The Saint Who Would Be Santa Claus, by Adam C. English

**

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

This is, I think, a great reminder to Christians of the importance of humble, everyday acts of obedience. Most of us will never participate in or even witness a physical miracle. We can’t calm the sea for endangered sailors or multiply the supply of wheat or ooze magical healing goo from our tombs, as Saint Nicholas is rumored to have done. And even if we have the opportunity to punch a heretic, it might be best to abstain (criminal assault laws being what they are). Nevertheless all of us can be good stewards of whatever blessings we have received. And while our salvation comes not from our good works but from our position in Christ and his atoning death on the cross for our sins, He calls His justified people to a life of obedience. Trusting in His grace and relying on His power, we can obey God in the small things and trust that in His sovereignty He can use these small daily obediences to bring glory to His name in ways we could never imagine.

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.

All Creatures Great and Small (Series 1)

***

A perfectly serviceable adaptation of James Herriot's beloved semi-autobiographical books.  The books themselves are highly episodic in nature, and so lend themselves to adaptation for television.  This first series of 13 hour long episodes starts off with young James, a recent veterinary school graduate, interviewing for a position with Siegfried Farnon, the local vet in the tiny Yorkshire town of Darrowby.  The show tracks his various escapades dealing with the local farmers and citizenry, as well as the challenges of working for Siegfried and dealing with Farnon the Younger, a young veterinary student by the name of Tristan (their mother was a big Wagner fan) with a penchant for late nights, good ale, and female company.  Mid-1930s Yorkshire style, as portrayed by the BBC, though, so no seedy stuff.  Just enough to cause the occasional comic hangover or to justify coaxing James to cover for him when romance (or a good pub visit) calls.

The show started filming in the late seventies, and it looks it.  Not the set design, mind you--that's pretty consistently 1930s.  But the film quality screams 1970s.  Lots of stationary cameras and rooms that feel like sets--that sort of thing.  On the other hand, near as I can figure, Christopher Timothy (who plays James) really does stick his arm up a cow on more than one occasion.  I would be very interested to know just how much of the veterinary work he performed was staged, and how much was, well, real (or real-ish).  It certainly looked real, and it's not like they had the technology (or the budget) to fake it.

Jackson: The Iron-Willed Commander, by Paul Vickery (The Generals)

**

A biography of the controversial Andrew Jackson.  As you might expect from a book in a series called The Generals, the author focuses primarily on Jackson's military adventures, particularly his encounters with the Creeks, the Seminoles, and the British.

Allow me to start off by saying that I know nothing about Andrew Jackson beyond what I read about him in a Cracked article (here's another one, though for those new to Cracked, a heads up: much profanity is contained therein).  Now, having read this book, I know more--why Jackson is called 'Old Hickory', that he really for real loved his wife, that apparently you can bully illness into submission using the power of the will, and that if you were fighting against Jackson, you were pretty much hosed.  This goes for his opponents in military engagements and the ones he dueled.  Apparently, he dueled a lot.

My Big Bottom Blessing: How Hating My Body Led to Loving My Life, by Teasi Cannon

**

A memoir of sorts, tracking the author’s struggles with obesity, self-image, and spiritual growth. I confess, I was expecting more of a how-to book—something that would offer me advice and hope in my own attempts to achieve (and maintain) a healthier weight. I’m not sure exactly where this idea came from, other than the fact that nearly all books about weight loss and “body image” are, at heart, guidebooks to the svelte figure of your dreams (or at least to the wholehearted embrace of the beauty of your body, whatever its shape). And this book is more autobiographical than instructional.  It tells me about the author’s story, but offers little to no help for my own battles with gluttony, laziness, self-indulgence, fear of man, and vanity. But now that I re-read the blurb on the back of the book, I realize that the book was billed as a memoir from the start. There’s a brief line on the back cover, telling me that her story will propel me to realize my own value and beauty, but I suspect that’s just hype from the publisher. This is her story, not yours. Adjust your expectations accordingly.

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, by Anne Lamott

****

Well-known author Anne Lamott summarizes the advice she gives her writing students, from encouraging them to let themselves write crummy first drafts to advocating for the use of short assignments to deal with writer's block, from promoting the value of writing groups to counseling the students on avoiding libel charges.

