The Envy of Eve: Finding Contentment in a Covetous World, by Melissa B. Kruger

*****

An excerpt of a review recently posted on Schaeffer's Ghost:

For Kruger, the root of covetousness is, quite simply, unbelief. This is a truth that I am discovering on a regular basis—that my besetting sins result not from a lack of effort (alone), nor from a lack of ability, nor from any other more physical shortcoming: they result from a lack in my faith. When I sin, it is a clear sign that there is some piece of the Gospel that I do not believe, some characteristic of God and His work that I ignore or deny. 

In the case of covetousness, Kruger argues that the root unbelief is three-fold: unbelief in the character of God (specifically His sovereignty and goodness), unbelief in our purpose (that we were created to be in relationship with and glorify God and to be with Him for all eternity), and unbelief in our relationships. If these are the root cause of envy, it follows that the remedy is to increase our belief that God is in fact both good and sovereign, that our relationship with Him matters more than (and will outlast) our circumstances, that He will bring glory to Himself through those circumstances, that He knows which circumstances will maximize our sanctification and long-term joy, and that we can therefore celebrate the blessings received by others. Preach it, sister.

Full review available here.

All Creatures Great and Small, by James Herriot

*****

An excerpt of a review recently posted on Schaeffer's Ghost:

[...] Herriot’s writing is possessed of a good-natured jollity that invests even the bleakest tales with good humor and optimism. A vivid account of a late-night call in the freezing wind, stripped to the waist and soaking wet, with his arm up a cow’s backside and a group of stoic, unsympathetic farmers looking on, will be followed by a sincere reflection on his incredible good fortune to live and work in this forbidding yet beautiful land. While Herriot is occasionally discouraged or frustrated by his clients’ lack of appreciation (or their persistence in adhering to the utterly nonsensical folk cures their fathers swore by), it is never long before Herriot’s good temper wins out and he is restored to his customary cheerfulness and humble gratitude. 

Perhaps most striking of all—at least to me—is Herriot’s indefatigable patience. Granted, patience is a virtue which I have never been accused of possessing in over-abundance. I am frequently frustrated by circumstantial setbacks, human folly, the inability of the UPS man to deliver packages in a timely fashion, and any number of technological glitches inflicted on me by computers/websites/smart phones/etc. In short, I am frustrated by anything and everything. So it is with no small amount of fascination—and a good deal of envy—that I read of Herriot’s seemingly limitless patience.

Full review available here.

Tender at the Bone: Growing Up at the Table, by Ruth Reichl

*****

Food critic and chef Ruth Reichl traces her lifelong love affair with food, beginning with her mother's atrocious culinary creations during her childhood, through to her very first restaurant reviews out in California. The entertaining anecdotes are interspersed with recipes that have been particularly important to her over the years.

Reichl, a highly respected food writer, doesn't seem to have had any formal culinary education. Instead, her expertise is the result of varied experiences cobbled together over the years. She learns about apple dumplings and potato salad from her grandmother's maid. Her mother's housekeeper teaches her the secrets of Beef Wellington and wiener schnitzel. A school friend's father introduces her to souffle and fine cuisine, and a college roommate introduced her to several South American delicacies.

The Gospel According to Die Hard

*****

An excerpt from a review posted on Schaeffer's Ghost:

All through the Old and New Testaments we see the recurring themes of sin, sacrifice, grace, and the love that grace produces, described in terms of marriage, infidelity, separation, and unmerited rescue.

But this particular version of the story doesn’t come from the Bible.  It doesn’t even come from the romance shelf of the Christian Fiction section in your church library.  The source is perhaps a surprising one:  It’s the plot of Die Hard.

That’s right.  Die Hard.  Bruce Willis, Alan Rickman, Bonnie Bedelia, and a host of Hey! It’s That Guy-types from the 1980s.  Hardly the place you’d expect to find the gospel.  There’s swearing, for Pete’s sake.  And violence.  But then, the gospel is a bloody business, isn’t it?  Sin isn’t pretty—it’s messy and filthy and disgusting and costly.  And the cross isn’t clinical or antiseptic.  The rescue of the church from the hostile forces of sin was not without consequences.  Serious, bloody consequences.

Full review available here.

