Bookish Catholics

On Tolstoy, Summer and Gold in the Sand

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 02 Sep 2013 17:51:00 +0000

Ivan Kramskoy, The Unknown Woman, 1883

Summer is half way over, and I’m just now getting into the groove. Staying up a little later, waking up later, too. Letting things go slack, allowing everyone a little more space, more time, more freedom.

It’s like I’ve exhaled, finally, from the school-year before. And I realize how much stress I carry with me during those days. I know I spend much time thinking of my children, praying for them, hoping the best for them… obsessing maybe? Just a bit? “Well, if you keep THAT up (grades, behavior, practice schedules, grooming habits) you’re going to have a rough go of it.” At the time, it seems like the ‘right thing’ to do. I’m caring, involved, proactive. And stressed out.

Why do I now feel lighter, happier, like a huge weight has been lifted?

It’s not that I’m less busy! I’m driving and and cleaning and coordinating and working just as much. Am I that much less consumed by thoughts of my children’s achievements and future?

Do I really hold such a grip – the white knuckled kind – on everything when school is upon us? So much so that when I let it go, I’m almost different person?

Is that why we have summer vacation? Is it really for the moms?

I’ve been reading Anna Karenina this summer. It’s long, it’s intriguing, and it makes you both wince in distress and bounce with joy over various characters. And, if you know how it ends, which most people do, a part of you is just waiting to see how it all falls into place, and hoping that your book might contain the secret alternative ending that Tolstoy really intended.

As with others of Tolstoy’s writings, I am completely intrigued with his knowledge of the human heart. Where does he get this stuff? How does he KNOW? And it is his secondary characters who have won me over utterly.

I read this passage the other day, and… well… :

Keep reading!

A review of "My Sisters the Saints"

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 23 May 2013 17:54:00 +0000

Written by Mary Wallace of The Working Catholic Mom

My Sisters the Saints, by Colleen Carroll Campbell

Colleen Carroll Campbell is definitely a working Catholic mom! Her newest book, My Sisters The Saints reveals Colleen as a strong, vulnerable, and capable leader, following a familiar journey of faith – those of many of us women, and in particular, those of 6 beautiful female Saints.

Colleen writes in a way that weaves the stories of six power-house female saints – St. Teresa of Avila, St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Faustina of Poland, St. Theresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein), Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, and Our Blessed Mother Mary – with her life, as she walks her own journey of faith. It is a beautiful story of women walking on a journey, struggling with their sins and frailty, and determining to follow the way of the Lord.

What I like most about this book is that it isn’t clean…In other words, faith is complex…it doesn’t come in nice clean packages. Colleen answers a big question for women of faith: Yes, the Christian walk is a walk of suffering…but it is redemptive, beautiful, and unifying in the body of Christ.

Keep reading!

More of Emily's thoughts on Never Give Up

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 01:14:00 +0000

Here's a link to another book blog that I have. It's a separate blog because I get books for free from a publishing house so long as I blog about them and review them on Amazon or some other website. Anyhoo....I wrote a long post over there about Never Give Up. Really, I think I could write an essay about this book.

Well, if you're interested...http://brazosbooks.wordpress.com/2013/03/28/never-give-up-my-life-gods-mercy-or-my-life-story/

Nearly the best book I have ever read

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 14:12:00 +0000

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not as though there's anything wrong with "Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy" that's holding me back from giving it the best qualifier, it's my own 'I don't want to be wrong, how can I evaluate all the books I've ever read? Certainly there's something better. Maybe I can categorize it' stuff going through my head. So, the other thing, if you didn't pick it up, is that I have a wee bit of anxiety in my family. It wasn't until after the birth of my third child that someone (a Dr. friend, no less) pointed out that I should focus more on the anxiety and not the worries the anxiety was causing. Talk about an eye opener!! More on that later, let's focus on the book.

**pause, screaming, poopie diaper***

I've been formulating this blog post in my head for weeks, ever since I finished the book in 2 days while agonizing in bed with a flu-like cold. Here is a run down from some notes I made. Brilliant is the word that comes to mind most often when describing this book. It has the BEST description of mental illness that I've ever read. John is a brilliant theologian. It has the best description of love, God's love, that I've ever read. I love the chapters describing Mary, her love and how she is bringing us to Christ.

Never Give Up reminds us constantly of God's love. That God is waiting for us, holding us, loving us. We are children. We act like children, we whine and complain, we don't understand. We will learn some while we are here but most we will only learn in the next phase of our life with Christ.

***pause, screaming, more coffee***

I like how he relates our initial reaction to suffering as an "invasion of 'my life'" because this is exactly how I used to feel (and often still do) when presented with a challenge. John reminds us that it's always better when we accept suffering as part of God's plan for our life. Thank you, Lord!

The section comparing grumbling and lamenting has really opened my eyes and given me some freedom. I've repeated this lesson to others on multiple occasions, so far.

Throughout the book, John is constantly reminding us of God's love, love, love and that we need to ask, ask, ask for mercy. Over and over and over. God never tires. It quite reminds me of the message of our new Pope Francis. God never gets tired of forgiving, its we who tire of asking. We must never tire of asking for forgiveness and mercy because God's love is abundant.

**baby came in screaming...in lap, sucking on the corner of John's book***

About John, as an author, he is saturated with knowledge of the truth. He doesn't need to quote catechism or papal encyclicals because it comes out of his pores. It's how he thinks, it's the truth.

This concludes the notes I made in my phone a couple weeks ago. I'm being overrun by the demands of a 2 year old, at present. There is so much more that I'd like to say about this book. I have ink throughout it, stars in the margins, etc. *crying baby at my side* But I can't put off these children any longer and I'm not going to grumble, either. :) Thank you, God for my babies!!!! They dictate the actions of my life and right now they're saying, "ME ME ME!!!"

I will try to write more on this book, later, but for now, here you go. I truly hope that this book brings you some peace in your heart as it has brought to mine.

Final Reflections on Persuasion by Dr. Ken Bugajski

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 21:20:00 +0000

(The Bookish Catholics Resident Professor is back again! We welcome Dr. Ken Bugajski, Associate Professor of English at the University of St. Francis in Fort Wayne, Indiana. He shares his thoughts with us as we read Persuasion by Jane Austen.)

Persuasion is, as I said, my favorite Austen novel. One thing I like about it, and what sets it above Pride and Prejudice for me, is the importance of the past and the novel’s sense of loss. Now, that may seem a strange reason to like a book, but...I'll get to that.

There are a number of losses in Persuasion that stand out from Austen's other work. Of course, Sir Walter is a widower. We don’t get too much information about his wife, but Chapter 1 suggests that she was the kind of woman who made her husband a better man. An older character who is a widow or widower is not uncommon in Austen, but there is also Benwick, who is near the same age as our main characters. Benwick has also lost his love, and there really isn't any other character in Austen's novels who has had a loss--and a reaction to that loss--quite like Benwick. And though it is only temporary, Anne and Wentworth have, of course, also lost their loves. The permanence of Sir Walter's and Benwick's losses reflect on our main couple, and the knowledge that there are instances where lost love cannot be recovered heightens the drama when Wentworth and Anne meet again.

There is an autumnal feel to Persuasion as well, and Julia's favorite quotation (that she posted to Facebook) presents one passage where Austen incorporates this idea of autumn. There are others too, though they are small passages that are easy to miss. In chapter 5, for example, Anne dreads having to go to Bath and grieves having to miss "the influence so sweet and so sad of the autumnal months in the country." Later in Lyme, Anne reflects on the beauty of autumn when out walking. In literature, autumn is, almost always, a symbol of endings. Like Benwick and Sir Walter, these autumnal shadows increase the stakes for our heroine and hero. Anne and Wentworth are older, and they are in their own autumns--at least as far as being an eligible bachelorette and bachelor goes. One gets the sense this is their last chance before winter sets in.

Let me be clear here: I love Pride and Prejudice; it is a great novel, and surely Austen's prose in this novel is unmatched. But Pride and Prejudice--for all its sparkling wit and heightened romance--is spring and summer. Lizzie and Darcy face their obstacles and challenges, to be sure, but to be honest, from the first time Darcy refuses to dance with Lizzie, I never doubt they’ll end up together. For Lizzie and Darcy, it is all new beginnings; Pride and Prejudice is a book about falling in love.

Persuasion, though, is different in its emphasis. Anne and Wentworth have already fallen in love, long before the time when the novel begins. Their early relationship is marked by mistakes, and those mistakes have long-term consequences for both characters. Persuasion acknowledges that the past influences the present, that mistakes will be made, that lovers will hurt one another, and that heartbreaking loss exists. But love still wins. For Anne and Wentworth, it is all about choosing to begin again. For me, Persuasion is a book about being married--and that's why I like it better.

Only Anne, by Dr. Ken Bugajski

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 21:37:00 +0000

When we talked about North and South last fall, I nattered on about identity and the ways different aspects of Margaret Hale’s life and identity shift in the early chapters of the novel. Throughout Persuasion, Anne’s identity changes, too, but her story is different than Margaret’s journey.

To start thinking about Anne’s identity, we can look at what Austen says about her early in the book. When Austen introduces this character in Chapter 1, she writes, “Anne, with an elegance of mind and sweetness of character, which must have placed her high with any people of real understanding, was nobody with either father or sister; her word had no weight, her convenience was always to give way;--she was only Anne.”

The first descriptions of a character are always important. Just like in life when we meet someone new, we will form important first impressions. Authors know this as well as anybody, and so their initial descriptions of characters will always tell us something useful. In this case, we learn that in her family, Anne is neither respected nor cared for, and you might even go so far as to say she lacks an identity. Anne, after all, “was nobody.”

But then we get some surprising information: a few years earlier, Anne “had been a very pretty girl, but her bloom had vanished early . . . now she was faded and thin.” So, *that’s* interesting—Anne used to be quite pretty. What happened that caused her bloom to fade?

(Austen answers this directly, by the way, a few paragraphs into chapter 4, when she repeats that idea—early loss of bloom—as the result of some past events.)

Austen gives us these pieces of information right next to each other, separated only by the brief introduction of Lady Russell. Because these two descriptions of Anne are so close together, it is perhaps not too big of a leap to see a connection between Anne’s physical appearance (“faded and thin”) and Anne’s personality (“Anne…was nobody”). We might keep that relationship between physical attractiveness and perception of personality in the back of our minds as the book continues.

So, if you remember Margaret Hale, her identity was destabilized when all of the different aspects of her life were changed due to the move to Milton, and she had to reshape her identity in the face of enormous change. For Anne, things are a bit different. She still faces changes (specifically a change of location, just like Margaret), but she starts the story without a defined identity—she is nobody. The Big Question for her is not “Can she reshape her identity?” but: Can she be anybody at all?

On Persuasion, by Dr. Ken Bugajski

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 01 Feb 2013 15:03:00 +0000

The Bookish Catholics Resident Professor is back again! We welcome Dr. Ken Bugajski, Associate Professor of English at the University of St. Francis in Fort Wayne, Indiana. He shares his thoughts with us as we begin reading Persuasion by Jane Austen.

Hello again, everyone. It is great to be back with you this month to talk about Jane Austen. I should say from the beginning that I know Bookish Catholics has a number of Jane Austen devotees, and so I hope I don't waste your time telling you things you already know.

Where to start? Well, I may as well tell you that Persuasion is my favorite Jane Austen novel. I know that Pride and Prejudice is the choice for most people--and it is a wonderful book--but I have always liked Persuasion better, even though the ending has some flaws. No spoilers--I mean only that because Austen passed away, the last chapter seems not to have been fully revised. To me, the end lacks the polish of her other prose. Even so, Persuasion remains my favorite, and for my money, it contains one of the best literary love letters I know of, even better--yes, I will say it--than Darcy's to Lizzie.

