the seat, even when there is not much of anything actually happening. Character development is masterful. A cold and calculating Ender Wiggins in Battle School, is somehow more human and sympathetic than the same character was at home. If he he grows believably into a superior soldier, he does so with a solidly moral center, which prevents him from ever becoming heartless. He retains a sort of simplicity and a desire to love, even as he does what he has to do as a soldier and a commander of soldiers, with the result that he grows more sympathetic as the story progresses. The enigmatic Graff emerges as a complex character, an old soldier who has spent his life fighting in defense of his home; the one who recruited Ender, who pushed him to the very edge of his strength, so that he could be the hero the world needed when the time came; who was stern and implacable to the boy's face, but who loved him and deplored the bitter necessity that had driven them to such measures. He understands Ender. No doubt, he was very like Ender was when he was young himself. He knows how far to push the boy, and when to stop, and he hates doing what he is doing to him. He is conflicted, but he is, at heart, a good man, who really just wants to be able to go home in peace. Both Ender and Graff grew on me, so that I was fond of both of them by the end of the book, but I think, if I had to choose a favourite, I'd have to go with Graff. I have a soft spot for old soldiers.

The ending took me entirely by surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have. Once I finished reading, it seemed so obvious and logical, that it simply couldn't have ended any other way. But the flow of the story is so carefully paced, the object of all that battle training so desperately focused, that when everything falls into place, it comes as something of a shock. It is a very good ending, though not exactly a happy one. Would I recommend this book? Yes, definitely. It is extremely well written and well worth the effort. It gives thoughtful treatment to the themes of sacrifice and honour, duty and moral courage. If the tone is somber, there is also hope to it, and it is satisfying. Perhaps I just happened to pick the right time to read it, but it was rather good for me to read it, and I am glad that I did.

And Today Is....

The Feast of the Annunciation:

When the Angel Gabriel announced to Our Lady that she was to be the Mother of God, and when Our Lord was miraculously conceived by the Holy Ghost.

The Annunciations Carol:



The Feast Of St. Dismas

The Good Thief who was crucified beside Our Lord, who defended Him against the taunts of the crowd and his fellow thief, and who was granted the tremendous grace of conversion in that moment.

Comrades of the Cross

I cannot think or reason,

I only know He came

With hands and feet of healing

And wild heart all aflame.

With eyes that dimmed and softened

At all the things He saw,

And in His pillared singing

I read the marches of the Law.

I only know He loves me,

Enfolds and understands -

And, oh His heart that holds me,

And oh, His certain hands -

The Man, the Christ, the Soldier,

Who from His cross of pain,

Cried to the dying comrade:

"Lad, we will meet again!"
          
                 Willard Wattles

Tolkien Reading Day

On March 25, 3019 of the Third Ages, Frodo completed his journey to Mount Doom. The Ring was destroyed, and Sauron was defeated. Tolkienist celebrate this day by reading works by the Professor. Here am I with The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien.

 

J. R. R. Tolkien Reading "Riddles in the Dark" from "The Hobbit":

Happy Day to all of you - and feel free to celebrate like Hobbits with food, and like dwarves with song, and like Elves with poetry by the fire. And if you choose to cook something with cinnamon in it, so much the better, for cinnamon - so I read long ago - was Our Lady's favourite spice. However, even though Bilbo was a burgler, and St. Dismas was a thief, it is best not to be trying your pick-pocketing skills today - tempting as it might be.

Truer Words...

There are many benefits to working in a library, and in general, I rather enjoy my work than otherwise. But like all jobs, even the very best, there are down sides as well. For me, one of the down sides is seeing the sort of book that tends to make it to the bestsellers lists. It is discouraging, for the most popular books with the longest library waiting lists, usually are not very good books - and I use the word "good" in this instance, in both sense. For in general, the writing in bestsellers is not of the best, but settles for mediocre. There is little of style or substance about them, nor, after an author starts churning them out at a rate of one per year, imagination and originality. Furthermore, the majority of fiction being published these days - bestsellers or not - are usually not very good. The world-view is skewed; if not outright immoral. Even the good guys - generally flawed but redeemable - are not particularly moral, and strong Christian virtues seldom make an appearance, being eclipsed by a vaguer, less demanding set of values. Yes, it is possible still to find quite good stories, ones that are well-written and morally sound, but it is not so common as it once was.

Therefore, it is supremely satisfying to come across someone who appreciates the finer things. Take, for example, the fine old gentleman who frequents my place of employment. He has just discovered Louis L'amour for the first time, and is raving about him. Now, mind, Louis L'amour is not a high-water mark of literature. I read a few of his books back in high school and remember them being ripping good yarns, full of galloping horses and gunfights - classic Westerns, but not, necessarily memorable. However, this old gentleman is enjoying them for all the right reasons. According to him, the books are just plain good. They tell a good story, with plenty of excitement. The Good Guy is always good. He never shoots anyone if tying him up will work just as well. The Good Guy always wins, and the Bad Guy always loses. The Good Guy gets the girl. And that is how it is supposed to be.