Overcoming Sin and Temptation, by John Owen, Kelly M. Kapic, & Justin Taylor

*****

Editors Kelly M. Kapic and Justin Taylor do their darnedest to make one of the most notoriously unreadable Puritans accessible to lay readers.  This is my first exposure to Owen, so I can't really compared their 'modernized' version to the original, but I can say that all though it was substantively dense and organizationally complex, it was also quite readable. 

In fact, Kapic and Taylor are so determined to simplify Owen that they footnote and define more than 250 words throughout the book--words ranging from the complex ('tergiversation') to the poetic ('ere') to the seemingly straightforward ('alacrity').  As a bit of a logophile, I got a bit distracted--I was curious to see which words were deemed 'obscure' enough to require footnoting.  However, it is still helpful, particularly for those unaccustomed to using context clues to bluff their way through weird words. 

And now for Owen himself.  As I said, this was my first exposure to the brilliant theologian, and I have to admit, his reputation is well deserved.  His analysis of sin and temptation is spot on and extremely convicting, and I was surprised to see how many of my own sinful thoughts and justifications were exceedingly common back in the 1600s (and likely before).  Nothing new under the sun, indeed. 

Owen is incredibly insightful, and his impressive intellect is founded on extremely solid, gospel-centered theology.  It is a pity that he's not more readable--he really should be a staple of every Christian's literary diet.  But then, I guess Kapic and Taylor are doing what they can to make that happen.

Bottom line:  Read it. 

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, by Neil Postman

*****

Pretty much an amazing book.  I realize I am way behind the times, and lots of folks discovered this gem years ago, but better late than never, right?  The only thing that could have made this book any better is if Postman had offered more in the way of solutions to the problem he so skillfully and persuasively describes.

Watership Down, by Richard Adams

*****

Man, I forgot how amazing this book is. The writing is fantastic, the story is compelling and suspenseful, the characters are incredibly empathetic and likeable, and Adams makes the reader really feel the terror of circumstances which, while hardly remarkable to humans, would undoubtedly be incredibly frightening and utterly overwhelming to rabbits.  The characters face adventure and violence with courage, fear, ingenuity, and determination.  It is always surprising a simple story about a bunch of rabbits can suck the reader in so thoroughly--and so quickly.  I find myself immersed in the story and invested in the characters almost from the opening page.  Even though the book is on the longish side (and includes several smaller story arcs), it is very readable and accessible to those at a variety of reading levels.

And the characters are amazingly well-developed and clearly differentiated. Hazel is quite possibly one of the best leaders in literature--he cares deeply about his followers and knows and uses their strengths with remarkable insight.  And each makes a unique (and necessary) contribution to the adventure. Bigwig is a perfect picture of brusque yet reliable, big-hearted courage--a true soldier.  Blackberry saves the rabbits time and again with his cleverness, Dandelion boosts their spirits with his stories, and Fiver guides their steps. Strawberry's knowledge of structure and design, Holly's discipline and patrolling prowess, even Pipkin's loyalty and trust--each rabbit is distinct and appreciated as such.

I must also confess a fondness for any book that bothers to include a unique linguistic element, and Adams 'lapine' language delights me.  His language is nowhere hear as fully developed as those in Tolkien or Lewis, but he still creates a linguistically consistent vocabulary for his characters.  Then, too, his rabbit mythology--again not as complex as Tolkien--is still intriguing and quite entertaining.

For those who find reading a chore, the 1978 film is actually an excellent adaptation of this classic (and Art Garfunkel does wonders with the music), but parents' should not be mislead by the animation--this is not a film for young children.  Animation was simply the best medium for telling the story. And the filmmakers tell it well--the animation is quite good, the story is faithfully told, and the voice work is fantastic.

The recent audiobook edition is also quite good, though it was a little jarring to hear Kehaar voiced as vaguely Swedish (I grew up hearing Zero Mostel's voicework from the animated film, which had  much more German/Polish/Eastern European flavor), though I don't know that one accent is more correct than another.  I was, however, struck by the similarities between the film Bigwig and Bigwig as voiced on the audiobook. 

In his introduction, Adams discusses the challenges of finding a publisher for this sort of in-between novel--it is a little complex for children (and includes some more mature themes), and publishers were worried that adults would not be willing to read a 500-plus page book about rabbits.  I am so grateful that a publisher finally saw this gem for what it is--one of the best books of the 20th century.  Love.