As always for Austen, marriage is of primary concern, and I think of all Austen's novels, Persuasion considers marriage the most. Through our single heroine, Anne, Austen shows us the difficulty and challenge of finding the right person to marry, but the novel also presents a number of different models for what a married couple can be.

So what can marriage be like? First up are Charles and Mary Musgrove, who seem to present a model that is less than ideal. Charles is dutiful but distant from Mary. Mary cares for their children to the extent that she can do so without their displacing herself as the center of attention. As Austen says, Charles and Mary “might pass for a happy couple,” but once we spend some time with them, we see below that surface level. They often do not agree nor do they communicate about those differences; both resort to passive/aggressive behavior towards the other.

The Harvilles, who we meet in chapter 11, exemplify another type of marriage, and perhaps they represent what could have become of Anne and Wentworth had they been married when Anne was 19. They seem happy enough, but their house is always stretched to the limit in activity and money. When Anne and the others come to visit them in Lyme, for example, Benwick has to move out because there is not enough space for him.

Captain Benwick, who we also meet in Lyme, although he is single, also shows a third possibility for Anne. Benwick has lost the love of his life, and we can interpret him, perhaps, as a potential inverse of Anne. Had she and Wentworth married and Wentworth continued his naval career, perhaps Anne would have lost her love in the line of duty as Benwick has lost his love due to illness. Austen goes out her way to note that Anne and Benwick are similar to one another—even Anne recognizes it—and so here is another version of what married life might have been like for our heroine.

The first married couple we meet, the Admiral and Mrs. Croft, provide a final possibility for Anne (the Crofts are, incidentally, my favorite literary married couple).* The Crofts are always together, and Austen goes on at length the emphasize this. We learn in chapter 4, for example, that the Crofts have been travelling together and have just returned to England. Chapter 8 features a long discussion of whether wives of sailors should be allowed on naval ships, and Mrs. Croft expresses definite opinions about this matter. At one point, Austen’s describes the Crofts—who have been married for a long time—as acting “in a way not endurable to a third person.” Clearly the romance is alive in their relationship.

So, as Anne navigates her life—the move from Kellynch, seeing Captain Wentworth again, meeting Benwick—she encounters different examples of what married life can look like. Austen puts Anne in the position of being able to see how differently relationships can function and so that she can determine what she herself might wish.

*The Crofts are also responsible for one of my favorite scenes in all of the novels I know. But I don’t want to spoil that for you!

After This: Authentic and Catholic

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 19:51:00 +0000

*Spoiler Alert*

I'd like to say I've been at a loss as to what I might write about our January selection, After This, by Alice
McDermott, but that would not really be the case. Instead of loss, my hesitancy is caused by gain--by an abundance-- of beauty, truth, and strength. This book is so beautiful and so close to perfection that it almost seems like a violation to approach in terms of review or analyzing. I finished this book being truly awestruck by a writer whose talent goes beyond great to the level of literary genius.

After This defies categorization for me.   It is not a traditional plot-driven novel with a recognizable problem and resolution.   It is character-driven, with the Keane family made up of parents John and Mary, along with children Jacob, Michael, Annie, and Clare, being the focus.   The family members are fully developed by McDermott through their words, spoken and unspoken, and their interactions with the people and places around them.   McDermott's words are sparse, but powerful and so loaded with information that it is sometimes necessary to read sentences and whole passages more than once.   Such re-reading is not arduous, though, but instead is closer to excavation, as with each new dig the reader discovers some new detail that adds to the experience of revealed treasure.   Another feature of After This is McDermott's ability to make the reader feel like he has intimate knowledge of each character and moment whilst simultaneously being a distant observer of an expanse of time, much as we might consider the lives of acquaintances and neighbors.   After This is a period novel, set in America during the post-war and Vietnam eras and yet it speaks to the changes, hopes, and concerns of today.   We recognize the images of the past, but all of the thoughts and actions of the characters could easily be placed in a current setting.

In reading biographical information about Alice McDermott, I found out that she, like the Keane children, was raised in an Irish Catholic family in New York.   This book is a thoroughly Catholic book in its appeal, style, and themes.

After This is universal in its appeal.   Anyone can relate to these characters and to their lives.   The Keanes and their friends are normal, flawed people who have what is necessary, from within and without, for both good and bad.   John and Mary Keane love their children and they worry for their futures.   The Keane children love their parents, but must face the usual challenges of facing the world as individuals and deciding what to keep from the past and the present.

In several passages, John's fear of his daughters is expressed as he feels such love for them, but often doesn't understand their feminine ways.   After his youngest daughter, Clare returns from an excursion to see a play in the city, John sits, trapped by a contraption of his own means that is an attempt to heal his aching leg.   She recounts the dramatic details of the play as he observes the young lady she has become.   The feelings possible from any father of a girl are expressed in this short passage.

She paused. Looked at her father and shrugged. he suddenly realized that she was about to cry.

"That's too bad," he said. he knew enough not to laugh at her. He had already offended her, more than once, when he'd teased her about her easy tears....

And then, to his great surprise, she began to sing. her voice was sweet, lower than he would have expected, although surely he had heard her singing around the house a thousand times before. But now she was singing for him, much as she used to do when she was very small, her hands at her sides, her eyes half closed. The cotton shirt not too long, perhaps, but wrinkled front he hours she'd been sitting. The little-girl knees, although her body was growing lean. She sand and he was both enchanted and embarrassed by her earnestness. Both hopeful that neither of the boys would come upstairs (Jacob would only roll his eyes but Michael would sing along with her, mocking, howling the words to run, where the brave dare not go ow ow) and yet wishing that they would because there was something painful in it, watching her, another kind of pain altogether than what he'd been fighting these past two days. The boys had their lives off in the wider world, he thought, but girls, his daughters, they had their lives far wider and far more inaccessible, right before his eyes.

In meeting to discuss the book, our book club members expressed enjoyment of the details of the Keane's house, its normalcy and homeyness easily related to our own. Also, the relationships between the siblings were authentic with their interactions which where a delicate balance between antagonistic and loving.

In addition to its universal appeal, After This is Catholic in its style. This is not a dialogue-driven piece. Characters do not work out their problems or thoughts through detailed conversations. There are no monologues which declare to the other characters and the readers what thoughts are taking place. Instead, with a Catholic sensibility for relating to others through sign and symbol, McDermott chooses words with artistic precision to illustrate using characters' thoughts, clothing, surroundings, and closest friends. In one passage, Mary has come home from the hospital, with baby Clare in her arms and her other three children overjoyed at her return. They only know how to express their love by acting as if they hated Pauline during the time she baby-sat them. It gives insight into the workings of childrens' minds and what must have been the nurturing motherhood of Mary Keane. Instead of conversations or vignettes of family scenes, this is how McDermott tells us what kind of mother Mary Keane was to her family.

It wasn't that they'd found Pauline unlovable. The entire world of adult strangers was more or less unlovable, with their huge earlobes and their smoky breaths, their yellow teeth, their intrusions. It was only that the house was empty without their mother in it. Recognizable still in all its familiarity: the vestibule where they dropped their book bags and (at Pauline's insistence) hung up their coats, the living room where the slipcover was newly dark, the cluttered dining room, the Formica counters in the kitchen, the Dutch Boy cookie jar, the worn carpet on the stairs, the sunlight through the windows of their bedroom which seemed always, from the time they woke until darkness fell, the sunlight of four thirty in the afternoon, all of it familiar but seen, for the first time, as it might look when it was empty, with none of them there. This both puzzled them (because all three of them were indeed there, and Pauline was there, and by nine o'clock each night when visiting hours at the hospital were over, their father was there) and filled them with despair, which was what made them tell their mother, once she had returned, the baby in her arms, that they hated Pauline. That they hoped they would never be left in her care...

It wasn't true, they hadn't hated her at all..., but it was an explanation that lingered, a conviction they would share for the rest of their lives.

Also, McDermott handles time in a very Catholic manner. The Church teaches that God exists outside of the constraints of time. He is not limited to the constraints of time. We, with our feeble attempts, use the boundaries and markings of time to make sense of our world. To bring about order. McDermott has a way of referencing the past and future in the midst of the present without the use of flashbacks. It is fluid and aided by combining the intimate with the distant. Just as we understand that our prayers can have affect on the future, we see in After This how moments have significance and affect on the past and present. In a favorite passage, Jacob and Michael walk ahead of the family after the first mass held in the newly renovated church. They joke, tease, and even manage to share some secrets with each other in this rare instance of being open with each other. McDermott writes beautifully, with her ability to be intimately up close with a character while relaying it all as an observer who sees from a distance of both location and time. Any reader can find himself in this transition from childhood to young adulthood.

The route was all familiar--gray sidewalks and driveways, green rectangles of lawn, cars, bicycles, houses and trees. The familiar streets. He and Jacob could name nearly every family as they passed. The O'Haras' house, the Krafts', the DeLucas', Levines', Perichettis'. They'd been in most of their kitchens or front hall-ways, they'd collected paper-route payments or candy on Halloween, gotten glasses of water or Kool-Aid from them on hot summer days. As he walked beside his brother, Michael's recollection of these days made them all seem soft-focused and gentle, an easy roundness about things that had since given way to something thinner, something grown sharper in threadbare sort of way. Maybe it was the clean-edged aluminum siding that had replaced the aging shingles on most of the homes, or the sleeker cars, or the sun catching the chrome on Tony Persichetti's motorcycle in the driveway, where he once would have left his bike. Maybe it was just the sense of it coming to an end, his time in this place, his childhood. Maybe it was that the place had worn thin only for him, that he was already worn out with waiting to leave it and get on.

I would also submit that this book's Catholic style can be seen in the way good and bad are portrayed realistically. The difference between sin and virtue are shown in a subtle, artistic manner. Characters who sin are not automatically smote by God. The sadness, scars, and effects of sin are left for the reader to realize, amongst the actions of life. Is that not how it happens in real time, in real life? It would be a disservice to only portray extreme examples of only virtue or only sin and then show clear-cut immediate consequences of those actions as being easily identified to everyone. It would be as misleading as Annie's friend, Susan's father, who would sit on the couch in months to come, bidding his sweet innocent daughter a farewell, while being unaware of recent events and the way they changed his daughter forever. A few weeks ago, as a friend and I discussed the movie we had just viewed, Silver Linings Playbook, we expressed a common feeling that while we loved the world of period dramas such as Pride and Prejudice or Downton Abbey, sometimes we needed to see well-done films in a form that looked more real and more relevant to our own lives. McDermott uses contrasts and inner thoughts to illustrate the reality and effects of sin.

If the event of Susan seeking an abortion had been written from a Puritan standpoint, I think there would have probably been two possible story-lines. One, Susan would have been saved from the abortion, either by a last-minute persuasion by Annie or by harsh treatment by the abortion clinic staff which would shake Susan into a realization of what she was doing. Two, Susan would have had the abortion and then died from it or been seen later in the novel as psychologically traumatized or unable to bear children. It would have been cautionary hellfire and brimstone in novel form. Instead, I see McDermott's treatment of this event as much more powerful. I cried and I still can't get it out of my mind. My heart aches more for Susan and for Annie in her involvement much more than it would have in either of the two story-lines above. We have Susan first coming to terms with her abortion.

If Annie hated her for what she had just done, Susan thought, then she would be alone in the world, as lost as her crazy brother screaming in her dreams...

Then, sitting in a diner with what would normally have been a fun meal of perfect hamburgers and egg creams with her best friend, we find them unable to eat, as Annie tells Susan she "lost it" and had to leave the waiting room.