And, by golly! He has a point there - especially in regards to Westerns, with their knight-errant cowboys, and their stern code of honour and decency. The Good Guy is supposed to be good, or if his he not exactly good, he should be trying to be. The Good Guy should win, and if he does not, if his story ends in sorrow and sacrifice, he should still have a moral victory over the Bad Guy. And while the Good Guy cannot always get the girl, he should be the sort of man a worthwhile girl would want to be got by. It is not fashionable to write old-fashioned stories like that anymore, but I believe there is a crying need for them, that deep down, people crave them. Perhaps if there were more of such stories about - if people read about how things are supposed to be - they might just discover that there is nothing old-fashioned about it at all. They might discover that goodness, far from being boring, is a powerful and dangerous thing, and that a man is more truly himself when he chooses to walk that narrow path. That adventures are only worthwhile if there is something at stake, and that death and sacrifice are not things to be afraid of. And, just perhaps, it might have a beneficial effect upon the reader.

All Hail November

Eeeeek!!!! I am missing it! We are smack dab in the middle of Sherlock Holmes Weekend! Who knew, eh? According to Brownielock's handy site, Sherlock Holmes Weekend this year, runs from November 2nd to November 4th. I find this very exciting. I must take time out of my busy life life and read a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Or watch Basil Rathbone portray the famous detective. Or maybe even watch the second season of Sherlock. Oh, the possibilities!

November is also National Novel Writing Month, and I am writing a novel. Well, I am sort of writing a novel. I started bravely, and for one day, all was good. Then I had a devastating attack of writers' block, and ended up tossing out all of the work from the first day, and starting over from scratch. So now I am behind and having to write madly to get myself back on track for finishing by the end of November. At present, by handy word counter is informing me that I shall not finish until January. This is alarming. I need to get a move on.

However, before I go, Bella tagged me a post or two ago, and I have not had a chance to respond to her properly. Since I do not know when I am going to be able to write a decent post again, I am going to take care of the tag right now. Here we go:

Eleven Random Facts:

1.) According to the Urban Dictionary, the word twee has three meanings:

       1.) Something sweet, almost to the point of being sickeningly so.

      2.) To be obnoxiously sweet or quaint.

     3.) The sound a sparrow makes the moment it dies.

The first two definitions are obviously connected, but I have no idea where the last one came from. I now want desperately to write a sparrow's death scene into a story, so that I have a chance of using that word.

2.) I am wildly fond of Mumford and Sons' new CD.

3.) I am also wildly fond of piobaireachd.

4.) I can pronounce the word piobaireachd.

5.) I can sing the Cinderelly song the mice sing in Disney's Cinderella... and sound just like the mice do.

6.) Water does not boil at 212 degrees Fahrenheit if you live it 6000 feet. It boils at 201 degrees. So there.

7.) The United States Marine Corps has its own official tartan and pipe band.

8.) There was a piper at the battle of the Alamo.

9.) In the first draft of the Fellowship of the Ring, Strider was not a Ranger. He was a hobbit named Trotters.

10.) There is no good response when a homeless man informs you that he is going down to the lake to get a free manicure.

11.) I really must get back to my novel.

And Now For Bella's Questions:

1.) Do you like musicals?

I like Gilbert and Sullivan.

2.)What is your favourite musical?

The Pirates of Penzance.

3.) If you could step into a book for a single day, which one would it be?

It is a toss up. The Lord of the Rings is the one that comes to mind first. However, I would dearly love to be on the run with Alan Breck Stewart, so Kidnapped is giving that a run for its money.

4.)Do you know what a "Silver Tongue" is?

Here's one:

5.) How does this quote end? "There is evil there...."

6.)Do you like having your picture taken?
No. Nor do I like taking pictures.

7.) Do you like cold or warm weather better.
 Cold weather. Bring on the cardigans and kilted skirts!

8.)What is your favourite colour?
 Grey

9.) Do you know how a war can be passed down for generations but only last 7 days?
 Um... does this have anything to do with the Campbells and the MacDonalds?

10.)Who are three of your favourite authors?
G. K. Chesterton, Patricia McKillip, Robert Louis Stevenson, but not in that order.

11.) Do you know what a jean jumper is?
I do my best not to.

Please Pray For

.... The repose of the soul of Diana Wynne Jones, who died on Saturday, March 26th. She was one of the few really good children's authors still writing these days, and I will miss the keen pleasure of seeing her latest book showing up on the new book display at the library.

Also Today...