Bottom line:  This book rocks. Read it.

My Soul Is Rested: Movement Days in the Deep South Remembered, by Howell Raines

*****

This book is incredible: moving, eye-opening, horrifying, inspiring, and deeply disturbing, all at the same time.

Raines wisely allows the various historical figures to describe their experiences in their own words, and so on some level it is their storytelling ability that makes the events come alive. Yet Raines' skill in coaxing these stories from those who lived through the atrocities of the Civil Rights movement and the careful piecing together of those stories undoubtedly entitle him to his own fair share of the credit for this masterpiece.

My experiences with oral histories (both fictional and non-fictional) have been quite impressive, but the use of oral history as the medium for the story was, in this case, an inspired choice. As with other oral histories, the telling of the story through individual experiences (rather than dry, omniscient narration) heightens the emotional effect of the material--the reader feels the panic, senses the chaos, marvels at the senseless hatred and violence that plagued the South in the 1960s. Indeed, the book makes for a disturbing read, as the horror and fear and pain are all too clearly communicated through the memories of those who lived through the events.

Mary Emma & Company, by Ralph Moody

*****

Another excellent read from Ralph Moody. I think I liked this one more than Fields of Home and very nearly as much as Man of the Family--largely because the Moodys are once again trying to make a living at odd jobs in a new situation. Ralph exercises his ingenuity and incredible work ethic, his mother works to provide for her family while also protecting their education and childhood.

I think I particularly like the way his sister Grace is portrayed. As a girl, she doesn't have the same ability to get the jobs Ralph gets, but she seems to be every bit as bright and hard-working as he is, and she gets her own sort of odd jobs and helps tackle family projects with gusto and creativity to match Ralph's. Although she doesn't get to go to school (education being less important for girls) she is presented as Ralph's equal, and they work well together.

In Little Britches, Ralph excelled at everything he tried and he was lauded by everyone he met. In this book, as in Man of the Family, he has to overcome obstacles to provide for the family, and his incredible talent, rather than being superfluous and suspect, is necessary--without it, the family might not have made it.

Here, too, Ralph encounters a new kind of injustice, in the form of a school teacher who has it out for him from the first. The teacher gets him into trouble with the law on more than one occasion, and for actions that were accidental or justifiable. Yet he bears the injustice with good grace--he addresses the police officer respectfully and answers honestly (in fact, it seems that the police officer ends up liking and respecting him in the end). He doesn't talk back to the teacher or complain about the injustice done him. He just buckles down and tries to stay out of trouble. In our current climate of whining and complaining about fairness and rights, his submission to authority is an excellent example.

All in all, this continues to be an excellent series--entertaining to be sure, but also convicting. The Moodys set a compelling example for children. If and when I have my own kids one day, I fully intend to read them this series. Hopefully they like it as much as I do.

Man of the Family, by Ralph Moody

*****

Another stellar entry from Ralph Moody. Even if it does make me feel like a lazy, incompetent layabout in comparison. I think I liked this one better than Little Britches--instead of being the superstar golden boy, Ralph is forced to use his skills to provide for his family.

This would be a great book to read to little boys . . . plenty of action and cowboys and adventure and shenanigans for them, but Ralph's moral center (impressed on him by both his mother and his now-deceased father) makes him an admirable role model for kids in many ways. He is hard working, uncomplaining, creative, devoted to his family, and tries very hard to be honest and fair. Hard work is presented as the norm and even a blessing, which is a much-needed lesson in our complacent, affluent, and entitled society.

Science Fact/Fiction, by Edmund J. Farrell (ed.)

*****

A fantastic collection of short stories. As with any collection, there are a few stinkers, but by and large the stories are excellent. Which is hardly a surprise with authors like Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clark, Isaac Asimov, Kurt Vonnegut, H.G. Wells, and Philip K. Dick contributing. (And Roald Dahl, though oddly enough his story is not one of the stronger entries in the collection. Science fiction writing is, perhaps, not his forte.)

Very easily digested, as well. Most of the stories are only a few pages long, so it's easy to work through this collection in small increments--great for the reader who only has a few minutes at a time.

The introduction ("Science Fiction: Before Christ and After 2001," by Ray Bradbury) is one of the best defenses I've seen for the legitimacy of the science fiction literature. (Not least because he echoes my own sentiments regarding the value of the genre.)

