To paraphrase an old joke,

Q: What’s worse than an earworm in your head?

A: Half an earworm.

For those who haven’t heard the term, an “earworm” is one of those songs that gets stuck in your head and won’t leave. But it’s a lot worse when you can only remember half of it. If you remember the whole thing, it just goes round and round and round and you can try to ignore it. But if you only remember half of it, it goes round and crashes each time and attracts your attention.

And when one half of an earworm meets one half of a different earworm, well…I shudder to contemplate.

(Do I speak from present experience? Why, yes. Yes, I do.)

I intentionally posted my list of ten books (see the previous post) without looking at anyone else’s list, and I see that I’ve done it a little bit differently than some other folks have. In the other lists I’ve looked at, folks have listed books that were important to them during the various stages of their lives, that is, books that influenced them at a particular point in time but might do so no longer.

I, on the other hand, tried to list books that not only were influential in my life, but which still are. This probably explains why I had to pad my list a little; much as I love P.G. Wodehouse, I can’t claim that he’s influenced my world view or personal philosophy or faith.

So…what books have influenced me in the past, but have world views I would now reject?

Off-hand, I can think of two, both of which I encountered when I was in high school and wishing (for reasons I won’t go into at the moment) that the Christian faith in which I’d been raised would go away and leave me alone.

The first was Atlas Shrugged, one of the few books the very mention of which can cause any otherwise polite and well-mannered on-line forum to dissolve into rancor and ad hominem attacks in a matter of moments. I was a devoted follower of Ayn Rand for a year or so and did not abandon her until my resurgent faith and intellectual honesty made it necessary.

I do however retain one idea that has its roots in Atlas Shrugged, and so perhaps I should have included it in my list yesterday. It’s not an idea that appears in Atlas Shrugged; it resulted from my reflections on Rand’s gospel of selfishness and the Bible’s gospel of mercy and charity. Simply put, it is the idea that moral obligations are not necessarily reciprocal.

Ayn Rand tells me that the poor, huddling masses have no right to my goods, my money, or any other fruit of the sweat of my brow. And to this I agree. No man has any right to demand that I give him anything whatsoever, simply on the grounds that he needs it. And Rand further says that it is evil to give without receiving; that economic transactions are the basis for human morality. And this I deny.

My Christian faith tells me that I must feed the poor and clothe the naked. And to this I agree–not because the poor and naked have deserve my goods, but because Christ has given me the forgiveness that I do not deserve. As he has given freely to me, so I must give freely to others, not because of their claim on me, but because of his.

And so I find myself in the odd position of agreeing with Rand who the villains are in her book, but disagreeing with her about the proper response of her heroes.

The other book that comes to mind is (of all things) Harry Harrison’s Deathworld Trilogy — not because it’s a particularly weighty piece of work, but because it’s where I first had my nose rubbed in the fact that moral values are not universal. And, as with Rand, I find that I agree with Harrison on the facts, but not on the conclusion. It is true that moral virtues differ from place to place, and from age to age. It is not, therefore, true that all moral values are relative, as Harrison’s hero would have it, or that a society’s moral standards must be judged by how functional they are for that society. Rather, as C.S. Lewis points out in The Abolition of Man, values are in fact absolute; and any society’s values will differ from the absolute according to that society’s besetting sins.

All this is clear enough to me now. But at the time, I found Harrison’s ideas–or, rather those of his characters–shocking, subversive, and compelling. And though I would have stoutly denied being a relativist had you asked me, it’s still the case that some of the habits of mind I formed then persisted for years. For example, if all morality is relative, then the standards of any group you’d care to name are as valid as my own. The problem is, it’s not really possible to believe that–it’s not really possible to believe that two contradictory things are both right, not when both of them are right in front of you. Not at first. And so what happens is, you start to deprecate your own values in favor of the values of everyone else. You start giving more weight to the values of other cultures and less to your own–and that makes you feel tolerant and broadminded, not like those people who claim that they know the real truth.

The trouble is, that point of view is irrational at best–for the other cultures don’t agree either. In the end you’re swept hither and thither by tides of opinion, for your moral compass has been swept overboard.

I’ll stick with the values I grew up with, thanks. I’ll undoubtedly have to fine-tune them from time to time–but at least I won’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Over at Brandywine Books, we’ve been asked to blog the ten books that have shaped our lives. I got curious thinking about what my ten books would be, and here’s what I came up with, in no particular order.

1. The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien
2. Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis
3. The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis
4. The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis
5. The Bible
6. The Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis
7. The Most of P.G. Wodehouse, by P.G. Wodehouse
8. H.M.S. Surprise, by Patrick O’Brian
9. Wyrd Sisters, by Terry Pratchett
10. The Dunwich Horror, by H.P. Lovecraft

The first six are the books that formed my worldview. It might seem that C.S. Lewis is over-represented, but that’s true in my head as well. I thought about tossing in something more of Tolkien’s (“Leaf by Niggle” is another favorite) but decided that nothing else of his was as influential in my life.

The latter four are by the authors whose writing I’d most like to emulate; I picked a representative volume from each. I feel odd including them, because they haven’t particularly shaped my thinking, but my only other options were to stop at six books or to pad the list out with four more books by Lewis.