For Susan, the thick pad and cramps and the terrible word--curettage--that set her teeth on edge, all gave way to the sudden descent her heart took. If their places were exchanged, Annie wold not have done what she'd done. And there was no undoing it.

Then, Annie proceeds to tell Susan that it was the events of the book she brought along, A Farewell to Arms, that had caused her to cry in a bathroom stall for twenty minutes.

Intolerable and terrible and made even more so by the fact that within the same hour of her reading, the book had convinced her (there in the softly lit waiting room of the abortion clinic) that despite war and death and pain (despite the way the girl with a woman who might have been her mother seemed to gulp air every once in a while, a handkerchief to her mouth), life was lovely, rich with small gifts: a nice hotel, a warm fire, a fine meal, love.

And then comes what breaks my heart because it is so tragic and so real. Teenagers who have sought answers within themselves instead of turning to God or to trusted adults. Trying to convince themselves, trying to dust themselves off and move on, without pain or guilt. An attempt at justification we have all experienced at different points in our lives, but particularly during our formative years.

Annie threw the balled-up napkins onto the table. "Christ," she said, "what is wrong with them? Why do these crazy women want us to read such depressing things?"

"They want us to suffer, " Susan said, sarcastic so that Annie wouldn't see how much she wanted to cry. "They want us to be afraid."

"They want us to be nuns," Annie added, so she wouldn't have to say, Oh, Susan, oh, my poor friend.

And in that last exchange between the girls we know. We know the pain and guilt that will haunt Susan. We know that Annie wouldn't have done that and that she knows it was wrong. We know that she feels guilty for her involvement and late realization. We just know, because we are intimately familiar with childish logic and as adults we are all too aware of its consequences.

The themes of this novel are unmistakably Catholic, and therefore, really, they are classic. The theme of a full life is delivered through the major events of this novel which usually deal with sex (and childbirth) and death. Always, there is a common intertwining between pain--not always in terms of being hurt, but sometimes in sweetness of ache-- and pleasure, joy and sorrow, not presented as some sort of lecturing illustration, but as a true depiction of a life fully lived. A full life is an open one, an openness that cannot be selective in regards to suffering without also closing itself off to the fullness of love. Christ on the cross.

We first see a glimpse of this theme as we are introduced to Mary, who, in her early thirties, seems destined to be single. We are along on her date with George and then there on the following morning when a handsome stranger stands waiting for her at the door of her usual lunch spot.

Only him, again, leaning by the door, suit jacket and fedora, the sunlight striking gold, the leg he had favored bent back and pressed against the building. He was smoking a cigarette. He was the handsomest man on the block. He was waiting for her.

She felt Pauline beside her, stiffening against his greeting . She thought, giving him her name, how there was a trace of sorrow in every joy. She thought, as he held the door, smiling at her, Poor George.

You can further see this theme in comparing the love scene between the married John and Mary which occurs toward the beginning of the novel (the baby grand) to the scene of Michael and Beverly, when he recalls the words of a prayer. Compared to the range of emotion and experience of his parents love which ends with them sharing tenderness, we have Michael and Beverly, speaking of nothing of consequence with only alleviation of boredom and attainment of pleasure as their goal for joining.

She only stirred and then slowly climbed over him, spreading herself over him, no weight at all.

There is McDermott's description of my favorite piece of art, Michelangelo's Pieta, as seen after a long wait in line on a hot day. Once inside the cold marble is before them as the air conditioned air now makes them shiver.

In the absence of all color and all other light, the white marble held every nuance and hue a human eye could manage. Here was the lifeless flesh of the beloved child, the young man's muscle and sinew impossibly--impossible for the mother who cradled him--still. Here were her knees against the folds of her draped robes, her lap, as wide as it might have been in childbirth, accommodating his weight once more. Here were her fingers pressed into his side, her shoulder raised to bear him on her arm once more. Here was her left hand, open, empty. Here were the mother's eyes cast down upon the body of her child once more, only once more, and in another moment (they were moving back into the darkness) no more.

In contrast, we are given the character of Pauline, Mary's former co-worker who becomes an extended family member. Pauline has had a hard life. She does not go to church or seem to have any real belief in anything beyond what she can plainly see before her. Her attempts are always directed at control, order, and safety, all pushed to the limits in an attempt for an imagined perfection. We alternate between feeling Pauline is pleased with her arrangement and that she finds much loneliness and despair in her life. She is guarded. She is closed. In her effort to save herself from pain and discomfort she has also closed herself off from pleasure and joy. She, like us, cannot escape the messiness of life and we see that she cannot escape suffering, but hers is even more keenly felt because it does not have joy as a counterbalance.

Another theme explored is the Catholic balance of the old with the new. This is a greater problem for the Church than any other institution due to its existence for over 2000 years. It is understandable in smaller portions, though, as McDermott illustrates the American eras in which the novel is set. We see the changing face of war, that continues today. A relatively large portion of the book takes place at the beginning when the Keane family takes an impromptu picnic on a Sunday during an approaching storm. Michael and Jacob play out the battles of World War II with their toy soldiers in the midst of this ordinary scene of family life. It is play full of heroes, bad guys, and recognizable goals with measurable results. It represents the nostalgic view of World War II that became a part of American culture. The Vietnam war, however is portrayed in the stark rawness of Jacob's life being lost and Tony Persichetti's breakdown upon return from his tour of duty. The mere mention of the Vietnam War leads to argument or silence on the part of those for whom the tragedy is just too real. Too real to expose their loved one's memory to debate.

Then, there is the center of the novel. The center of the family, the center of their world. Their Catholic parish. Their church, St. Gabriel's, first introduced as a traditional building showing signs of age and later taking the form of what Jacob would think of as a "flying saucer" from an airplane taking him to Basic Training. The excitement of raising funds to give the parish a new place to worship. The good intentions. Then, the disappointment as something seemed missing, from the moment the old building was demolished.

In the days before the dismantling and after the demolition itself, McDermott lets us know the place the parish building held in the hearts of the Keane family.

A rumor spread among the younger ones, Clare Keane included, that the unused staircase at the back of the church, with its wide marble banister and its velvet rope (and its scent, when you got near it, of incense and attics) was an entrance to heaven.

The descriptions of the workmen carrying out the last statues and pictures while the school boys watched were beautiful. Jacob watched it all with the other boys and

...swore that the smell of incense still came from the hole where the church had been. He made the other boys pause and sniff the air. Yes, they nodded, their chins raised, they could almost agree.

I think it's significant that it is Jacob, with his Jewish name, who senses a loss from the past and leads the others to notice it. Jacob actually plays a role throughout the novel in giving other characters pause to look at things differently.

Now, I know some think I should read into the new parish building all the horribleness done in the name of Vatican II. I should decry churches without altar rails and say that we are in the mess of modern society today because the people built modern buildings and we can't have authentic Catholic lives without Latin and buildings built from yellowed architectural renderings, but the aftermath with which we are now faced is more complicated than that. I see Latin mass as the most beautiful form of worship we can accomplish on earth, but since one of the major reasons I am Catholic today is my belief in the authority of the Church, I accept that I can worship in the vernacular without getting angry about it, since the Church says it is licit. I love my parish building with its modern space, its ceiling that looks like the hull of a ship and never fails to remind me of the fulfillment of God's promise he began with Noah and the safe haven of Peter's Barque. But, I also love visiting the adoration chapel of a local church, with its abundance of dark stained wood, statues, stained glass, and lingering smell of candles. I often let my mind drift to memories of worshiping at the Cathedral in Liverpool, England. It's a modern structure formed of massive amounts of concrete and stylized stained glass; it has been a topic of controversy since it was completed. It is breathtakingly, achingly beautiful, with its ceilings' skeletal structure made to represent the Crown of Thorns. The beautiful side St. Joseph's altar, made from carved wood elements. It takes up a huge amount of the skyline of Liverpool, and like a nun's habit, when you look at it, no matter what your background, you stop and think of God. And I loved the glorious churches from previous centuries in all their beauty and glorification of God. I love them all because I can go to all of them to receive the Eucharist. That's what matters most to me and I am so in need of Christ in the Eucharist that I will go to any of His sanctuaries to receive.

Interior of Liverpool Cathedral. That's stained glass, not neon.

Interior of St. Etheldreda's in London

The new St. Gabriel's seems to resemble the outside world of the characters. It is more and more unfamiliar and less beautiful, but inside it, they can still find God in His Truth and Love. The familiar has been taken from the parish, so that their homes become the only refuge in the chaos of the era in which they live.

In her descriptions of the new building, we get a sense of true loss and diminishment, there is no doubt, but McDermott manages to show the attempt to reconcile the old with the new and make us think of our attempts to do the same.

Beside her, her husband noticed how the new pews lacked the small brass hat clips that had been secured to the back of every pew in the old church...He understood there was no longer a need for them--so few men wore hats anymore (he blamed JFK with his thick hair and his big Irish head for changing the fashion)--but the lack of them added to his dawning sense that the new church had turned the stuff of his past, his own memories, into something quaint, at best. At worst, obsolete.

And yet, the smell of the incense from the center was the smell of the incense of the old, and the stately movement of the priests in their robes as they walked down the aisles swinging them, sending the pale smoke into the air, their free hands placed gently over their hearts, was as it had always been.

No matter how far the architecture wandered from the past, the central purpose of the building, the mass, was still there. It exists regardless of the surroundings or the changing times. So, it is for the truths taught within the parish's sanctuary and its school walls. We see this later, with Michael as he is faced with navigating adulthood away from the safety of home.

They were lying side by side, naked in the dark, and the old house, as it did every night, was steadily growing colder. The drawings made him think of the satyrs and nymphs on Chris's dope box and then of Caroline opening her parka for Ralph, that motley crew of cherubim and seraphim all around her. Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy. Our life, our sweetness and our hope.

He thought how even after you'd disentangled yourself from everything else, the words stayed with you:

To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then,most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of they womb...

Words you could dismiss as a joke as readily as you could claim them as the precise definition of everything you wanted.

It was still there. The faith of his upbringing. There for him to draw upon when he chose. The outside world couldn't take away its presence and it will be his decision to claim all that it offered from the recesses of his mind. Part of what makes the children's stories so emotional to read is an understanding that parents, relatives, teachers, priests can only do so much to lay the foundations, but at some point the children must make choices on their own as they grow older. Just as the priests in the new St. Gabriel's still went about their duties as priest to give what their parishioners needed, parents must do the same for their children regardless of the surroundings. McDermott makes us feel even closer to John and Mary, as like them, we can only wait and see the choices Michael will make. That is almost as agonizing as the choices themselves.

I see the title itself as an essential Catholic theme of this novel, as it is in our own lives. To me, After This is a sigh. It is acceptance, at times resignation, towards the events of our lives, joyous and sorrowful. It is mustered resolve to face it and get through it. Each event is met with this resolve by John and Mary, anchored in their faith and upbringing, while their children search for an anchor that gets them through in the turbulent world of their time. It is a sigh of loss of the past. Proud parents who miss the years of their grown children's childhood. Adult children remembering their past with wistfulness. But it is also a sigh of hope, behind it anticipation and expectation. As scripture reminds us in I Peter 2:11, we are "aliens and strangers in the world." As the prayer recalled by Michael implores, Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb. This earthly life is not all for which we were made. We were created to love God and live with Him for all eternity. Only then will our struggles be over. Only then will we find the total, eternal fullness of peace, comfort and love. And as we saw throughout this novel, that expectation of future joy is tinged with sadness, as our earthly minds can only imagine how God will reconcile the Love of Eternity with the earthly memories of our past.

