"Ignorance is King, not many would profit by its abdication."
Not having any particular gift of the Holy Spirit related to prophesy, I do not claim any infallible vision of the future. But there's enough signs and portents for the layman now-a-days to realize that all is not well. We live in an age that is post-Enlightenment, post-modern, and now post-Christian. Humanism and all manner of relativism has grown from a whisper in past generations to the roaring cacophony of the masses. Man has fastened upon War as a primary means of social intercourse.
Science, initially thought to allow Man to harness Nature, has thrown off its cloak to reveal that Man's baser Nature has harnessed Man. Or rather, some men have enslaved every other man using Nature. We have made machines the means of this warring, and to date have stockpiled a staggering quantity, potency, and variety of weaponry. Traditionally, we have never failed to use a newly synthesized weapon system on other men.
In the public arena, there is no longer discourse. Our "elected officials" argue incessantly, leading every debate down a long road to Morton's fork. We have traded ideology for ideas, policy for morality. In America, somehow we have traded a three-fold division of government (Executive, Legislative, and Judicial) for a two-fold, colluding dysnfunction of Republican and Democrat. History will not be kind.
So, if you feel the same way, read "A Canticle for Leibowitz" by Walter Miller. Also, if you disagree, read "A Canticle for Leibowitz" by Walter Miller. In either event, you will have a chilling, witty, and deeply human account of a fictional history much like our very real present that results in a new Dark Age. This is a great story, with a great message. The tale focuses on one particular order of monks and spans several thousand years as civilization is destroyed, re-discovered, re-built, and destroyed again. Dealing with complex issues in a simple way, the book explores seperation of church and state, science and faith, war, bioethics, monasticism, and a deep understanding of Christian vocation. The monks are tasked with preserving all known literature, both secular and holy. A word of caution, the political machinations used as the backdrop in "Canticle" will be eeirily familiar. Eeirie because the book was published in 1960.
One of the greatest facets of this book is that you could just read it for the story and theme, or grab a dictionary because Miller is above all else a wordsmith. You will learn new words, even in ancient languages, and be the better for it. He does not come off as pretentitious. His style, in fact, is a literary sleight-of-hand. As an example, when I finished it the first time, I said to myself, "Hey! I think that was sci-fi!"
Up next is the challenging "Nicomachean Ethics" of Arisotle and "The Abolition of Man" by C.S. Lewis, to whom I owe much in the early part of this post concerning Man and Nature.
So, take heart! I join all Book-leggers, Memorizers, Sports, and Texarkansans in saying in these dark days, "Sancta Leibowitz, ora pro nobis!"
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Hiatus
"At least five times, therefore, with the Arian and Albigensian, and the Humanist skeptic, after Voltaire, and after Darwin, the Faith has by all appearance gone to the dogs. And in each of these five cases, it was the dog that died." -- G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man
Has it really been a week since last I blogged? It is 15 days into the experiment, and all has gone awry! Fifteen days, at 3.65 per would mean that I should be through 4.1 books. But I alas, I just closed the dust jacket on number three. Life happens. Then again, my romance of literature was late blossoming. This was all foreshadowed.
I didn't learn to read until I was well into the first grade. I was relegated to the "slow" readers' circle in elementary school. I just didn't seem to grasp letters and phonics. Then, it clicked. Although it is too long now to have a clear timeline, it was probably fairly closely matched to the discovery that I was, in fact, near-sighted, and required bifocals at the beginning of the second grade! Sight, after all, being a useful attribute for the act of reading...
And then, as if to make up for lost time, I began a torrid affair with books. The Hardy Boys series was devoured ravenously, plot by set-piece plot. I confess, I dabbled in Nancy Drew, and even when terribly hard-up, a Babysitter's Club. Certainly, I had not developed a distinguishing taste for good literature in those days.
Growing up in a smaller community, I had a close bond with the local library. Many an hour was spent in the stacks. I loved their books, and they loved the late fines I racked up in my absent-mindedness. I believe there may be a new wing named after me, erected solely with the trady taxes levied against me and paid by my mother most trips. Suffice it to say, I read and re-read nearly every book in the building I had any interest in.
It was not that I enjoyed books. I enjoyed them TOO much. When other kids were being grounded or lost TV privileges, I was getting books confiscated. My mom would summon me to dinner, but I was lost in my novel, oblivious to all around me. I learned to read in cars, upside down (a very useful skill in police work), after-dark (with flashlight), and most significantly- fast.
This skill, combined with my knowledge of a wide range of techno-thriller authors typically producing works in the 600-700 page range allowed me to dominate the "Reading Across America" reading contest in junior high. Tom Clancy, I still owe you a few fountain drinks at the Kerr McGee.