If you appreciate good science fiction and enjoy the short story format, you would do well to track down a copy of this book. It won't be easy--the thing's been out of print for a while--but it will be well worth the effort.

On Writing, by Stephen King

*****

I've never read any of King's books, and I have no idea what I'll think of them when I do, but this book? Is great. King's conversational style is forthright and flecked with humor--as with all good books of this type, the reader feels as if he or she is sitting down for a chat with the author. Or at least getting a flavor of what a chat might look like. Based on the tone of this book, I'm guessing such a conversation would be eminently enjoyable.

But the purpose of the book is not merely to wile away a few hours listening to/reading King natter on about his life and thoughts--though as purposes go, you could do much worse. King also wants to educate his readers on the business of writing.

Bottom line:
1) You must read. (Check.)
2) You must write. Not just think about writing, or wish you were writing, or intend to write. You must write. (Which . . . not so much a check for that one.)

Still, it's good advice, and consistent with what I've read/heard from other authors I respect (Anne Lamott, Neil Gaiman, etc.). So much of writing is just discipline. It's that simple, and it's that hard.

Of course, King also gives a brief nod to the mechanics of good writing--grammar, syntax, vocabulary, etc.--which is a thing that I for one greatly appreciate. And he talks some about the nuts-and-bolts of publishing, agents, and getting your foot in the door. But the main focus is on the sheer fact of doing. Write. Revise. Repeat.

Books like this always make me wonder if I could be a writer. Probably not. I don't really have ideas, and I certainly don't have the discipline. Still, it's nice to think about, and I appreciate King telling it like it is. Or at least like it is from his perspective, which is all anyone can do anyway.

I would strongly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in writing. But even if you're not a wannabe writer, I still recommend this book to you. Because regardless of your own authorial aspirations, if you enjoy reading good writing, this book is well worth your time.

Shane, by Jack Schaefer

*****

I am not much for westerns, but this book is fantastic. There's a reason the hard-as-nails, dangerous-but-trustworthy hero is so popular in books and movies--when done well, it works. And this books does it very well.

Like Little Britches, the story is told through the eyes of a child, and to great effect. And the author keeps the hero shrouded in mystery throughout the story, which keeps the reader on edge and makes Shane excellent fodder for the narrator's hero-worship. And Shane's inner struggle further heightened the tension of the story.

Also, I may have cried. BUT YOU CAN'T PROVE IT.

Dave Barry Slept Here: A Sort of History of the United States, by Dave Barry

*****

Man, I love this book. Dave Barry is consistently hilarious, but this book is especially brilliant. I don't know that much about history, but the more I learn, the funnier this book becomes. I've always appreciated Barry's even-handed political satire--no one is safe. If you behave ridiculously, you will be made to look ridiculous. And when it comes to this particular book, not even the reader is safe from Barry's insightful criticism.

It's an easy read, and a fun one, but there's probably wisdom in pacing yourself. Barry's writing can seem a little manic if read in longer sessions, and you may miss some of the more subtle jokes.

All Over but the Shoutin', by Rick Bragg

*****

Leave it to Rick Bragg to suffuse an arguably tragic (albeit inspiring) story of the poor white South with an almost nostalgic quality. His matter-of-fact writing keeps the story from becoming depressing.

The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman

*****

One of my all-time favorite Gaiman books. Gaiman seems to blend whimsy and danger and innocence and evil almost effortlessly. He is, I think, at his best when writing for younger audiences. The darkness of his tales keeps the story from being too light, but his humor and light tone buoys a fairly frightening story. Silas's character (as voiced by the author) is a brilliant exercise in subtlety. This might be better than Neverwhere.

ADDENDUM: Much as I love Gaiman's writing, I think the words improve when read by the author himself. Which is another way of saying: as good as the book is, the audiobook is better. Gaiman tells the story at an almost sedate pace, quiet and calm, so that it actually sounds and feels like a graveyard sort of tale. As Gaiman himself might say, the dead do not hurry. And Gaiman voices Silas better than my imagination ever could.

The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions, by Arthur Bennet (ed.)