There is so much more to consider after reading After This (like the ending: perfection from a literary standpoint). It is a master work of fiction. I had to stop marking pages and quotes because almost every line was worthy of highlight. After This, in all its modernity, is still a deeply Catholic work which illumines the longings of every person and the very real world in which they seek the fulfillment of those longings.

Interview with Alice McDermott, author of 'After This'

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 21:51:00 +0000

Our novel this month is After This by Alice McDermott. I am not even a third of the way through the book and I'm enthralled. I have put my pencil down because underlining will do no good here. I would underline every sentence. The woman does not waste a syllable.

Julia is going to write us an into to the author, but I just ran across this interview that I thought you might enjoy:

"But then there's that difference of not just writing because of what it does for me, or for the pleasure of working with sentences or for entertaining my friends... that sense of that not only is what I love to do but this is what I must do. There is nothing else for me. Even after being in this profession for a number of years now, I'd gladly not face that blank page every morning. If i thought. If I hadn't faced that black page, could I sleep tonight. And I know I couldn't."

North and South: Unions

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 21:08:00 +0000

Guest Post by Dr. Ken Bugajski:

One of the central plot lines of North and South is the conflict between Thornton and the factory workers. Lauren and I thought you might like some historical context to fill in why there was so much animosity between these two.

For us, the idea of working at a factory is commonplace. Even if you have not worked in one personally, you probably know someone who has, and you can imagine what that sort of job might be like. But for Gaskell and for England, this was all new. The Industrial Revolution has its roots in the late 1700s, but manufacturing took off in the 1820s, and factories of the kind Thornton owns did not exist in large numbers before that time. So from the beginnings of Industrial Revolution to the time of Gaskell’s novel (probably between 1850-1855), there was large-scale change throughout the nation.

The changes in industry sparked huge changes elsewhere. Between 1800 and 1850, the population of England doubled from 8.3 million people to more than 16 million. From 1850 to 1900, the population of England doubled again, to about 30 million. In Manchester (the model for Milton), the increase was even greater. In 1801, the city had a population of around 75,000 people. In 1850, there were more than 300,000, most of whom were drawn there by the possibilities of employment in the factories.

Factory work, however, provided little income, as wages were kept very low, especially in Manchester. More than half of the factory workers in Manchester earned 4 shillings a week (or less). 4 shillings in the 1850s is equivalent to about $28.00 in 2010.

Keep in mind, too, that there is no labor regulation at this time. If the factory owner says you get 4 shillings for working 12-hour shifts, 6 days a week (which would not have been unusual), that’s what you do. If the factory owner changes his mind and states that for 4 shillings, you’ll now work 14-hour shifts 7 days a week (also not unusual*), that’s your new job. If you don’t like that, you can quit—there are literally hundreds of men who will wait in line to take your place.

Further, prior to 1867, these workers had no realistic way to improve workplace conditions except through unions. You probably don’t want me to get into the tangled mess of voting rights in nineteenth-century England**, so suffice it to say that most factory workers—especially a man like Nicholas Higgins in North and South—would not be able to vote in elections. The political system was closed to people who did not own land of a certain value, and almost all factory workers fell into this category.

So what you have, then, in factory workers are a group of men who are working long shifts almost every day for very little money. They live in poverty and have no way to address what they perceive as unjust treatment. When unions were allowed (they were illegal prior to 1824), they became the only way workers could express their desires, and all the unions could do was strike.

I know I’ve thrown out a bunch of information here, and unlike my previous blog entry, this one only touches on North and South a little bit. What I hope, though, is that this information will help contextualize the dynamics of labor in the novel, especially the relationship between Nicholas and Thornton. *A 7-day work week was really the standard. If a laborer only worked 6 days, it was generally because his employer required attendance church on Sunday.

**If you do want me to discuss voting in 19th-Century England, just say the word. ☺

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. A Guest Post

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 19:43:00 +0000

A guest post by Dr. Ken Bugajski,
Associate Professor of English Education at the University of St. Francis in Fort Wayne, Indiana

Who Do You Think You Are?

In my literature classes, I often talk with students about identity. The question of identity—how an individual defines himself or herself—is, for me, a question that is always interesting to consider when reading a book. I believe my students like to talk about it, too. Given their ages and stage of life, I imagine that they are thinking a fair amount about their own identities and who they want to be.

Novels, perhaps, are the best kind of text for thinking about identity. From the very beginning, novels in English have focused on individuals. A quick survey of early British novels turns up titles like Robinson Crusoe, Oroonoko, Pamela, Joseph Andrews, Gulliver's Travels—all are named after individuals. (Jane Austen, though not particularly early as far as novel authors go, is an outlier since her most famous novels are named for concepts instead of people--but even she has Emma.)

You may already know that Elizabeth Gaskell intended for the novel you are now reading to be titled Margaret Hale, but Charles Dickens, who published the work, insisted on calling it North and South. Gaskell's original title, though, shows that she intended the book—at least originally—to focus on the individual, the title character. I thought, then, that as we're beginning this novel, it might be useful to think about Margaret's identity.

When I talk with my students about literary identity, we sometimes start with thinking about how people, in general, define themselves, as there are a number of major ideas that can apply to a wide variety of characters. The rest of this post will focus on some of those areas.

Location
True story: Just 2 weeks ago, my 11-year-old—who, though she only lived there a year, is a native Texan—was practicing with her school choir at St. Charles here in Fort Wayne. They were singing a song with the word "child" in it, but, because the word fell on a short note, the choir ended up singing "chyle." The teacher stopped them and said, ”No, no, no. You have to finish the word. You have to say chil-D. What are you, from the South?" My daughter said, under her breath, "Yes. As a matter of fact, I am."

Just as it is for my daughter, where a character comes from plays an important role in that character's identity or sense of self. Margaret is from Helstone, but by chapter 7, she is on the move to a new location. Such movements are common in novels because displacing a character shakes her up; it makes her look at life in a new way (you can look for a similar movement in Persuasion when you get to it next year!).

Family
Another important marker for identity is, of course, family. When my wife and I used to do Pre-Cana, we often talked about Family of Origin and the role that can play in a marriage, and my guess is you all know how important family can be. Margaret's family is small--just herself, Frederick, Mom, and Dad. But as North and South begins, family members are in their own moments of turmoil. Frederick, of course, is in the Navy and, we later learn, essentially exiled from England. Mr. Hale, beyond the usual distance a nineteenth-century father would have from his daughter, is facing matters of religious conscience and is really more focused on those issues than he is on his family. And soon enough, Mrs. Hale becomes ill. All of these issues set Margaret apart from those to whom she might otherwise be very close. Even though she has a family, the dynamics of that unit change radically in the early parts of the book.

Religion
Religious beliefs are, of course, another primary way that people define themselves. Since this club is called Bookish Catholics, I'll assume I don't need to say much else about the importance of religion to identity! Like other areas of Margaret's life, however, religious beliefs are unsteady. Margaret remains strong in her faith, but her father's doubts—or rather, his convictions that dissent from those accepted by the Church of England—bring uncertainty into this area of identity.

Class
Individuals often identify themselves with a certain socio-economic class, and certainly this is the case for Margaret as well. In the early chapters, we get a good sense of her quiet country life. And while she is very kind and active in her help of the poor in her father's parish, she is also comfortable in her own station. Once her family moves to Milton, Margaret sees poverty of a kind she never experienced before—or even knew existed. Further, she meets the Thorntons, and they—as newly wealthy industrialists— present still another new class division to Margaret.

Love
Maybe most of all, we define ourselves by who we love. Including dating and marriage, I have been linked with my wife for more than half of my life. Who I am, who I have become, and the person I am yet be will be influenced—maybe even shaped—by this person I have chosen to love.

When the novel begins, Margaret does not seem to have experienced romantic love. But after moving to Milton—there's that change of location again—she finds Thornton, an odd and very different—yet still strangely fascinating man (oh and look, Margaret likes his simle…

So to sum up, then: If you agree—or at least will go along for the ride—with the idea that individuals define themselves through categories of experience, Margaret finds herself in an unusual situation. What she thought about herself in terms of location, family, religion, class, and love—everything—has been called into question by Chapter 11 of the novel. By creating so many important changes for our heroine, Gaskell's intent and Margaret's conflict seem clear: Margaret can no longer be the person she thought she was.

The big question (and, really, it’s The. Big. Question.) facing Margaret is: Who will she become?

The Tapestry

noreply@blogger.com (Julia) — Fri, 14 Sep 2012 19:33:00 +0000

The Tapestry

As readers travel through the seasons of our heroine Kristin Lavransdatter’s life, it feels as though we are examining the backside of a greatly woven tapestry. There seem to be loose ends still waiting to be tied, jagged edges which were never straightened and mystifying gaps seemingly lacking any purpose. It is as if we are looking at an image which reminds us of something familiar that we can not yet grasp, as though we are “seeing through a glass darkly.” (1 Corinthians 13).

Even as we absorb the gravity of Kristin lying on her death bed, we find ourselves drawing final connections while at the same time, making peace with that which we did not understand fully. But as we say goodbye to this very realistic human being, we glimpse the tapestry of her life from above, from the vantage point of eternity. And the loveliness is breathtaking.

Kristin’s life did not always make sense, and she often contributed to that herself when she deviated from the path which was intended for her. She could be headstrong, impulsive and begrudging. But she was also generous, faithful and loyal, and she loved her children and her husband with reckless abandon. If it had not have been for her father and several other key people in her life who reminded her of her eternal destiny, Kristin may have chosen an entirely different future. She sought to understand how her eternal destiny related to her time on earth. Though she struggled with her own weaknesses and frustrations, the legacy of faith that she received took root in her soul. Kristin may not have been able to control the ones she loved and the choices that they made, but she found peace in choosing to be the best she could be in the circumstances she was given. She found that in surrendering to sacrifice, she would win the greatest battle of all - the victory of turning away from temptation and accepting life in Christ.

This message can be universally applied to all of us, as we are all pilgrims on a journey toward an eternal destination. Our tapestries are being woven as we feel ourselves being tugged and pulled in what may appear to be senseless struggling. But as our faith grounds us in all that we do, helping us to overcome the flaws which are inextricably connected to our salvation, we may too see that the greatest joy is to surrender to the sacrifice that both pushes us down and pulls us upward.

God's Wreath

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 02 Jul 2012 18:47:00 +0000

[Spoilers for Books 1 and 2]
In an earlier post, Lauren asked what we felt might be the significance of Kristin's encounter with the elf maiden who bears a wreath. I am a few chapters into book three and should probably wait until I've finished the entire work to post, but these are the thoughts going through my mind at this point. I think I can write about the wreath more than I could write about some of the other large themes, such as sin's true nature and effects, before I have finished the novel.

Kristin's encounter with the elf maiden is not the first time we will find Kristin, on or before a rock slab (usually the stone floor of a church or chapel), and overcome by a reflection of herself, in water, in another's eyes, or in the heart of God.