Books were an escape. It was exciting to enjoy a new book, and thus find a new favorite author, reading the rest of their repertoire. It was still more exhilarating to discover what authors influenced THOSE authors, to travel back by generations in literary geneology.
But to be a bibliophile can be a lonely business. The digital age has cut and cut and cut. This blog itself is evidence our reading is becoming diminutive. We no longer want the long version. "Gimme the Reader's Digest," is the frequent request. Who can take the time to read a full-length novel anymore? The avant garde, grad students, and other authors. And so, I found myself in the last few years reading less and less. Three kids and two jobs can do that. So too, the digital kudzu grows thick.
G.K. Chesterton's 'The Everlasting Man" has been placed back on the shelf. A fine, if windy read. Chesterton's style evokes a smoky conversation in a pub, preferably over Stout. It is jovial- almost jocular. His charm is his complete disregard for political correctness. He calls Darwinism a "dog". Really. He calls 'em, how he sees them, and somehow ends any major point on an uplifting note, so much so that my normally pessimistic outlook is buoyed by his accurate placement of our human predicament in the context of the history of the world. A great read for anyone who finds Christianity peculiar (it is), and therefore beautiful (it is).
And so it was that I found myself waiting for a court case while reading Walter Miller's "A Canticle for Liebowitz". This is one of my favorite books. More to come on this, but any American novel about the role of books, monasticism, and intrigue in a post-apocalyptic world is a timely read right now. Bank on it.
One can analyze my motivation for any of my more ridiculous and contrarian beliefs, but the motivation for this experiment is simple. I forgot how much I loved reading, and it's time I remembered.
Book on!
Has it really been a week since last I blogged? It is 15 days into the experiment, and all has gone awry! Fifteen days, at 3.65 per would mean that I should be through 4.1 books. But I alas, I just closed the dust jacket on number three. Life happens. Then again, my romance of literature was late blossoming. This was all foreshadowed.
I didn't learn to read until I was well into the first grade. I was relegated to the "slow" readers' circle in elementary school. I just didn't seem to grasp letters and phonics. Then, it clicked. Although it is too long now to have a clear timeline, it was probably fairly closely matched to the discovery that I was, in fact, near-sighted, and required bifocals at the beginning of the second grade! Sight, after all, being a useful attribute for the act of reading...
And then, as if to make up for lost time, I began a torrid affair with books. The Hardy Boys series was devoured ravenously, plot by set-piece plot. I confess, I dabbled in Nancy Drew, and even when terribly hard-up, a Babysitter's Club. Certainly, I had not developed a distinguishing taste for good literature in those days.
Growing up in a smaller community, I had a close bond with the local library. Many an hour was spent in the stacks. I loved their books, and they loved the late fines I racked up in my absent-mindedness. I believe there may be a new wing named after me, erected solely with the trady taxes levied against me and paid by my mother most trips. Suffice it to say, I read and re-read nearly every book in the building I had any interest in.
It was not that I enjoyed books. I enjoyed them TOO much. When other kids were being grounded or lost TV privileges, I was getting books confiscated. My mom would summon me to dinner, but I was lost in my novel, oblivious to all around me. I learned to read in cars, upside down (a very useful skill in police work), after-dark (with flashlight), and most significantly- fast.
This skill, combined with my knowledge of a wide range of techno-thriller authors typically producing works in the 600-700 page range allowed me to dominate the "Reading Across America" reading contest in junior high. Tom Clancy, I still owe you a few fountain drinks at the Kerr McGee.
Books were an escape. It was exciting to enjoy a new book, and thus find a new favorite author, reading the rest of their repertoire. It was still more exhilarating to discover what authors influenced THOSE authors, to travel back by generations in literary geneology.
But to be a bibliophile can be a lonely business. The digital age has cut and cut and cut. This blog itself is evidence our reading is becoming diminutive. We no longer want the long version. "Gimme the Reader's Digest," is the frequent request. Who can take the time to read a full-length novel anymore? The avant garde, grad students, and other authors. And so, I found myself in the last few years reading less and less. Three kids and two jobs can do that. So too, the digital kudzu grows thick.
G.K. Chesterton's 'The Everlasting Man" has been placed back on the shelf. A fine, if windy read. Chesterton's style evokes a smoky conversation in a pub, preferably over Stout. It is jovial- almost jocular. His charm is his complete disregard for political correctness. He calls Darwinism a "dog". Really. He calls 'em, how he sees them, and somehow ends any major point on an uplifting note, so much so that my normally pessimistic outlook is buoyed by his accurate placement of our human predicament in the context of the history of the world. A great read for anyone who finds Christianity peculiar (it is), and therefore beautiful (it is).