*****

Quite possibly the best book I've read all year. These prayers are amazing. In Mudhouse Sabbath, Lauren Winner talks about the benefit of a formal prayer book. She notes that her free-form prayers often devolve into narcissism (this has definitely been my experience), but that the formal, written prayers refocus her on God. This book is a great example of the benefit of written prayers. My own free-form prayers often send me down a rabbit hole of my own personal worries and burdens--worries and burdens that I am right to share with God. But I think every one of the prayers in this book contains the Gospel, and when I read them, I am preaching the Gospel to myself. Instead of bringing my problems to God for Him to change, I find my focus shifting to my own sin, God's grace, Christ's sacrifice, and my own undeserved salvation.

Also, written prayers like these are very helpful if you are struggling with prayer. I certainly found it so. The words are true and they say true things about God and Christ and the Gospel. So when I cannot find the words or the heart to pray on my own, I can pray these written prayers. Not that I try to pray them without meaning them. I very much intend to mean them. And even if I do start out not really meaning the prayer, I usually do end up meaning it somewhere along the way. It is surprising how much such prayers can transform the human heart.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, by Max Brooks

*****

This. Book. Is. Awesome. Ostensibly about zombies, it ends up being more about human response to crisis--on an individual, national, and international level. Information management, bureaucracy, self-preservation, sacrifice, technology, adaptability, fear, denial, cooperation, independence, lack of preparation, conservation of resources, the value of human life . . . it's all in there.

By presenting the story in a collection of first person recollections, Brooks takes the reader to the ground level. There is no clear over-arching story, no all-seeing narrator. Each person knows only what he himself can see, and all he can see is the particular brand of chaos and destruction that surrounds him. By immersing the reader in the story without the comfort of a storyteller, Brooks makes the fear that much more palpable, and imparts to the reader the rising sense of panic felt by the characters themselves as they begin to comprehend their circumstances. It's good to be reminded that society is never so secure that it can't be toppled by disaster. And what then?

I feel kind of bad giving five stars to a book about zombies, but there you have it.

Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier

*****

One of the best opening lines of any book ever written, and the rest of the book does not disappoint.

Du Maurier creates an unparalleled atmosphere of suspense, quite gothic in nature, and her insight into the neuroses of her unnamed narrator (and in many cases, her readers) is remarkable.

I've read this book easily a dozen times, but I always forget how stressful a read it is--and even more so once you know how it ends. The lack of communication is beyond frustrating, and yet given the characters' temperaments, there was never any other way for the story to play out.

(Side note: The film version is one of the most faithful book adaptations I've ever seen. It is also excellent.)

Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card

*****

I absolutely loved this book! Sometimes science fiction can get a little technical, and the heart of the story is lost, but Card centers the story around a very empathetic protagonist. Card presents the reader with the all-too-rare complex villain. Or rather, he has no villains at all. Each individual, no matter how cruel his or her actions may seem, has a reason for the way he or she behaves. And while the reasons are not always good, they are always understandable. Thus while the 'villains' are obstacles that must be overcome to achieve the necessary goals, they never merit hatred or total condemnation. Instead of good guys and bad guys, you have a bunch of fallen individuals in conflict. A reader can, at various times in the story, feel empathy for even the worst of the antagonists.

Card also explores utilitarian ideas in an interesting way: What is an acceptable price to pay for victory? What can you put soldiers through in order to ensure survival--theirs and that of the human race? What if the soldier is a child? What is the right thing to do? When is compassion cruel and cruelty kind? Do the ends justify the means? What qualities should a good soldier--or leader--have? How do you create soldiers who can kill without crippling psychological trauma, and yet avoid turning them into psychopathic killing machines? How do you cultivate and encourage empathy without breeding weakness?

This is why science fiction is such a rich genre: We get to ask real questions that are played out and answered in a fictional world.

I wonder, though: Is the rest of the series this good?

NOTE: The audiobook is also excellent. Like the audiobook version of Speaker for the Dead, it's voiced by several narrators--one for the Ender-focused sections, one for the Valentine-focused sections, and other for the various conversations between various government officials. (The Ender-narrator and the Valentine-narrator also appear in Speaker for the Dead.) It's not quite a dramatic production, though, which leads to the occasional awkward transitions between narrators. The narration is well done and goes by quickly, though as with most audiobooks, the steady narration pace forces the reader to slow down, where the written page might tempt an excited reader to blister through portions of the book.