My Life With The Saints, by James Martin, SJ

Martin’s book has gotten a fair amount of attention recently; I’ve seen it mentioned two or three places, including Happy Catholic, Et Tu, and Palmetto State Thoughts.

So happens I was on jury duty last week; and so happens the courthouse was a block away from the Cathedral of the Queen of Angels (an unlovely building, but very conveniently located); and so happens the Cathedral has a large gift shop with a nice collection of books I don’t see in other bookshops, including this one. So I got it and brought it home and more or less devoured it.

What it is, more or less, is the spiritual autobiography of Fr. Martin; but it’s also the story of sixteen or so saints who have been instrumental in Fr. Martin’s life, from St. Joan and St. Therese of Lisieux to St. Thomas Aquinas to St. Joseph to St. Mary. The list includes a number of folks who haven’t been canonized, and thus aren’t officially saints, including Dorothy Day and Pedro Arrupe, former leader of the Jesuit order, but I won’t quibble. He includes as one group the Ugandan Martyrs; I was glad to hear more of their story, as long-time readers will remember we have a connection with Uganda–and twenty-three of the forty-five martyrs put to death by the King of Baganda were Anglicans.

I have a suspicion, based on an elliptical comment or two, that Fr. Martin is more towards the progressive end of the spectrum, and quite possibly more so than I’d be comfortable with; it was the progressives who made the Episcopal Church what it it is today, after all. But Fr. Martin’s deep and abiding love of God, his saints, and all his little ones in the world shows clearly through every chapter. I learned quite a bit, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

If you’ve ever wondered what saints are all about, even casually, this would be a great book to read, even if you read nothing else.

American Connections, by James Burke

By convention, I title all book review posts with the title and author of the book. I confess, in this case I was really tempted to title the post “Bathroom reading for pseudo-intellectuals”.

Fair disclosure: I received this book as a review copy.

Burke is, of course, the author of Connections, which created quite a buzz as both a book and a PBS series decades ago. The current book uses the same conceit, of providing a tour of some aspect of history by tracing connections from one thing to another. In Connections there was some point to this; here it really is merely a conceit.

Burke has taken for his subject the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and written a short…um, well. I was going to say “a short essay”, but perhaps “a few pages” will do. He has written a few pages for each, tracing a connection from the signer through a chain of more-or-less well-known people to someone reasonably “present day”. For example, he traces a chain from John Hancock the signer to a radio deejay named John Hancock who won an award in 1996.

Thus, each piece is something of a tour of political and intellectual history from 1776 to the present day. I suspect most who read it will learn a little bit of history, and that many will think they’ve really learned something important. But the connections from person to person are often extremely tenuous, and the details about each are little more than brief anecdotes. Burke clearly did a great deal of research, but I suspect he was more interested in the peculiar and sensational than he was in the truth. Certainly he doesn’t give anything like a balanced view of anyone he writes about.

Like Chasing the Rising Sun I used this as a book-of-opportunity for a month or so, reading a section or three while having a snack or waiting for Jane; it was mildly entertaining, for awhile. I got about halfway through it, and then moved on to other things.

God and the World, by Joseph Ratzinger

Around the turn of the century, then Cardinal Ratzinger spent three days with German journalist Peter Seewald in the Benedictine monastery of Monte Cassino. This was Seewald’s second interview with Ratzinger; the first became the book Salt of the Earth, which I might review at a later date. That interview had primarily concerned the challenges facing the Catholic Church at the end of the 20th century; this one is a broad overview of Church practice and doctrine.

For three days the two had a wide-ranging conversation, with Seewald asking questions both planned and spontaneous, and Cardinal Ratzinger answering them off-the-cuff, and therein lies the book’s charm. During his days as head of the Confraternity for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), Ratzinger was viewed by the media as Pope John Paul II’s enforcer, as “God’s Rottweiler”. He was viewed as tough, stern, and intolerant. That isn’t at all the impression I’ve gotten from this book. Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI, though very definite about the content of the Faith (as he should be), comes across as mild, generous, gentle, and loving—and very, very smart.