And so it was that I found myself waiting for a court case while reading Walter Miller's "A Canticle for Liebowitz". This is one of my favorite books. More to come on this, but any American novel about the role of books, monasticism, and intrigue in a post-apocalyptic world is a timely read right now. Bank on it.
One can analyze my motivation for any of my more ridiculous and contrarian beliefs, but the motivation for this experiment is simple. I forgot how much I loved reading, and it's time I remembered.
Book on!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Deciphering Percy
Walker Percy is my favorite author. So, finishing Lancelot last night was bittersweet. Bitter in that the book was finished, and I would have to read something else. Sweet because I so thoroughly enjoy his style and the depth of his writing. Bitter again, because it reminds me of Percy and our unfinished business.
Lancelot is a dangerous book. I can only imagine some of the reviews it must have received! While I love the book, one cannot read it cold. Without any knowledge of Percy, what he valued, what drove his curiosity, and how he viewed the calling of a novelist, one would be completely lost and certainly scandalized by his protagonist. Lancelot Andrewes Lamar is not an easy character to like. His odd views about society, and his ultimate search for the "Unholy Grail" will not sit well with moralists. Or Percy, but he writes the character so convincingly, one might believe he speaks for the author. ANd therein lies the danger. You must know Percy, and must read all the way to the climatic final scene with Percival to capture the novelist's intent.
Walker Percy was recommended to me by a professor my sophomore year of college. I am in that prof's debt. Once I read one, I had to hunt down all WP's works. After reading a few novels, I read a biography of Percy, Flannery O'Conner, and Thomas Merton entitled "The Lfie You Save Might Be Your Own". I learned Percy contracted tuberculosis after medical school, went to a sanatorium, began reading existentialist fiction, and converted to Catholicism due to the impression made by a college roommate's daily Mass devotion. I read his non-fictional essays, and found that his writing. both non-fiction and fiction, was really a search for the truth about our human condition. He used each genre to move closer to the center of the mystery that is Man, and in the end he answered mystery with mystery, like Job. Maybe that's why I like him.
He claimed, "The novelist writes about the coming end in order to warn about present ills and so avert the end....[but he] is less like a prophet than he is like the canary that coal miners used to take down into the shaft to test the air. When the canary gets unhappy, utters plaintive cries, and collapses, it may be time for the miners to surface and think things over..." I like that. He also noted that novelists, like filmmakers both enjoy "swinging the intellectual cat... doing anything he likes." I like that too.
Walker Percy was born May 28, 1916. He began writing in '62, and wrote Lancelot in 1977. I was born in 1981. In his youth, he became friends with Shelby Foote, destined to become another noted Southern writer, and the two (on a lark) drove to Oxford, Mississippi to meet William Faulkner. According to Percy's account, he lost his nerve, and watched from the car as Foote spoke at length with the famed author on the porch. Reading that, I had the urge in 2000 to drive to Louisiana and find Percy, to sit down with him and ask him only a hundred questions.
Percy died in 1990, a full decade before I discovered "The Last Gentleman" on a dusty library shelf in Winona, Minnesota. So, I never met him, and never drove to Louisiana on a lark. But when I read his works, he speaks. Maybe that's why I like him. Maybe that's why I like books.
Percy's back on the shelf for now, but I have Gilbert Keith Chesterson to keep me company, so no worries!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Cutting the Cord
"There are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there. The other is to walk round the whole world till we come back to the same place..."
This is how G.K. Chesterton introduces "The Everlasting Man" to his readers. It is the third book I have started, and I anticipate it will be the second I finish. It is certainly a book in keeping with my theme of exploring the state of our social and cultural consciousness. Chesterton is not for the thin-skinned or faint of heart. Naturally, I love it. After the grind of the Iliad, it is nice to roll through his jocular style and self-deprecating humor. Also, after the eccentricities and viciousness of Homer's gods, it is refreshing to read about the sanity of Chesterton's God.
Speaking of sanity, there is something I need to tell you. Due diligence. I don't have television. This bears some clarification and a back story. I have never, do not, and never will own a television set. There are some ramifications for this rebellious choice. A couple of items of note:
1. I often get passed over during conversations in some social settings:
Buddy: "Yo, Dan, did you see the game/show/episode of X last night? Oh, sorry, forgot..."
2. Less visitors. Even family members have declined offers to come over, and have cited an important TV event and their need to feed the TV monster.
3. Strange conversations with telemarketers ensue:
Dexter: "Hello Mr. >mispronounces name<, I'm Dexter with DirecTV and I'm calling to talk about switching your TV service to our outstanding package of satellite entertainment. Can you tell me how much you're paying currently for cable?"