      Kristen heard a stream trickling and gurgling somewhere nearby.   She walked toward the sound until she found it...Beneath the rock slab the water stood motionless in a deep black pool; on the other side a sheer rock face rose up behind several slender birch trees and willow thickets.   It made the finest mirror, and Kristen leaned over and looked at herself in the water.   She wanted to see if what Isrid had said was true, that she resembled her father (emphasis added).
      She smiled and nodded and bent forward until her hair met the blond hair framing the round young face with the big eyes that she was in the water.
     All around grew such a profusion of the finest pink tufts of flowers called calerian; they were much redder and more beautiful here next to the mountain stream than back home near the river.   Then Kristin picked some blossoms and carefully bound them together with blades of grass until she had the loveliest, pinkest, and most tightly woven wreath.   The child pressed it down on her hair and ran over to the pool to see how she looked, now that she was adorned like a grown-up maiden about to go off to a dance.
     But suddenly she discerned a face among the leaves--there was a woman over there, with a pale face and flowing, flaxen hair.   Her big light-gray eyes and her flaring, pale-pink nostrils reminded Kristin of Guldsvein's.   She was wearing something shiny and leaf-green, and branches and twigs hid her figure up to her full breasts, which were covered with brooches and gleaming necklaces.   Kristen stared at the vision.   Then the woman raised her hand and showed her a wreath of golden flowers and beckoned to her with it.' (p. 19 of Nunnally Penguin Classics edition)

This encounter occurred in the early pages of the first book, or part, of Kristin Lavransdatter, which is titled "The Wreath," so it did remain in the back of my mind as I continued to read, especially this episode when the bridal crown is finally placed upon her head before her wedding to Erlend.   After reading the two, their parallel nature became apparent.

     Kristin...was wearing her scarlet bridal gown.   Large brooches held it together at her breast and closed teh yellow silk shift at the neck...
     "Tomorrow you will wear it loose for the last time," she said with a smile, winding around Kristin's head the red and green silk cords that would support the crown.   Then the women gathered around the bride.
     Ragnfrid and Gyrid of Skog brought over from the table the great bridal crown of the Gjesling family.   It was completely gilded, the tips alternated between crosses and cloverleaves, and the circlet was set with rock crystals.
     They pressed it down onto the bride's head.   Ragnfrid was pale and her hands shook as she did this.
     Kristen slowly rose to her feet.   Jesus, how heavy it was to bear all that silver and gold.   Then Fru Ashild took her by the and and led her forward to a large water basin, while the bridesmaids threw open the door to let in the sun and brighten up the loft.
     "Look at yourself now, Kristin," said Fru Aashild, and Kristin bent over the basin.   She saw her own face rise up, white, from the water; it came so close that she could see the golden crown above.   So many light and dark shadows played all around her reflection--there was something she was just about to remember--and suddenly she felt as if she would faint away. --p. 275

There is so much to cover in these two passages where symbolism is as lush and abundant as the pink blooms Kristin finds at the stream. The elf maiden encounter's place and function in the novel reminds me of story of Adam and Eve in scripture, in that it sets the stage and can be returned to for connections throughout the story. Every line is loaded with meaning. There are the allusions to Kristin's physical appearance in both reflections that we find in her descriptions before and after each experience of childbirth. There is also the contrast between Kristin's rescue at the hands of her father and the way she must part from Erlend after she givers herself to him in the barn. And then there is the color red which has such symbolic significance throughout the novel.

It makes sense that the little Kristin should have such an encounter in the wild, natural environment of a secluded stream. The little Kristin, like the young Christian faith of the Norwegian people, was raised on --and nourished by-- a mixed diet of inspiration and caution.   Her spiritual diet included the ancient tales and the more recent stories of Christ and His saints. In one day, it was possible to experience the wildness of the Norwegian landscape, alive with myth and legend, and then enter the peaceful sanctuary of a solid church, with its tamed timbers and stones--offerings themselves from the land--that had been chiseled and bent to bear witness to the glory of the Creator Himself.    Within herself, the child Kristin embodies a longing for that which is free and wild in nature, while at the same time finding peace and comfort in the form of people such as her father and Br. Edvin and in her Christian faith, young and immature as it is.

It is tempting then, as modern readers, to set an extreme contrast between the wild ancient superstition of Norway and the reasonable faith established by Christ, as they are presented in the 14th century setting of this novel.    Also, as modern readers, we might be tempted to think that we have risen above any mingling of superstition and sound theology in our own times and even in our own faith lives.   That is the always the trap set for the mind of modern man.   Pride in our supposed enlightenment and assurance of our progress can cloud our vision--and our judgement--just as surely as they did for our ancestors.

In both episodes, Kristin is offered a golden wreath, or crown.   One is in the form of a vision, to which she is beckoned by the elf maiden, while the other one is of substantial physical form, as the family bridal crown.   The crown, and its wedding celebration trappings, had been used by families to beckon maidens throughout centuries before.   Also, Erlend, just as wild and alluring as the elf maiden, uses the crown to beckon Kristin from her despair, as he tries to convince her that she will be able to wear the crown as they marry and then they will make their confessions and all will be set right.   In all three instances, it is the crown of superstition, or a mingling of immature faith with superstition, that is set before, or upon, Kristin.

As Christians, we sometimes make the same feeble attempts in our present society, albeit those attempts don't have the widespread appeal they once enjoyed.   "No one buys the cow if he can get the milk for free."   "Nice girls don't."   And then, there's that white dress and the elaborate wedding ceremony and reception.    Chastity is often viewed as the end itself, instead of a means to an end--part of our sanctification--as virgin brides walk down our modern wedding aisles.   It can also be seen as a proverbial "get out of jail free" card, in terms of future suffering in marriage or religious life, if presented to young girls in only this shallow, incomplete manner.   Would that were true, how easy indeed would life be!   And how less disappointing for those who "do the right thing" and yet still suffer.

Kristin's faith journey reflects that of her beloved Norway, but it is also a reflection of our personal Christian journey.   In scripture, we find many references to our spiritual growth and maturity described in the terms of childhood and its stages.   St. Paul makes many such references in the New Testament:

     Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation.
I Peter 2:2
     Brothers, stop being childish in your thinking. Be like infants with respect to evil, but think like adults.    I Cor. 14:20

Again, these references are numerous, as we are instructed to be like children, while not being childish. It sounds so simple! And it would be, if we frail humans didn't complicate it so.

My thoughts started to take real substance as I read the episode of a conversation between Kristin and her dear Brother Edvin (our dear Brother Edvin, after reading and loving this character).   In this dialogue is the following profound line:

'"I have often prayed that you might have a yearning for the convent life," said Brother Edvin, "but not since you told me what you know, I wish you could have come to God with your wreath, Kristin."' --p. 251

I cannot help but think that this line from Brother Edvin has double meaning, for Kristin and for us. It was not simply the offering of her maidenhood that she should have properly made to God, as she offered it up to Erlend on their wedding bed.    It was Kristen herself--her heart, her mind, her soul--that God wanted.   That would not change whether she was to be adorned with the gown of a bride or the habit of a nun.   The offering would be the same. I am the wreath.   You are the wreath.   And we belong to God.

Kristin felt that something was amiss, even if she could not completely understand or express it. And she experienced the real results of her choices, although she could not fully explain those either.   In conversation with Erlend's brother, the priest, Gunnulf, she says:

Gunnulf...I was afraid when I went inside for the wedding mass with him, with the golden crown on my flowing hair, for I didn't dare speak of shame to my father, with all my sins unatoned for; I didn't even dare confess fully to my parish priest.   But as I went about here this winter and saw myself growing more hideous for each day that passed--then I was even more frightened, for Erlend did not act toward me as he had before. --p. 361

With a focus on wreaths, crowns, humiliation before men, ruination of reputation and honor, the true offering is pushed to the background or it is completely lost. As mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, teachers, etc (of course men, also, but this is addressed to our female book club)...we don't have to be so anxious about our role in nurturing vocations. We can simplify our methods to focus upon the truth of self-sacrifice--to others, through God's grace--and ultimately of ourselves to God.

We can return to the natural and free garden of Adam and Eve, to their creation, where Pope John Paul II and others have found the richness of the teaching of our very nature and selves. We can place purity and chastity in their proper place, as part of our spiritual journey--requiring self-sacrifice and sometimes suffering--rather than a source of pride or accomplishment in and of themselves. And we can teach that purity and chastity make our hearts and souls more open to and ready to receive God, through prayer and His sacraments. I think that Kristin's parents, Erlend, Gunnulf, and Kristin herself discovered such truths as they grew in Christian wisdom. Even with that wisdom, though, there are no guarantees and it is up to the individual to make decisions. And healthy, righteous fear and shame alone cannot deter an individual forever. At some point, as we mature, we must make decisions that are a choice of our will to follow where God leads out of love and obedience. And sometimes, more often than not, suffering is what changes our hearts so we can follow God's path.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise--Psalm 51:17

The truth of this scripture shines forth in the vivid, heart-and-soul-stirring description Undset gives us as Kristen travels to the shrine of St. Olav at Christ Church, to offer her bridal crown and make amends for her sins. Again, we are given the image of a forest, stone, water, and a vision--this time of St. Olav--as Kristen finally lays her soul and heart bare to Christ, the bridegroom, and offers herself up to His love, examination, and healing.

The line which struck at my heart, upon re-reading the episode of the elf maiden encounter, was the one to which I added emphasis: She wanted to see if what Isrid had said was true, that she resembled her father (emphasis added).   It did not grab my attention upon my initial reading, but upon re-visiting this portion, I gasped and my heart was struck by the depth of its meaning and its relation to the thoughts about the crown that had already started to form in my mind.

As a child in the woods, she sought her reflection in the pool of water to see if it were true that she resembled her earthly father.   There, upon that stone floor, sprinkled with Holy water, the adult Kristin seeks and finally sees the first glimpses of her true reflection--her resemblance to and place in the heart of her Father--her Heavenly Father--whose love she experienced in imperfect, but powerful ways through her father, Lavarans.

     ...The imperishable vines of eternity wound their way upward, clam and lovely, bursting into flour on spires and towers with stone monstrances...The huge, massive walls with their bewildering wealth of pillars and arches and windows, the glimpse of the roof's enormous slanting surface, the tower, the gold of the spire rising high into the heavens--Kristin sank to the ground beneath her sin.
     She was shaking as she kissed the hewn stone of the portal...She sprinkled holy water over her son and herself...She walked as if through if through a forest. The pillars were furrowed like ancient trees, and into the woods the light seeped, colorful and clear as song, through stained-glass windows...
     She had seen the water from the well back home. It looked so clean and pure when it was in the wooden cups. But her father owned a glass goblet, and whenhe filled it with water and the sun shone through, the water was muddy and full of impurities.
     Yes, my Lord and King, now I see the way I am!
     ...Feeling lost and uncertain, she was standing at the entrance to the chancel when a young priest came out the grated door...Then she pulled out the golden crown and held it out.
     "Oh, are you Kristin Lavransdatter, the wife of Erlend of Husaby?"   He gave her a rather surprised look; her face was quite swollen from weeping.   "Yes, your brother-in-law, Gunnulf, spoke of you, yes he did."
     He led her into the sacristy and took the crown; he unwrapped the linen cloth and looked at it.   Then he smiled.
     ...Another priest came in, and the two men talked to each other briefly.   The first priest then opened a small cupboard in the wall and took out a balance scale and weighed the crown, while the other made a note of it in the ledger.   Then they placed the crown in the cupboard and closed the door.

And finally, we see the golden crown put in its proper place.   A mere object, made by men, having no more value than that which is simply weighed, catalogued and put away in a cupboard.   Separate from the true offering that Kristin had finally made--herself--to God.

It was to be the first of many offerings, again and again, as Kristin would turn face and heart toward God and then let pride and stubbornness set her apart from his always-present and never-ending grace.    Was Kristin really ready to make that offering before the suffering she endured? It was not God's will that she chose immorality, but, as in all things, He could use that for good. There is always hope because there is always God.