Many of the folks in the Catholic blogosphere have a serious devotion to Pope John Paul II. It’s not uncommon to hear him called John Paul the Great, and I recall one blogger (alas, I don’t remember which) speaking of John Paul as “his” (or it might have been “her”) pope. My experience was different. When John Paul was elected pope I was in high school, and not very serious about my faith; he was just one more pope. For the next nine years I more or less ignored him, except insofar as he was mentioned on the front page of the daily paper or in the homily on Sunday; and then, of course, I joined the Episcopal church. Nowadays, with internet access, it’s much easier to follow the Pope’s doings; back then, it was much harder. So although I was aware of John Paul II and his role in the world, I was both ignorant and indifferent.

By 2005 I was already beginning to have a renewed interest in Roman Catholicism (though not, at that point, any real notion of reverting). Then Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger became Pope Benedict XVI—the man responsible for preventing in Catholicism the sort of zeitgeist-driven doctrinal creep that has gutted the Episcopal Church was now the Pope. Catholicism was safe, for awhile at least. (Now that strikes me as a silly statement: of course the Church is safe. The Holy Spirit is the soul of the Church, and preserves the Bride of Christ from error.) So I approved of Pope Benedict on general principle.

And then I started learning more about him, from blogs mostly at first, and then from some of his books. I tried his Introduction to Christianity, which I found nearly incomprehensible, alas; it isn’t particularly introductory. But through his books Jesus of Nazareth, Salt of the Earth, and God and the World, I came to know him, and found him to be a good teacher, as well as wise and gentle, with a deep and abiding and intellectual and not at all mystical faith. (I’ve nothing against Christian mysticism; but my own approach to the faith is much more intellectual, which should surprise no one.) I read the first two while still an Anglican; my reading of the third began several months before my reversion and ended a few days ago.

In short, Benedict’s witness played a significant role in my return to the Catholic Church. I’m glad to call him “my” pope; and reading this present book, all 460 pages of it, is an outstanding way to become acquainted with him and learn from him. Moreover, because of its question and answer format it’s a great book for devotional reading, as it’s easy to read a little bit every day without losing the thread.

If you’re Catholic, go and get a copy. If you’re not, but you’d like to know what Pope Benedict thinks is important, go and get a copy.

Chasing the Rising Sun, by Ted Anthony

Subtitled The Journey of an American Song, this book relates the author’s quest to find the origins and destiny of the song “The House of the Rising Sun”. It’s a more involved tale than you might think.

Fair disclosure: I received this book as a review copy.

The most famous version is, of course, the one by Eric Burdon and the Animals; everyone has heard it at some time or other. Some are aware of Bob Dylan’s version, and many assume that Dylan wrote it. But the Weavers also performed it, and, as it turned out, many others. The origins have long been shrouded in mystery, and Anthony, being a thorough-going nut, decided to trace it back as far as he could.

Alan Lomax collected it from a young woman named Georgia Turner in the Appalachians, while out collecting folk songs for the Smithsonian; the versions mentioned above all trace back ultimately to Turner’s recording. Lomax himself thought it had come to Appalachia from Louisiana, and that it had its origins in the songs of southern negroes. Some sources point at an older recording, performed by a black artist, whose name includes “Rising Sun” but which on inspection Anthony found to have no relation in either tune or lyrics. In fact, the song appears to be native to Appalachia.

The song is full of anecdotes about the early days of the folk music revival, and of the various performers who have performed the song, and their colleagues; and of the folks who have preserved those recordings, and of all of the people Anthony met while pursuing the song.

If you’re interested in folk songs, or in folklore in general, and how the “folk process” works, you might find this a fascinating book. I found it to be interesting primarily as a “book of convenience”—that is, I left it in the kitchen, and picked it up when I had a few minutes to read and no other book to hand. And at that, I got about halfway through the main text, put it down, and never got back to it. So clearly, your mileage may vary.

I don’t usually review books I don’t finish, but given all of the research Ted Anthony did, all of the travelling to strange places and the asking of strange questions, I feel like giving his book some official notice is the least I can do.

George Macdonald Fraser, RIP

George Macdonald Fraser, he of Harry Flashman, The Steel Bonnets, Quartered Safe Out Here, and The General Danced at Dawn, died this week at the age of 82. I found this out via Lars Walker at Brandywine Books, who also links (via Blue Crab Boulevard) to a posthumous essay in which Fraser blasts “political correctness” and all that goes along with it. I couldn’t agree more.

Rest in peace, Mr. Fraser. You’ll be missed.