It seems that they are going to publish a series of books containing the complete run of Charles Schulz’s “Peanuts” comic strip, and the first volume, spanning 1950 to 1952, has just come out. That round-headed kid sure looked different back then! Beatrice has the story.

I don’t think I would class this book as a mystery, per se. Or, to be more
specific, it does not follow the normal patterns and conventions of the
genre. It isn’t exactly a thriller either, though my experience with that
genre is limited at best. I’d call it suspense. Hitchcock could have done
wonderful things with this book.

The story revolves around Rae Newborn who moves to an island off the coast
of Washington that she has inherited from her father. The island is not
inhabited having been turned into wildlife sanctuary of some sort years
before, but near its only navigable beach is the ruin of a log cabin flanked
by stone towers originally built in the 20’s or 30’s by her great-uncle. Rae
is a world famous woodworker/artist who also happens to suffer from severe
chronic depression and suicidal ideation. She comes to the island to try to
recover something of her life after losing her beloved husband and young
daughter in a car accident, sparking off yet another breakdown and long path
back up from the pit. She has also suffered an attempted rape while still
on the mainland, leaving her shaken and paranoid and only that much more
depressed. She also comes to the island to rebuild the house. The work,
the fresh air and mostly the solitude are her prescription for therapy
over drugs and doctor’s offices. And she’s doing
well beating back her paranoia and fears when she finds a footprint near
the spring she is piping her water from.

The book really showcases King’s own interest in building and woodworking.
You can tell this woman has actually worked with tools and wood and building
plans before. It adds to the verisimilitude of the book. It also brings up
the mysterious element in the novel since Rae’s great-uncle vanished years
before with no further contact with the family and the house was burned to
the ground just after he left it. Rae uncovers clues about him while
salvaging the wreckage. And she begins to feel the presence of someone else
on the island. Ghostly, almost. Is it her paranoia or is it real? There is
the footprint, but she could have left it herself without knowing. Honestly,
until the end, I couldn’t figure out which. I didn’t see the ending coming
at all.

It’s an interesting read. Very different from the humorous mysteries she
normally writes. Actually, though, I found myself thinking about it, almost
hoping she would write a sequel so I can find out what happens to the house
and to Rae and the island.

I’d meant to post a review of Steven Brust’s latest, Sethra Lavode, tonight, but things are heating up on the Snit front. With luck I’ll get to it tomorrow.

In the meantime, Deb, you got any more reviews to send me? I believe I’ve used the lot.

This is an interesting book on several counts. First, it’s a Psmith
novel, and of all Wodehouse’s young men, Psmith stands alone by being
both eccentric and competent. Second, it’s also a Blandings novel. And
third, although it’s a Blandings novel it predates Lord Emsworth’s
interest in pigs. I have nothing against the Empress of Blandings, but
a pigless Blandings makes for a nice change.

Psmith ends the book as Emsworth’s secretary; it’s a real pity Wodehouse
didn’t follow up on that, because Psmith really makes Blandings come
alive. Ah, well.

Anyway, I enjoyed it thoroughly. But it’s Wodehouse–so surely you
expected that by now?

Orson Scott Card is mostly known for his sci-fi books but he has written a
trilogy about the wives of the Old Testament Patriarchs. These are the first
two in the series. I haven’t been able to find the third and probably will
end up ordering it from the bookstore just to find out how he handles the
Rachel story.

These are fiction and it’s important to remember that going into them. Card
takes the very bare bones of a story and extrapolates on it. He leaves
things out that are repetitious from one story to the next, so that while
Abraham claims Sarah as his sister in Egypt, Isaac later does not. And Card
adds in elements to the stories that are not based on what is in the Bible
but which are plausible based on our knowledge of the cultures of the times and
of human psychology. Hagar the Egyptian is a maid that is given to Sarah by
Pharaoh in Egypt when he has her in his house of women.

One of the most interesting things Card does is define the blessing given to
Abraham by God as the written works of the Old Testament. The blessing then
becomes a real thing, a knowledge of language and of God that is written
down and kept alive by each generation. So when Jacob fools Isaac into
giving him his blessing rather than his brother Esau, it is the possession
of the Book that he is really getting and the privilege of continuing on
with the creation of the Scripture. That’s a very interesting thought.

The other interesting thing he does is create a very complex relationship
between Abraham and Isaac stemming from the willingness of Abraham to kill
Isaac at the command of God. I’ve often wondered how Isaac felt about the
whole thing; apparently Card did also. The father/son relationship is
strained to say the least and Abraham as an old man comes across as a bit of
a tyrant over his son and his son’s household. The unequal love that Isaac
feels for his twin sons Jacob and Esau are a reflection of the scars he
carries from his relationship with his father. As I said, not biblical but
certainly humanly plausible.

That was the interesting thing about these books. They took bare bones
stories and made them rounded and developed. How accurate his retelling is
is questionable but for sheer storytelling, they’re really good. I enjoyed
them.

Ian Hamet‘s just posted a new entry in his “Great Filmmakers” series; this one’s on Buster Keaton. It’s well worth your time.

This is yet another collection of Mr. Mulliner stories. Mr. Mulliner,
for those who have not met him, is a regular in the bar-parlor of the
Angler’s Rest, where he frequently holds forth about his vast array of
remarkable relations. These stories are less well-known than the Jeeves
and Wooster stories, but I like them just as much.