Me: "We don't have cable."
Dexter: "We don't show you having DirecTV service currently, are you using another satellite provider?"
Me: "No, we don't have satellite either. We don't have a TV."
Dexter: Uhhh....>completely off script< Well, how would you like to have 600 channels of high quality digital programming instead of just 4?"
Me: "Fine, but we don't have a TV to plug your satellite into."
Dexter:......
Me: "Are you there?"
Dexter: "No TV?"
Me: "Right. No TV set- the box with the cord and stuff."
Dexter: "Why?"
Me: "Dexter, I'm glad you asked..."
4. Extra free time. Like to read books. And talk to people. Strange, I know. People feel uncomfortable sometimes, in our living room. They have to look at each other, us even. They look around nervously for the normal focal point, the Feng Shui schwerpunkt as it were, of the modern American home. Most of my friends have one set in each room. Their cars have more TV screens inside headrests than I'll have in a lifetime.
5. Weird threats. Some guys at work think it is a great injustice, my TV poverty. They have plotted to get on Craigslist and Freecycle, getting all the old "free" TVs and making an offering. Imagine 40-50 old tube-driven, analog programmed beauties strewn about my lawn, on my cars, my porch. What barbarians would think of that?
This is a choice, of course. Growing up we had just three and a half channels (24 was real grainy) and when I moved out, it never crossed my mind to purchase a TV. My roommates had a TV in college, so I never felt obliged to shop for one. Upon living solo, I realized the great freedom of a TV-free lifestyle. Plus, money was tight. Not just for the box, but cable? Who could just have the over-air programming? My wife also never owned a set. So, when we got married, we made the conscious decision to cut the cord. And we're better off for it.
Many have asked me how I can live without a TV. I tell them its the same way they stopped smoking crack cocaine. If you never start, it's easier to do without. My family will argue that, even without a TV, we're not TV-free. And they have a valid point. Even without a TV, TV begins to crowd into your life. Online shows, videos on your computer, visiting friends who must have it on as background noise. My reading drive is a way to further break away from social programming. That's the proper way to think about TV. Who's programming you? What's the program? "Buy, Buy, Buy! You are inadequate!"
This year, I'm beating back the TV's tendrils, like a digital kudzu. It may be the "long way home", but I'm seeking a deeper independence from this culture that now finds itself with an unprecendented moral and economic crisis.
Give me Chesterton, or give me death. Book on!
This is how G.K. Chesterton introduces "The Everlasting Man" to his readers. It is the third book I have started, and I anticipate it will be the second I finish. It is certainly a book in keeping with my theme of exploring the state of our social and cultural consciousness. Chesterton is not for the thin-skinned or faint of heart. Naturally, I love it. After the grind of the Iliad, it is nice to roll through his jocular style and self-deprecating humor. Also, after the eccentricities and viciousness of Homer's gods, it is refreshing to read about the sanity of Chesterton's God.
Speaking of sanity, there is something I need to tell you. Due diligence. I don't have television. This bears some clarification and a back story. I have never, do not, and never will own a television set. There are some ramifications for this rebellious choice. A couple of items of note:
1. I often get passed over during conversations in some social settings:
Buddy: "Yo, Dan, did you see the game/show/episode of X last night? Oh, sorry, forgot..."
2. Less visitors. Even family members have declined offers to come over, and have cited an important TV event and their need to feed the TV monster.
3. Strange conversations with telemarketers ensue:
Dexter: "Hello Mr. >mispronounces name<, I'm Dexter with DirecTV and I'm calling to talk about switching your TV service to our outstanding package of satellite entertainment. Can you tell me how much you're paying currently for cable?"
Me: "We don't have cable."
Dexter: "We don't show you having DirecTV service currently, are you using another satellite provider?"
Me: "No, we don't have satellite either. We don't have a TV."
Dexter: Uhhh....>completely off script< Well, how would you like to have 600 channels of high quality digital programming instead of just 4?"
Me: "Fine, but we don't have a TV to plug your satellite into."
Dexter:......
Me: "Are you there?"
Dexter: "No TV?"
Me: "Right. No TV set- the box with the cord and stuff."
Dexter: "Why?"
Me: "Dexter, I'm glad you asked..."
4. Extra free time. Like to read books. And talk to people. Strange, I know. People feel uncomfortable sometimes, in our living room. They have to look at each other, us even. They look around nervously for the normal focal point, the Feng Shui schwerpunkt as it were, of the modern American home. Most of my friends have one set in each room. Their cars have more TV screens inside headrests than I'll have in a lifetime.