As Catholics, we understand that faith is not a single decision or moment in time.   It is a constant process and journey.   Spiritually, our development is like the linear development of a child and our journey is cyclical, like the distinct seasons of the Norwegian landscape.   We each find ourselves, like Kristin, turning away from God and then turning back to Him.   And each time we find our peace and hope with God--through private consolations, in the confessional or at the Banquet Table of the Lamb--we get little glimpses of the reality that will be Eternity.   And only then will we no longer be like the adventurous child Kristen or the tempted Kristin, as a maiden stirred by the wildness of physical desire or as the wife who refuses to fully open her heart to God's grace through forgiveness of her husband.   In Eternity with God--true Heaven--we will be like the weaned child of the Psalm, no longer restless and on a childish quest for the satisfaction of mere physical desires and reception of consolations:

But I have stilled and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me. Psalm 131:2

The Medieval Home

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 00:57:00 +0000

I recently watched a series on youtube called "The History of the Home" hosted by the delightful and brilliant Lucy Worsley (Chief Curator at Historic Royal Palaces). She has a book along the same lines: If Walls Could Talk: An Intimate History of the Home.

The video series is in four parts, one on the Kitchen, the Bedroom, The Living Room and Bathroom and each part examines the history of that part of the home from medieval times to the present. While she is focusing on the history of English homes, I think that life was very similar in medieval Norway. I found the first section of the Bedroom and Living Room series so helpful to me in trying to imagine what it was like to live in Kristin Lavransdatter's world. I'll share them here for you to view. Let us know what you think!

The Bedroom

The Living Room

Elf Maidens and Christianity Converge, Notes on Kristin Lavransdatter

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 19:16:00 +0000

Statue of Kristin Lavrasdatter in Sel, Norway

I found this interesting blog post written by Emily over at eveningallafternoon.com.

I trust Emily's perspective because she has a miniature dachshund named Mr. Bingley.

But, I digress...

In this post, she discusses the portrayal of Christianity in Kristin Lavransdatter. Being a topic several of us have mentioned, I thought I'd share this snippet with you:

"To me, one of the most intriguing aspects of The Wreath is its portrayal of the process of Christianization. Kristin's family are devout Christians; it's established in the early pages of the novel that they're more pious than average: "...the other people in the valley felt that God's kingdom had cost them dearly enough in tithes, goods, and money already, so they thought it unnecessary to attend to feasts and prayers so strictly or to take in priests and monks unless there was a need for them." Yet even for the extremely pious in Undset's novel, it seems that their world has only been partially Christianized: in the villages and cities Christian beliefs apply, but in the mountains, away from civilization, live the elves, dwarves and trolls of the old, pre-Christian belief system. It's as if the medieval Norwegians perceived the work of religious conversion as applying more to the actual land itself than to the people living on it - as if the act of buildling churches and cities transformed a region from the territory of the old beliefs to a Christian region. Even Lavrans, who gives ample proofs of his piousness, sees no contradiction in continuing to believe in other kinds of supernatural beings in the mountains. Before seven-year-old Kristin has her titular vision of a blonde maiden with a golden wreath beckoning to her from beyond a pool, Lavrans admits that "I've seen herds of cattle and sheep, but I don't know whether they belonged to people or to the others." And after the little girl runs terrified back to her father, saying that she thinks the vision was a "dwarf maiden," nobody thinks to contradict her:

"Oh, that must have been the elf maiden - I tell you, she must have wanted to lure this pretty child into the mountain."

"Be quiet," said Lavrans harshly. "We shouldn't have talked about such things the way we did here in the forest. You never know who's under the stones, listening to every word."

He pulled out the golden chain with the reliquary cross from inside his shirt and hung it around Kristin's neck, placing it against her bare skin.

"All of you must guard your tongues well," he told them. "For Ragnfrid must never hear that the child was exposed to such danger."
So the Christian ethos, while real for these characters, is something that needs to be guarded and invoked, rather than something that naturally permeates the whole world around them. And threats to a Christian enclave are often localized and external - similar to a modern person's bodily fear of venturing into a "bad neighborhood." It's a take on religious conversion I'd never run across before, and one that fascinates me."

Nonneseter Chapel, all that remains of the Nonneseter Abbey in Bergen, Norway

I like this thought: "It's as if the medieval Norwegians perceived the work of religious conversion as applying more to the actual land itself than to the people living on it - as if the act of buildling churches and cities transformed a region from the territory of the old beliefs to a Christian region."

And then, today, I read Steven Greydanus's review of Brave over at the National Catholic Register. This Pixar film is set in medieval Scotland (which was invaded many times by the Norse Vikings, so they could be relatives of Kristin for all we know). Greydanus writes about Brave:

"It’s no spoiler to say that magic is involved; we meet the ghostly will-o’-the-wisp fairy lights in the opening scene, when little Merida gets her bow and King Fergus loses his leg to a monstrous black bear.

In folklore, fairy lights that recede or extinguish as one approaches are often thought to mischievously lead travelers astray from well-trodden paths into marshes or bogs (compare the elvish camp fires in The Hobbit) — but Elinor tells Merida that some say the wisps can lead you to your “fate.” Where the fairy lights lead Merida now, and what happens as a result...."

This got me thinking once again about that strange elf maiden scene at the beginning of the book. One gets the impression that it means something. But what? What do you think? Do you see a greater meaning in the elf maiden encounter, and how does the portrayal of medieval Christianity impress you?

If you would like to spend a day reading up on Sigrid Undset, here you go...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 13:12:00 +0000

There are so many articles and resources about Sigrid Undset and Kristen Lavransdatter, I thought I would put them all in one place for you. If I had tacked them on the end of my author intro post it may have crashed the blog :).

I'm sure I'll be adding to this list, so check back.

Here we go:

Removing the Grime by Tiina Nunnally on her translation (this is a treasure!)

Character chart of Real Characters in Kristen Lavransdatter

Character chart of Fictional Characters in Kristen Lavransdatter

A Tour of Bjerkebæk, Undset's home in Lillihammer (be sure to select the english version of the site)

Sigrid Undset: Catholic Viking by Steven Sparrow

A Life Worth Celebrating: Kristin Lavransdatter, by Sigrid Undset from an online LDS magazine (he he)

Under Her Heart: Motherhood in Kristin Lavransdatter by Carrie Frederick Frost at FirstThings.com (beautiful!)

A fabulous set of posts written by Webster Bull at Witness2Christ (these are great!) :
Taking Back Our Sister
Catholic Culture Needs More Champions
Are Brothers Taking Back Our Sister?
Free Will, Even in a Snake Pit
Rembering Kristen Lavransdatter
Question: Are You Saved? "writes Undset, 'no Catholic would dare to say more than that he hopes for salvation.'"

Undset's essay, "Catholic Propaganda", mentioned in above article.

"The end is a stunner, and as right as rain—worth every hour it took getting to." ~ Webster Bull. Keep writing, Mr. Bull!

Sigrid Undset Crosses Russia from the Brussels Journal

Why I am Catholic: Because This Book Really is Beautiful by our good man Webster Bull, published at Patheos.com

Sigrid Undset's Time Warp from CatholicCulture.org

Her Introduction from Penguin.com

Interesting Biography from the Great Norwegians website

Reading Sigrid Undset from catholiceducation.org

Translation of Undset's "Kristin Lavransdatter" Trilogy Gets Much-Needed Face Lift from Norway.com

A tour of Jorundard

on Sigrid Undset, author of Kristen Lavransdatter

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 05:44:00 +0000

Dubbed by some as the "Catholic Viking", Sigrid Undset might be one of the most overlooked authors of the 20th century. Although, recent buzz in media circles seems to cause one to wonder if that may be changing.

Undset was a timeless woman, in some sense. As an adult she lived in a home she had restored to medieval Norwegian style. Yet, she also wrote essays on feminism that could have been written in 1960. However, her conclusion to feminism was that a woman finds her ultimate worth or demise in her role as a mother. Her famous novel, Kristen Lavransdatter, has a heroin set in ancient Norway, with thought, desires and struggles that could be faced by any woman today. Unset has been paraded as a Norwegian feminist author and at the same time pushed aside as a Catholic author with an agenda. Sigrid Undset, at least to me, is as complex and intriguing as her most famous character.

Sigrid Undset became a Catholic in 1924 and four years later was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature. Only nine women have ever received that award and Undset was the third and at 46 one of the youngest ever recipients.

Sigrid Undset was born in May 20, 1882 in Kalundborg, Denmark and died June 10, 1949. At the age of two, her family moved to Norway.

Undset's father was a respected Norwegian archeologist and her mother was his illustrator and secretary. Both were atheists and raised their 3 daughters to think likewise. They were 'free-thinkers', went against the mold and sent their daughters to a controversial progressive, co-educational school. Their mother had them wear pants under their dresses. Undset's parents attempted to resist the strict and sometimes repressive nature of Norwegian Protestantism.

From a young age, Undset's father entranced her with the tales of ancient Norse sagas. So much so that as a child, Sigrid was motivated to learn to read in Old Norse and Old Icelandic. This passion was to carry through later in her novels. Her later writings included not just novels, but essays about Medieval Norway and translations of various Norse sagas and myths. It was not unknown for University lecturers in Medieval European Studies classes to advise their students that the best way to gain an insight into the medieval period is to read Undset's sagas.

After the death of her father when she was just 11, Undset went to several schools. Her family was poor and did not have the resources to send Undset to art school, as was her wish. So, at the age of 15, she attended a one-year secretarial school and took a job soon after as a secretary at the German Electric Company. She thought the work dull, but supported her mother and two sisters for 10 years, and wrote her first two novels during that time.

Her first manuscript, finished when she was 22, was rejected. “Don't try your hand at any more historical novels,” wrote editor Peter Hansen. “It's not your line.” He told her to stick to contemporary topics. In order to get recognition as an author, at the age of 25 she published Mrs. Marta Oulie, set in modern-day Norway. The opening sentence, “I have been unfaithful to my husband,” guaranteed that the novel would be talked about in literary circles.

Eventually, she was able to make enough money from her writing to quit her secretarial job. Receiving a literary scholarship, she traveled Europe to write, ending up in Rome. There, she met Anders Castus Svarstad, a Norwegian painter, whom she married three years later. He had been married previously and had 3 children by his first wife. He and Undset had three more, one of whom was severely handicapped. The marriage was not a happy one and after Sigrid moved to Lillihammer with her children to prepare a new home in 1919, they were divorced.

With her children, Anders and Maren Charlotte

The onset of World War I and the turmoil of her marriage caused Undset to look once again at her opinion of religion. Being raised an atheist, she was taught by her father to be a 'free-thinker' and to question the world around her. Evidently this pursuit of truth lead her to the ultimate truth of the Catholic Church. Seeing the immorality and ethical decline of her culture caused her to question the foundation of her beliefs. She first began her research of the ancient Norwegian Catholic Church from a purely academic standpoint, but this knowledge, combined with her love of medieval Norway, began the turn the tide against atheism. Where as before she had believed that man had created God, she now knew that God had created man.

Concerning her journey to the Catholic faith, she notes that “the war (World War 1) and the years afterwards confirmed the doubts I always had about the ideas I was brought up on — (I felt) that liberalism, feminism, nationalism, socialism, pacifism, would not work, because they refused to consider human nature as it really is.”

In 1920, she began writing Kristen Lavransdatter. In 1924, she entered the Church on All Saints Day. In 1927 she published the last book of Kristen Lavransdatter. In perfecting her passion, by seeking out success as an author, and by following her father's knowledge and love for her culture, Undset found the Church.

At her desk at home, writing Kristen Lavransdatter

In the 1920's, Catholics in Norway were practically non-existent. Her conversion was very controversial. She was preached about from Lutheran pulpits and ridiculed by her contemporaries. However, this only spurred her on to write more.

Sigrid Undset was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1928. She was given prize money worth $42,000. In today's estimate, that would be worth ten times the amount. She donated the entirety of the prize to a charity assisting families with disabled children.