... is the 67th anniversary of the Great Escape. So after you finish reading a bit of Tolkien, go ahead and watch The Great Escape, with Steve McQueen. Better yet, you might consider reading "The Great Escape from Stalag Luft III" by Tim Carroll.

On Writing

Not too long ago, Katrina over at World Crafter wrote a post in praise of the author Diana Wynne Jones, and asked what authors her followers read over and over again, just to see how they DO it. It was a good post, and I originally was going to respond with a comment, but the question got me thinking about my own favourite authors, and what it is about their writing that resonates with me, until I felt I really ought to do a post of my own on the matter.

To begin with, I very seldom read a book just for the story. I read it for the writing as well; for the author's use of language, use of words, ability to draw me in, to make me think, "I like that sentence there! It says exactly what it means." I like authors with a definitive style, who have their own unique way of putting words together. I am beginning to notice that an author's writing will often pull me out of a story, sometimes with a start of delight over a particularly fine bit of phrasing, sometimes for exactly the opposite reason. If I like the writing, I will slow down and savour the experience of reading it, if not, I tend to skim through the book, rather than reading it. The authors I that I go back to over and over, have diverse styles, but they all have something distinctive about their writing that I admire, and would like to imitate, at least in some small degree.

J. R. R. Tolkien: Thanks to The Lord of the Rings, and, to a somewhat lesser extent, The Silmarillion, Tolkien has got himself pegged as a writer of epic fantasy. There is no question that he does excel at that particular style, and that there a few authors who can touch his deliberate and controlled prose - elegant prose which is weighty, but never ponderous. However, he was a very versatile writer as well, who could be delightfully droll and humourous - consider Farmer Giles of Ham - or quietly thoughtful, as in Smith of Wootton Major. Regardless of the style, however, what always sets him apart from the rest, is his ability to use exactly the right word no matter what. It came so naturally to him, that you don't even realise how brilliant he was, until you try to find something similar. There is nothing similar enough to Tolkien to satisfy the desire for that particular quality of writing.

Patricia McKillip: She is not the sort of author that I would recommend indiscriminately. With the notable exception of "Winter Rose", her books tend to be light on plot, and a trifle disjointed. However, I cannot think of another living author who can write in such densely poetic prose as she does. She weaves brilliant, jewel-coloured tapestries of words, her pages bursting with flowering images, glowing scenes, golden glints of myth peeking out amongst the leaves of narrative. She uses unexpected words to good effect and knows the value of using plain, solid words without adornment. If the worlds she creates seldom become more than the bright scenes that appear in the borders of a medieval manuscript, her characters little more than figures picked out in crimson and gold against their brilliant backgrounds, she can be forgiven for the sheer beauty of the picture as a whole.

Robert Lewis Stevenson: His easy, almost careless style of writing is deceptive. He had great control over his narrative. He wrote with economy; there is no extraneous narrative, but neither is it stinted. He has an unfortunate inability to write genuinely engaging main characters, it is true, but he more than makes up for it with secondary characters like Long John Silver or Alan Breck Stewart. The thing I most admire about his writing, though, is that he had a real flair for dialogue. His conversations sound genuine, and accomplish the rare feat of not only giving you insight into the characters, but also advancing the plot.

Charles Dickens: My family are mostly not in agreement with me on this one. The general opinion seems to be that he was paid for his writing by the word, and you can tell. Much as I like Dickens, I must admit that there is some truth to that sentiment, and furthermore, acknowledge that one must be in the mood for Dickens in order to get through his books. Still, he had such an astonishing knack for memorable phrasing. How can one not admire an author who can inform us that Marley is as dead as a doornail, and the produce the following paragraph: "Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail." It is brilliant, humourous without diminishing the gloomy pronouncement that started the book. Dickens has a rather unjust reputation for sentimentality. Unjust, I say, because a number of his books - Oliver Twist, for example, or A Tale of Two Cities - are deadly serious in their subject matter. I rather think that what is taken for sentiment in most of his books, is actually a high esteem for the home, for charity, for virtue, which moved Dickens deeply.

P. G. Wodehouse: His plots are completely predictable; he recycles characters and scenes; he tosses in abbreviations and odd catch-phrases. At first glance, there seems to be no substance to his books at all... and yet, somehow, inexplicably, it always works. You know exactly what is going to happen in it. You know that the plot will spiral out of control, that increasingly tangled complications will keep arising, that all sorts of highly questionably enterprises will be undertaken for the noblest of reasons, and that at the end, it will - miraculously - all come right, and the rather dimwitted hero will get the girl of his dreams. Yet, there is a sort of fascination to it. I find that I read his books for the sheer pleasure of trying to figure out how he manages it, and wondering why it never grows stale.

There are, of course, a lot of other authors that I enjoy, these are just the ones who come most readily to mind... oh, and of course, Diana Wynne Jones too, for all the reasons Katrina laid out. A hearty thanks to her for bringing the subject up!