The book is largely reflective of Lamott's own writing experience (obviously) and is interlaced with her special brand of neurosis, hyperbole, over-reaction, jealousy, and drama.  While there is some practical advice, the real value of the book is likely the reader's identification with Lamott's fears and emotions.  Writers are, I suspect, a fairly neurotic bunch, and there is tremendous comfort to be found in reading a book like this and discovering that you are not the only one.  Moreover, someone who feels just as bereft after rejection, someone whose jealousy toward other writers borders on malevolence--someone like that was able to overcome the fear and the distraction and the insecurity and write.  And even be published.  Lamott essentially gives her readers permission to feel rejected when they are, well, rejected, to be discouraged, to be despondent, even.  She just encourages them not to stay there.

Boy: Tales of Childhood, by Roald Dahl

****

Beloved children's author Dahl shares a few anecdotes from his childhood in Wales, England, and Norway, including the adventure of the goat tobacco, how he almost lost his nose, instructions on faking acute appendicitis, various boarding school escapades, and the Great and Daring Mouse Plot.

There really isn't any sort of overarching theme to these stories; Dahl just meanders through the past, walking the reader through some of his more prominent memories, many of which are borderline run-of-the-mill (though some are quite extraordinary).  Occasionally the reader gets a glimpse of an event that influenced Dahl's books (such Cadbury's habit of using boarding schools as 'focus groups' to test new candies and chocolates), but for the most part these are just reflections on a fairly normal life.

Of course, Dahl is not a normal writer; even the most mundane tales become interesting when he tells them.  Not that he spices them up, necessarily.  He just tells them really, really well.  The end result is a book that is, quite simply, a very pleasant read.  I was a bit surprised, actually, by this--this is the man who gave us some fairly dark children's tales, after all.  His darker worldview does creep in from time to time, particularly as he describes the corporal punishment and authority figures at his various boarding schools, most notably one cruel headmaster who was promoted to high position within the Anglican Church (much to Dahl's consternation). But by and large, the tales he tells are surprisingly upbeat and told with gentle good humor and a good deal of affection, especially when discussing his mother, other family members, and the few teachers who apparently didn't loathe small boys.

While this is not the most brilliant autobiography I've read, I enjoyed it, and I suspect others will as well.  It's short, as well--nothing here to intimidate the busy reader (or younger readers, for that matter).

[Fun Fact:  Meg Ryan's character reads this book aloud to children in her bookshop in You've Got Mail.  I'm not sure the book as a whole would be interesting enough to hold the attention of younger kids, but some of the anecdotes are definitely read-aloud-worthy--especially the Great and Daring Mouse Plot, which is what Ryan reads.]

The Jesus We Missed: The Surprising Truth About the Humanity of Christ, by Patrick Henry Reardon

**

This is, or wants to be, a biography of Jesus.  Or at any rate, a biography of his humanity, as it's far from an exhaustive account of all his activities. Reardon walks through the life of Jesus from birth through his youth and pre-ministry adult years, on into his earthly ministry, to the cross, the resurrection, and beyond, explaining how he thinks the dual nature of Christ as the God-man worked itself out.

I have to confess, I had high expectations for this book.  The cover proudly proclaims that Dr. Russell Moore (professor at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and author of Adopted for Life, among others) wrote the foreword, and in that foreword, he claims that this book "is the best treatment of the humanity of our Lord Jesus that I've ever encountered" and that it's Reardon's "finest work".  (This language was slightly softened in his recent blog post on the book, which was virtually identical to the foreword, but described the book as "the best contemporary treatment of this subject that I've ever seen." (emphasis added))

So I was pretty excited.  But by the time I finished the book, my excitement had changed, first to confusion and then to disappointment.  Let me explain.

L'Abri, by Edith Schaeffer

****

Francis Schaeffer's widow recalls their years at L'Abri, a retreat-cum-commune they founded in the Swiss Alps.  Although they originally intended to serve as more traditional missionaries to Switzerland, the Schaeffers ended up opening their chalet to literally hundreds of visitors who came to ski the slopes and talk through difficult questions with Edith and her husband.  From their first few years in Switzerland, through all sorts of political, financial, personal, and physical obstacles, to their eventual settlement in Huémoz, she looks back on the Lord's faithfulness and his supernatural provision for them and their ministry.

This book is a wonderful meditation on God' faithfulness to answer the prayers of His people--and of His ability to raise up and bless the ministries He ordains.  In the midst of the intellectual confusion and quest for truth that characterized the 1960s, Francis Schaeffer was a voice for truth--an example of intellect and faith blended together without compromising either.  Edith does not delve into all her husband's ideas and arguments; her story is focused on God's provision and the answers to prayer.  And indeed, she shares story after incredible story of the Lord meeting their needs--sometimes at the last possible moment.