The following is from Elizabeth Scalia's essay published at FirstThings.com, titled "Sigrid Undset’s Essays for our Time" written on May 29 2012 (are we timely, or what?!):

Sigrid Undset’s life was a heavy one, and it seems if she could not have joy, she was determined to have light; unwilling to live her life in ideological self-containment, it is not surprising that Undset would eventually come to call the Catholic church “home,” or that she would credit the saints with delivering her to its doors. Undset’s fiction is populated with vividly drawn characters—people of action whose narratives are built very precisely upon “human nature as it really is,” including the propensity for doubt and regret. To discover genuine men and women living boldly—not excused from those same propensities yet mysteriously delivered of them in the promise of a life in and with Christ, must have been for Undset a moment of staggering, irresistible illumination.

(from Undset's biography)

"But if you desire to know the truth about anything, you always run the risk of finding it. And in a way we do not want to find the Truth—we prefer to seek and keep our illusions. But I had ventured too near the abode of truth in my researches about ‘God’s friends,’ as the Saints are called in the Old Norse texts of Catholic times. So I had to submit.
But if you desire to know the truth about anything, you always run the risk of finding it. And in a way we do not want to find the Truth—we prefer to seek and keep our illusions. But I had ventured too near the abode of truth in my researches about ‘God’s friends,’ as the Saints are called in the Old Norse texts of Catholic times. So I had to submit.

By degrees my knowledge of history convinced me that the only thoroughly sane people, of our civilization at least, seemed to be those queer men and women the Catholic Church calls Saints. They seemed to know the true explanation of man’s undying hunger for happiness—his tragically insufficient love of peace, justice, and goodwill to his fellow men, his everlasting fall from grace. Now it occurred to me that there might possibly be some truth in the original Christianity."

When Joseph Stalin's invasion of Finland touched off the Winter War, Sigrid Undset supported the Finnish war effort by donating her Nobel Prize Medal on 25 January 1940. Her disabled daughter died in 1940, and her oldest son was killed in action shortly after. She fled to the United States because of her opposition to Nazism and the German occupation of her country. There, she untiringly pleaded her occupied country's cause and that of Europe's Jews, in writings, speeches and interviews. She returned to her home in 1945. During the war, the Germans had used her beautiful home as a brothel. She tried to write, but struggled. Sigrid Undset died four years later, on June 10, 1949. Her home is now a national monument.

Undset on Norwegian 2 Kroner stamp, painting by her husband in 1911.

The 500 kroner note is of Sigrid Undset

"An Episode of Sparrows", Discussion

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 27 May 2012 22:29:00 +0000

Writing prompts for An Episode of Sparrows by Rumer Godden.

Please share your answers and thoughts in comments.

Who was your favorite character in the novel, besides Lovejoy?

Along the same lines, what is the most interesting 'couple' in the novel? The book revolves around relationships. Which relationship spoke strongly to you.

Do you have a favorite passage? If so, please share, and explain what touched you.

What did this book teach you about joy?

Do we all see a bit of ourselves in Lovejoy? What of her character reminds you of yourself as a child?

While the book isn't about parenting, what of the novel may help you be a better mother, aunt, and/or grandmother to children in your life?

Or, write about whatever struck you! Thanks for sharing!

Then and Now: One Man's Comparison

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 23 May 2012 20:38:00 +0000

Our Lady of Victories Catholic Church, Kensington, London.
Bombed by 2 oil bombs on September 14, 1940.

I was doing a bit of research on our book, and found this review on one of my favorite websites, GoodReads.com. The author of the review is a man named Andrew Smith. I greatly appreciate his perspective. He compares his experience of reading the book as a child, while growing up in post-WWII Liverpool, with his re-reading of the book as an adult 50 years later.

He writes:

"I read An Episode of Sparrows when I was a child growing up in post-World War II Liverpool. It was first published in 1955 when I was eight-years-old. It's said you can't go back, but I'm convinced this book is as good as I remember it. I've ordered a copy and look forward to immersing myself in it as I did as the ten-year-old searching for a bright future among the bomb sites and food shortages of post-war U.K.

AFTER RE-READING
I couldn’t have been more than ten-years-old when I first read 'An Episode of Sparrows', but I remembered with great fondness the feisty waif, Lovejoy, and her gargantuan efforts to make a secret flower garden in a hidden corner of a London bombsite in a downtrodden section of the British capital. I remembered her temporary guardian, Vincent, with his impractical ideas of running a “first-class restaurant” and his epic struggles to prevent it from sinking into bankruptcy in an area where people could barely afford a few pence to buy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper let alone pay for a three-course French dinner. I remembered the two wealthy unmarried sisters who lived in the posh square that lay at the border of Lovejoy’s working-class neighbourhood. I remembered the clash of class and culture when the sisters’ and Lovejoy’s worlds collided.

But I hadn’t remembered the subtle sophistication of ideas flying off the pages concerning morality, religion, entrepreneurship, and social responsibility. Like all good novels — written for readers of any age — those issues are understated. I certainly can’t remember being conscious of them as a ten-year-old. However, like any effective work of fiction, those underlying issues and ideas must certainly have made an impression. I obviously can’t know for sure, but I couldn’t help feeling as I re-read ‘An Episode of Sparrows’ some fifty years later that the book must have had a profound effect on me. I recognized in Rumer Godden’s story my own abomination of class discrimination in any form and a derring-do style of determination that sometimes misfires and/or backfires. I think I must have related very closely to the children in the book because I was reminded of the misery of growing up poor, However I was also reminded of moments of intense joy in small events that made life seem not only worthwhile but wonderful.
Apart from lucid realism coupled with a sophistication of ideas in ‘An Episode of Sparrows,’ the book has a suspenseful plot that sweeps the reader along. Every one of the disparate characters is finely drawn, and the descriptions of post-war London — from rubble strewn bombed-out houses to the sparkling exclusive shops of Bond Street — bring the 1950s city vividly to life. The book is also a lesson in excellent writing, including vocabulary that might challenge some adults. Although written for children, ‘An Episode of Sparrows’ makes for an engaging and thought-provoking experience for everyone."

children playing on the site of a bombed out church in London, 1948

Desire: To Live.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 15 May 2012 16:12:00 +0000

One of our members, Terri, blogs over at Loaves and Fishes. She recently wrote about the connection she sees between Lizzie's War, Shirt of Flame: A Year with St. Therese of Lisieux and Jane Eyre.

Here's an excerpt:

"Lizzie, Therese, King, Jane--they are all embodiments of passion and desire. They aren't playing by a map or script written by themselves. They aren't just playing a script written by those around them either. They don't operate according to the dictates of what society says makes a "good girl" or "good person." They are following a compass, deep within their very cores--their souls. The journeys are not perfect. The paths are not always straight. And those paths are never neat, tidy, or easy. "

Go read the rest!

on Rumer Godden, author of An Episode of Sparrows

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 08 May 2012 23:29:00 +0000

One of the reasons why I want us to read An Episode of Sparrows is really because we could do well to read just about anything written by Rumer Godden.

As the title of an article written by the UK's The Telegraphs states, "Rumer Godden's life is a story in itself."

And, while Blogger is here trying to correct my spelling of this woman's name, I am reminded that she has also drawn me to have some bit of respect for Bruce Willis and Demi Moore, who named their daughter after the author. Despite their crazy Hollywood lives, they must have some good, down-to-earth roots in there somewhere to give their daughter such an honor.

Anyway...

Rumer Godden was born in Sussex, but raised in India where her father ran a shipping company. She and her 3 sisters had a pleasant childhood, somewhat removed from the societal standards of England and the brutalities of World War II. "I always thank God" wrote Godden "that we did not have sensible parents". She was the 'plain one' of the 4 girls and was a bit jealous of her older, beautiful and talented sister Jon. "Everything she did was marvellous," Rumer Godden recalled at the end of her life, "and nobody took any notice of me, which was very healthy. To be ignored is the best possible thing for a writer. My writing was an effort to outdo Jon."

Once grown, she ran a mixed-race dance school in India, became pregnant, married and lived with her rather unkind husband in Calcutta. She had an unhappy marriage, and ended up parting with her husband and moved back to Kashmir to raise her two daughters. They lived like the locals, in a small house, with no electricity or running water. She ran an herb farm and wrote to support her daughters and pay of the debts left to her by her husband.

In 1947, she returned to England, remarried a good man and entered into the burgeoning English/American literary scene. Around 1950, she became intrigued with the Catholic Church, although she did not convert until 1968 at the age of 60. While researching for her novel In This House of Brede, she spend several years living in the guest house of the Stanbrook Abbey run by the Benedictines. It is said that is where her love for the Church began. After her husband died, she moved to Scotland to live with her daughter. She died at the age of 90, writing until the end.

Her first published novel, The Black Narcissus, was written almost entirely on a ship voyage from India to England while her infant daughter slept in the bunk below her.

In the end, she wrote over 60 books, nine of which were turned into movies. Some of my favorites are:

An Episode of Sparrows
In this House of Brede
The Diddakoi
Five for Sorrow, Ten for Joy
The River

only because those are the ones I've read...

"There are several things children will not put up with in a book," she reflected. "You have to have a proper beginning and an end; you cannot have flashbacks. Then you can't have a lot of description: keep it to a minimum. And you must be very careful with words. I find I use fewer, and they have to fit the case exactly and be chosen with extreme care."

She wrote all her works in longhand with a fountain pen. She said "that as an artist has to dip his brush into the paint so a writer should dip his pen into the ink and this gives time for thought. She thought many modern books were too wordy as authors just ran away with words on their computers."

Discussing writing, she once stated firmly that she never believed in self-expression. "All these young people, particularly women, say, `We want to express ourselves', but writing is not self-expression. The writer is simply an instrument through which the wind blows and I believe it is the Holy Spirit that makes the artist creative. My writing is something outside me that I've been chosen to do and I think that is what has enabled me to go on."

I like her because she was different. She was strong. She had dignity. She loved her daughters fiercely. She never stopped thinking. She didn't let cultural standards keep her from the Church. Even in her later years, she never stopped learning. She was always herself. These are all things I hope for myself and my children.

"When I was a young writer, I and my contemporaries, wanted one thing more than anything else for our books. It wasn't money, or success, although of course we wanted those things, too. The thing we wanted was for our books to last. And I believe that a book that is written slowly, carefully, words chosen, do last. And in a small way, in a very small way I admit, I have proved it. Black Narcissus was written in 1937 and it's never been out of print. And now, my publishers are bringing back the old books, books I wrote quite early on. I had 6 books republished just last year. And, it's a little bit of the proof of the pudding is in the eating. And I was very grateful for that."

To appreciate her books, you should read about her life. Here is the wikipedia article. Here is the Rumer Godden Literary Trust, set up by her two daughters after her death in 1998. Here is a nice review of An Episode of Sparrows from the Catholic Media Review blog. Here is the obituary published by the UK's Daily Telegraph.

Here is a youtube video interview with Rumer Godden produced by Off The Page, a Scottish literary and culture series. I could listen to her talk forever... a very good way to spend 25 minutes.

And the GREATEST of these is LOVE…

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 18:25:00 +0000

It was 6:00am and I was a bit fidgety from my cup of coffee, distracted because I wanted to write and get my thoughts out about Heather King’s, Shirt of Flame, and on fire for the LOVE of the Lord! Being in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament at the Adoration chapel this morning was the place I needed to be…

“Jesus transforms a white particle into himself every day in order to communicate his life to you. What’s more, with a LOVE that is greater still, he wants to transform you into himself.” St. Therese of Lisieux

“Christ will not deceive us. That is why our lives must be woven around the Eucharist. The Christ who gives of himself to us under the appearance of bread and the Christ who is hidden under the distressing disguise of the poor is the same Jesus.” Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

“I put before you the one great thing to LOVE on earth: the Blessed Sacrament. There you will find romance, glory, honor, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth and more than that.” J.R.R. Tolkien.