At All Costs, by David Weber

This is the latest in Weber’s long-running Honor Harrington series, and about all I have to say is “Hmmmm.” I can’t honestly say I was disappointed, for my expectations were low, and in many ways it was better than I expected. Were there lots of scenes filled with talking heads? Yeah, there were. Were there lots of space battles with details about how many missiles were launched, and how many lost track, and how many were confused, and how many were destroyed, and how many actually hit? Yeah, quite of few of them, really. Were there Amazing! Technical! Innovations! that enabled Manticore to stand up to her enemies Yet Again, Against Overwhelming Odds? Of course! In short, in many ways it was just what I’d expect, and the amazing technical innovations actually seemed like a reasonable outgrowth of what was used in the previous book. And the climactic scene is pretty amazing.

In short, if you’ve liked the previous books in the series, you won’t be disappointed in this one, mostly.

OK, now for a long and extended “Hmmmm.” Warning: Here There Be Spoilers. If you don’t want to know how it comes out, don’t click through.
Continue reading

Sad News

Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with a rare form of early-onset Alzheimers. The whole thing is here, at least at the moment (by way of Captain Yips); since I can’t find a permalink to the news, here it is:

Folks,

I would have liked to keep this one quiet for a little while, but because of upcoming conventions and of course the need to keep my publishers informed, it seems to me unfair to withhold the news. I have been diagnosed with a very rare form of early onset Alzheimer’s, which lay behind this year’s phantom “stroke”.

We are taking it fairly philosophically down here and possibly with a mild optimism. For now work is continuing on the completion of Nation and the basic notes are already being laid down for Unseen Academicals. All other things being equal, I expect to meet most current and, as far as possible, future commitments but will discuss things with the various organisers. Frankly, I would prefer it if people kept things cheerful, because I think there’s time for at least a few more books yet.

God bless, Terry!

The Sky People, by S.M. Stirling

It’s a neat idea. What if Edgar Rice Burroughs was right? What if Mars really was a dying planet, the heir to a once lofty civilization? What if fierce creatures roamed the jungles of Venus? Stirling takes this notion and runs with it…in the context of the post-World War II world we actually had. The Space Race wasn’t a race to the Moon—it was a race to establish bases on Venus and Mars, and to maintain parity in a new imperial scramble.

As I say, it’s a neat idea; and consequently I’d had high hopes for this book. As it is, I’m disappointed.* The Venusian setting is nifty; the characters have possibilities; the native cultures are interesting; the wildlife is nicely exotic; American technology circa 1988 is both similar and different from what we actually had, and in appropriate ways. It’s a nice piece of world-building. But Stirling made a number of plot decisions that I find quite inexplicable, and turned a book with real possibilities into one that’s merely so-so.

There’s a sequel on the way, set on Mars, that I intend to read when it comes out in paperback; the problems were with the plot of this particular book, and not with the setting or series as such. So I can hope that this one was simply a little rushed, and the next one will be better. Oh, well.

* I seem to have been disappointed by a lot of books recently. I’m not sure why that is. I don’t feel particularly jaundiced.

His Dark Material

Philip Pullman’s, that is. I’ve said for years now that my real disappointment with Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy is not that they are anti-Christian (though they most certainly are, whatever waffling Pullman’s currently doing in the media) but that he allows his message to overwhelm his storytelling. John C. Wright has the same notion and has given it a thorough analysis, explain why and where Pullman’s storytelling falls short. (Wright’s a published author himself, BTW, though I’ve not read any of his books. His analysis is cogent, and hits quite a few points I hadn’t considered, and is worth your time if you’ve any interest in the topic at all. And then, there’s this lovely bit of snark from the end:

Nothing I have ever read, not by Heinlein and not by Ayn Rand has been more blatant in dropping the story-telling, and devoting its pages to preaching a message. The writer was drunk on sermonizing. If this plotline was a motorist, it would have been arrested for driving while intoxicated, if it had not perished in the horrible drunk accident where it went headlong over the cliff of the author’s preachy message, tumbled down the rocky hillside, crashed, and burned.

As Wright notes, it would be one thing if Pullman were a bad writer…but he isn’t, and should know better.

Soarer’s Choice, by L.E. Modesitt, Jr.

This, the sixth in Modesitt’s Corean Chronicles series and the climax of the series’ second three-book sequence, was seriously disappointing, and the more so as I liked the fourth and fifth books better than the first three.

I find that I can’t explain my disappointment without spoilers; if you want to know why I disliked it, click on through.
Continue reading