The Dry Divide, by Ralph Moody

***

For starters, this book is loads better than Shaking the Nickel Bush.  Not that it would take much.  Here we rejoin Ralph Moody (now going by 'Bud') sometime after he and Lonnie parted ways in Shaking the Nickel Bush.  Lonnie is never mentioned here, and perhaps it's for the best.  This time around, instead of discovering yet another new and random talent, Moody returns to previously established abilities.  He takes a job working for a wheat farmer, and his work ethic and ingenuity enable him to overcome many seemingly insurmountable obstacles.  If ever there were a man with the soul of an entrepreneur, Ralph Moody is that man.

The Story of Christianity, Volume 1: The Early Church to the Reformation, by Justo Gonzalez

****

A surprisingly readable history. Gonzalez is right to title his volume The Story of Christianity, as his style is closer to prose than it is to the usual dry and lifeless writing of most history texts. The organization is a bit confusing at times--not precisely chronological, but grouped by periods and then thematically within the period--but with so many moving pieces, there really isn't a better way to present the information. All in all, it's a great introduction to the history of Christianity, though I suspect it's far from comprehensive.

Shaking the Nickel Bush, by Ralph Moody

*

What a disappointing book! After four excellent entries--some of which were truly stellar--I can't believe the sudden drop-off in quality. Allow me to elaborate.

~~SPOILER ALERT~~

1) Lies, lies lies. Gone is the highly scrupulous Ralph Moody we came to know and love in earlier volumes. His desire to honor his father's passion for honesty, integrity, and forthrightness seems to have disappeared completely, and with no explanation whatsoever. He routinely lies to his mother throughout the book and doesn't object in the slightest when his traveling partner repeatedly steals chickens, "borrows" horses without asking, and otherwise makes free with the belongings of others. While it is certainly true that those raised to be honest sometimes waver in their devotion to the cause, Moody offers no explanation whatsoever for his sudden departure from his family's values.

2) The devil is in the details.

Naked, by David Sedaris

****

Another excellent book by Sedaris, though I am still troubled by the undercurrent of contempt and condescension in his writing. The book is somewhat self-effacing, in that he is fairly frank about his ridiculous sense of his own importance, at least in his youth. But the ridicule of others is so pervasive throughout the book that it is sometimes difficult to tell if he's really left the stage of sneering behind. This book delves a little deeper into Sedaris's own troubled past--particularly his obsessive compulsive tendencies--which certainly paints a more complete (and sympathetic) picture of the author. But he writes about others, even his family and his partner, with such a lack of affection that he ends up seeming like a complete narcissist. Which I suppose is a requirement if you're going to write your own memoirs and your name isn't Winston Churchill or Abraham Lincoln. But still. I think I would really love Sedaris if he seemed to actually care about others--any others. Bragg and Lamott and Reichl all seem to really care about and enjoy and appreciate so many of the characters they write about. Sedaris's sarcasm and wit, though amusing, end up robbing his writing of the emotional resonance readers crave.

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, by David Sedaris

****

David Sedaris is an excellent writer. There is no doubt about that. The man can turn a phrase and tell a story, and his unique perspective on the world results in some very amusing descriptions. The man can write, and reading good writing is always a pleasure.

Still, I can't seem to quite get on board with Sedaris the way I can with, say, Rick Bragg or Ruth Reichl or other "memoir" writers I truly love. And I'm not sure I can pinpoint the precise reason for this disconnect. Sedaris isn't as warm and affectionate a writer, to be true, and there's a slight undercurrent of anger and contempt in his work--an undercurrent that is unsettling and even disturbing at times.

Perhaps I am not being fair. Perhaps in his way, Sedaris is just as devoted to his family as Bragg. Perhaps he has a passion comparable to Reichl's love for food. But I just don't see it.

I guess that may be the difference--his work seems to lack joy. He has a killer sense of humor, and a sharp wit, and writes well, but he doesn't seem happy. He doesn't really write about things that he loves. Not that I am expecting a schlock-fest. But a little genuine joy goes a long way. Page after page of neurosis and sarcasm and wry wit gets old if you can't really see the heart behind it. Occasionally, a glimpse of real emotion peeps through, but I guess I'm a bigger softie than I realized, because without more heart, he'll never be one of my favorite authors.