What did you think of the stories of Fred and Gene in the book? How did the stories of these ordinary men teach us about St. Therese? Fred reminds me of my Aunt Katherine. As Elizabeth posted, “God's people should be treated with patience, compassion, and love. Period.” Just as St. Therese did. I will end on that note and LOVE on!

Gene reminds me of Linda, whom I have seen and known for a few years, but just yesterday finally introduced myself and the kids. We must have the same grocery day because we always see each other shopping at HEB or Wal-Mart. She is a sweet lady with auburn hair and is always up for a conversation no matter how long my grocery list is or how cranky the kids are. She marvels at the children and their busyness. If there was seating provided in the grocery aisles, I believe she would grab a seat and enjoy watching and talking to people as they passed by. Our first conversation started when I used to carry Mary Kate in the baby sling. She wanted to see how it was made, so she could make one for her daughter. It was not for a grandchild, but what she called her “grand-dog”. I no longer want to dodge her in HEB because I have too much to do. I want to put my grocery list down, scoot my kids and cart out of the middle of the aisle, and just visit with my friend Linda. I just think that she is poor in loneliness, maybe it’s that God finds me poor in gratefulness.

We LOVE because he first loved us. 1 John 4:19

Rock Solid

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 20:34:00 +0000

from Chapter July, page 177, Coventry Patmore on a saint: "...he will mostly likely dwell with reiteration on commonplaces with which you were perfectly well acquainted before you were twelve years old; but you must make allowance for him, and remember that the knowledge which is to you a surface with no depth is to him a solid..."

"A solid"--firmness, foundation, support, unwavering, not prone to or dependent upon fashions or whims.   Something which I honestly have felt myself lacking for months now. "Rock solid" is a cliche we often use, and the book Shirt of Flame has been a rock of sorts--a pebble-- in my life since it arrived on my doorstep.    Two forms of a pebble--the one-- that aggravating pebble in a shoe that makes its presence known with each step you take until you finally stop and deal with it.   And the other--a smooth, beautiful pebble, held in your palm, as you turn it over and stroke it, an aid to your contemplation, quietly and unobtrusively helping you focus your mind or, to free your mind from focus.

This book dovetails perfectly with our first read, Lizzie's War. They are both real and honest--nakedly so--but Lizzie and Mike, their boys--their various wars, though based on reality, are still fiction and they give the reader the necessary comfort of exploring uncomfortable truths in a fictional setting.    In such a way, fiction can influence our lives.   Through our discussions of Lizzie's War, we explored the role of vocation and striving to truly live--to thrive, spiritually, emotionally, physically--where we find ourselves. Part of the comfort lay in the truth of the C.S. Lewis quote which heads our blog banner, similarly shared by F. Scott Fitzgerald, who wrote: "That is part of the beauty of literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong." We found that we weren't alone as we related to Lizzie, Betty, Fr. Germaine, Danny and saw bits of ourselves, friends, neighbors, and family members in these characters.   For me, the language and honesty of Lizzie's War was refreshing, not as a breath of fresh air, but more like a blast of heat, with its cocktails, profanity, and flawed characters, shaking and awakening me from my safe Catholic world.   The world I had tried to create, and maybe control, through homeschooling, a retreat from the range of great literature which had previously nourished me in favor of a strict diet of classics and spiritual reading, and fewer and fewer non-Catholic friends and acquaintances.   My world--my little world--shrinking and gradually closing in--suffocatingly so.

So, after the refreshing blast of Lizzie's War came Shirt of Flame.   I wanted to read this from the first time Lauren shared it with me.   I wanted to hear from this real woman she described in Heather King.   She lived in Los Angeles.   She was divorced.   She had worked for NPR.   She was a convert.   This was no "more Catholic than the Pope" Catholic.   This sounded like a real, in-the-trenches, in-the-world-not-of-the-world-Catholic.   I had loved St. Therese and grown to love her more when I read her Story of the Soul, given to me by my friend of twenty-four years, my southern Baptist friend, Gina.   I finished the book a few weeks before Mama died and St. Therese was my friend and comfort during those first few months.

Heather King and St. Therese, however, did not offer me the insulation of fiction as I delved into the truth of Love--what it means to really love, to truly realize we are loved, and of knowing out Lover. From the beginning, in the title that was inspired by the words of T.S. Elliot, the stage is set for the rawness--the reality--of life: "breaks the air," "incandescent terror," "the torment," "the intolerable shirt of flame."

And I squirmed. I chaffed--at King's words--and from the shirt, described by Elliot, which King and Therese embraced. I rebelled. After the first chapters, the book was left on my bedside table and it grated on me, like that bothersome pebble. And I didn't want to stop and deal with it. I wanted it to go away, so I could go away. I wanted to be left alone to nurse my wounds. But I had to read it. I agreed to be part of this book club. I needed this book club. And I knew, at some level, that I needed this book. So, I picked it up again, in my irritation, in my hurt, in what I realized, as I read--as King and Therese pointed out to me--was my egotistical state, where I didn't simply nurse my wounds--real and imagined--but actually preened over them. My mind and my heart were at odds. Intellectually, I acknowledged it was a great book--a deep, life-changing book. I could see its capacity for profound spiritual and emotional growth. And my heart disliked it for that. My heart knew what wounds were waiting to be exposed--and healed--and it raged against the pain of the purifying fire, denying itself the cleansing and healing of Love.

Continuing in the spirit of being forthright, my heart did not open to this book until after I physically sat with others and discussed it. It seemed that everyone approached the discussion with obvious elation. I think everyone else at some point even physically expressed her love for the book by hugging it close to her heart, usually after sharing a quote that had special impact.    I listened to my fellow readers as they described how they were touched, how they were convicted, how they were enlightened by the book, by Heather King, and by beautiful Therese. I watched the downcast eyes that finally looked up rimmed with tears. And the cracks began to break. The self-protection and denial of my solitude gave way to an openness and vulnerability in the presence of those beautiful women, each with a wisdom from her own experiences with life and our most recent book assignment.   The edges were being smoothed.   A light of compassion lit my mind's image of my mother as we discussed the passage about faithful women who keep the Church and homes going with their unnoticed efforts.   My mother was that steady heartbeat of our home in the face of the poorly functioning, diseased--spiritually, emotionally, physically--head.   The wound of my judgements--Why had she not left him?   Why had she endured so much?--flared and stung, but I let it be exposed.   I let go and let it rise to the surface.   The hurt of lies and manipulation from a person whom I had trusted were allowed to throb, to pulse with pain, as we delved deeper into the idea that perhaps the untainted image we had of people before they hurt us was the way God sees them, ignoring their flaws and sins, of which we are also guilty.   In the midst of Therese's daily, hourly surrenders of her will, I let myself acknowledge my selfishness over the past few months.   The way I had jealously guarded what seemed to precious little bits of time for myself in the midst of my 24/7 vocation.   It was as if I was giving my heart permission to acknowledge the hurts as objective fact, but let go of the pain they caused.   For the first time in months, I was leaving my heart open to God and the change in my heart was as simple and unsophisticated as the cartoon image from Dr. Suess' Grinch, as his heart slowly grows to almost bursting proportions.   I kept silent during most of the discussion, only joining in toward the end.   I trudged to the discussion, but I left changed.

And now, that worrisome pebble has been smoothed by companionship, by waves of tears, by the brutally honest and simultaneously loving words of St. Therese and Heather King that reflect their journey, their struggles, their painful purification.   Since our discussion, the quotes from the book, the thoughts of the women gathered to discuss it, and the immeasurably deep truths expressed in it are like that smooth pebble that I hold in my hand.   It's there, always present, as I stop and hold my tongue when I want to gripe at the child who has spilled his drink AGAIN.   It's there as I remember the hurts of the past.   It's there as I attempt to reconcile the familial dysfunction of my childhood with the strength of my mother who loomed large as a refuge of normalcy and hope.   It's there, as I feel less alone and more loved than I have felt in a while.   Unconsciously, I turn over the wisdom, rub it against my palm.   But it doesn't stop there.   I've returned to Shirt of Flame each day since that discussion.   I'm consciously re-reading, not as a book, but as part of a devotion.    The pebble that irritated me now challenges me with the fire, with hope, with loneliness, with Love, even as I know the journey is long and it won't be easy.   Valleys and peaks of the spiritual life. I've been in the valley and now I can look up toward the next peak, if I can learn from Therese's Little Way and from Heather King's own journey along her own Little Way.

I sit here typing this, watching my daughter through the window as she enjoys a frozen fruit bar with a purity of which only a child is capable.   After she bugged me for hours after I bought the box and I finally snapped, "At 3:00, you can have one!   Quit bothering me about food!"   (Quit talking to me, my child, while I'm trying to write!)   So, good on you, Heather King and St. Therese.   I'm surrendering and going very much against my will by leaving this piece without any well-thought out ending.   I'm going to go spend time with my children and just enjoy being with them.   It's a start--a little one--

Shirt of Flame- Fred

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 16:58:00 +0000

All right, book people. I just finished last night. Go ahead, slap my hand. I knew I couldn't make the meeting so I gave myself some room to be lazy. I wish I would stop doing that.

I do not have anything very poetic to say- that's Terri's job- but I wanted to post a response to one of Lauren's questions.

Regarding Fred, I thought that Heather King did an excellent job of making him real to us. Everybody has a Fred in their life. I love how she wove him into the story and used his life to show us how all of God's people should be treated- with patience, compassion, and love. Period. That is exactly what St. Therese did.

We make a big deal out of St. Therese's 'little way,' but after reading this book, it does not look quite as little to me. Always responding with love is actually big.

'Shirt of Flame' Discussion

noreply@blogger.com (Julia) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 15:30:00 +0000

Writing Prompts for Shirt of Flame.

What did you think of the stories of Fred and Gene (the homeless man) in the book? How did the stories of these simple, ordinary men help the author teach us about St. Therese?

This question reminds me of one of my favorite sayings, "character is how you treat those who can do nothing for you." When we read about Gene, I think of what St. Therese described as the "unnoticed drops of blood" of Christ on the cross and how we are all called to try in our own "little ways" to unite ourselves to the suffering in the Body of Christ. How can we love the "lepers" inside of ourselves until we love the "lepers" of society as Christ would? I think of the Corporal Works of Mercy when Heather King describes Fred, and how visiting the sick can be a chore sometimes made worse when the patient has a difficult personality, or it somehow clashes with ours. Heather King reminds us that we can not grow by only surrounding ourselves by people who make us feel good about ourselves all the time! (awww snap!) What are those obstacles keeping us from fully embracing Jesus? I felt so empowered by the way that Heather King reminds us, through the example of St. Therese, that our vulnerability really becomes our strength. We can't go anywhere on our own until we admit that vulnerability, like St. John says "Lord, I must decrease so that you may increase," (John 3:30). Christ gives us everything we need for our journey - we must strive to be open to how God wants us to see ourselves and the world.

Here are a few more questions:

Which aspect of Therese's life did Heather King reveal to you in a new or different way?

What did you think of the stories of Fred and Gene (the homeless man) in the book? How did the stories of these simple, ordinary men help the author teach us about St. Therese?

On page 53-54, King writes about women "who wear the scapulars, who carry the flame; who wait, and who, in a very real way, have kept the Church going...." What do you think of this passage? Are there women in your life that image reminds you of? Share!