J.R.R. Tolkien (Christian Encounters Series), by Mark Horne

***

A decent--if unimpressive--biography of Tolkien, ostensibly focused on his religious beliefs and the impact they had on his life and work. Based on this account, however, it seems that Tolkien, though a Christian, was less affected by his faith than by his relationships--with his wife, his children, and his various friends and colleagues. Horne portrays Tolkien as a gifted man (to the surprise of no one), but also conveys the idea that, as with many geniuses, he was irritatingly idiosyncratic and at times quite infuriating to those around him. The end result is a complex and full-bodied picture of a literary legend.

I was honestly surprised by the lack of information on Tolkien's faith, though that may not be the fault of the author. Horne identifies Tolkien as a Catholic, but his loyalty to that faith seems to have largely resulted from what he perceived as his mother's martyrdom and his close relationship to the priest who served as the guardian for Tolkien and his brother after their mother's death. It seems that it was this relational loyalty, rather than any particular theological conviction, that lead him to pressure his future wife to convert to the Catholic faith prior to their marriage.

However, I was encouraged to read about some of Tolkien's more annoying attributes (geniuses--they're just like us!), and was struck by his wife's patience with the man--first converting to Catholicism (a faith she never fully embraced) and then living and moving in academic circles (another source of discomfort for her) and enduring the 12 year wait for Tolkien to finally finish his three-part opus. While Tolkien may have referred to her as the Lúthien to his Beren (a romantic idea, to be sure), it had to be frustrating to deal with the day-to-day challenges of living with the man. This welcome glimpse into the reality of Tolkien's life and personality invigorated an otherwise unexceptional biography.

[NOTE: For more information on Tolkien, his life, his work, and the effect he's had on fantasy literature, I recommend The Modern Scholar's audio lectures Rings, Swords, and Monsters: Exploring Fantasy Literature, by Michael D.C. Drout.]

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

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.

Nero Wolfe of West Thirty-Fifth Street: The Life and Times of America's Largest Private Detective, by William S. Baring-Gould

**

Merely mediocre. It's nice to have the data from all the Nero Wolfe stories collected in one volume (well, all the stories published prior to 1969, that is--Death of a Dude, Please Pass the Guilt, and the rather dark A Family Affair came later and are not included here). I particularly appreciated the chronology (presented concisely in an appendix of sorts, and rather unnecessarily in text form in chapters 12 through 26). I read the books as they came my way, and never really got much of an idea of their proper chronological order. I expect that I will refer to the chronology often in future re-reading of the Nero Wolfe mysteries.

I also appreciated the map of the ground floor of the brownstone--I'd always pictured the office and front room to the right of the front door, and was grateful to have my misconception corrected.

Galileo (Christian Encounters Series), by Mitch Stokes

**

An account of Galileo's life, work, and beliefs, with particular emphasis on his interactions with the Church--his attitude toward the Church, and the Church's somewhat inconsistent reactions to his research and ideas. Most notably, Stokes claims that Galileo never intended to rebel against the Church, but saw himself as a devoted Catholic and was constantly surprised by the violence with which his writings and teaching were opposed.

Informative, to be sure. But Stokes can't seem to make up his mind whether he's writing a serious biography or a more lighthearted account of Galileo's life and work. I enjoy the writer-as-storyteller trope, but Stokes comes across as unable to decide whether he wants to insert his own voice into the book. The result is choppy and disconnected writing--at times Stokes presents a straightforward historical account, at other times a humorous commentary on the events. The presentation of those events, too, is full of stops and starts; it lacks a smooth story arc. Which, of course, is true of history, but need not be true of biographical accounts of that history. The book seems to be well-researched, and in the hands of a better writer it could have been much stronger and more compelling.

Also, I confess that after a while, all the (extremely similar) Italian names started to run together. Which is no fault of Stokes', though I suppose a more skillful author might have offered more assistance to the reader in wrestling with the long list of characters in Galileo's story.

Bottom line: I know more about Galileo now than I did before, but I didn't necessarily enjoy the process overmuch.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

The Fields of Home, by Ralph Moody

***

Not quite as good as Man of the Family or Little Britches. Moody's grandfather is infuriating to read . . . I can't imagine what he was like to live with. I was reminded of the frustration I felt in reading James Herriot's accounts of his partner Sigfried (though Moody was not quite as long-suffering as Herriot). I suppose, too, it was refreshing to see Moody's brilliant ideas fall short a few times (after essentially two whole books about his agricultural, equestrian, and engineering genius)--even if the cause of the failing was often his grandfather's interference. Objectively speaking, it's an excellent book, and one with a strong story arc--his grandfather's adjustment to time and progress--but it's hard to me to rate too highly a book that annoyed me so much. Still, I look forward to continuing the series.