5. Weird threats. Some guys at work think it is a great injustice, my TV poverty. They have plotted to get on Craigslist and Freecycle, getting all the old "free" TVs and making an offering. Imagine 40-50 old tube-driven, analog programmed beauties strewn about my lawn, on my cars, my porch. What barbarians would think of that?
This is a choice, of course. Growing up we had just three and a half channels (24 was real grainy) and when I moved out, it never crossed my mind to purchase a TV. My roommates had a TV in college, so I never felt obliged to shop for one. Upon living solo, I realized the great freedom of a TV-free lifestyle. Plus, money was tight. Not just for the box, but cable? Who could just have the over-air programming? My wife also never owned a set. So, when we got married, we made the conscious decision to cut the cord. And we're better off for it.
Many have asked me how I can live without a TV. I tell them its the same way they stopped smoking crack cocaine. If you never start, it's easier to do without. My family will argue that, even without a TV, we're not TV-free. And they have a valid point. Even without a TV, TV begins to crowd into your life. Online shows, videos on your computer, visiting friends who must have it on as background noise. My reading drive is a way to further break away from social programming. That's the proper way to think about TV. Who's programming you? What's the program? "Buy, Buy, Buy! You are inadequate!"
This year, I'm beating back the TV's tendrils, like a digital kudzu. It may be the "long way home", but I'm seeking a deeper independence from this culture that now finds itself with an unprecendented moral and economic crisis.
Give me Chesterton, or give me death. Book on!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
99 Books on the Wall
And the Iliad's spirit flew to the land of the Dead, and its armor clanged against its ribs, as it swirled to the ground and lay in the dust for dogs to lick its....
Sorry. Four days of reading Hellenic prose, and your speech patterns get twisted. One down and 99 to go. A cultural observation- if you carry a big, thick book around in public, you get some funny looks. Which is a little inconsistent, because no one gives a second thought to plugging themselves into an umbilicus and talking to themselves in public or in their own car (iPod/cell phone), or to hunching over a tiny screen for hours on end to play a game (PSP/DS). But a book! Freak! Be prepared to field such questions as, "What class are you taking?", "Are you a grad student?", "What's that!?!?"
So, the counter-cultural aspect of this endeavor is in full swing. I have not selected the next book, but I am finishing Lancelot as a bridge. I plan on always reading one big and one pocket sized book for tactical reasons. As a peace officer, I often find myself trapped at crime scenes, waiting for the bureaucracy to grind out a decision. A pocket-sized Shakespeare has saved me in the past. It does get some funny looks. There is a policy against reading materials not directly related to law enforcement while on the job. I just look incredulous, and say "Cops are constantly dealing with Tragedy and Comedy, Love and Revenge. Therefore, Shakespeare is not only relevant, it ought to be required reading." No one wants to argue with a lunatic, so it hasn't been a problem.
The Iliad has left me with no doubt that this is going to be more work than I anticipated. I'm already behind the curve, so no more time for blogging... Book On!
Sorry. Four days of reading Hellenic prose, and your speech patterns get twisted. One down and 99 to go. A cultural observation- if you carry a big, thick book around in public, you get some funny looks. Which is a little inconsistent, because no one gives a second thought to plugging themselves into an umbilicus and talking to themselves in public or in their own car (iPod/cell phone), or to hunching over a tiny screen for hours on end to play a game (PSP/DS). But a book! Freak! Be prepared to field such questions as, "What class are you taking?", "Are you a grad student?", "What's that!?!?"
So, the counter-cultural aspect of this endeavor is in full swing. I have not selected the next book, but I am finishing Lancelot as a bridge. I plan on always reading one big and one pocket sized book for tactical reasons. As a peace officer, I often find myself trapped at crime scenes, waiting for the bureaucracy to grind out a decision. A pocket-sized Shakespeare has saved me in the past. It does get some funny looks. There is a policy against reading materials not directly related to law enforcement while on the job. I just look incredulous, and say "Cops are constantly dealing with Tragedy and Comedy, Love and Revenge. Therefore, Shakespeare is not only relevant, it ought to be required reading." No one wants to argue with a lunatic, so it hasn't been a problem.
The Iliad has left me with no doubt that this is going to be more work than I anticipated. I'm already behind the curve, so no more time for blogging... Book On!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
DAY 2: Battle!
"Rage!"
The first word of the first book of this year is apt. Of course, the book is The Iliad of Homer. Reading the Iliad in the dawning days of the year 2010 is an exercise in mixed emotions. Fitting and exciting, that this epic work detailing the greatest battle in literature, the great big Trojan/Argive brough-ha-ha that seals the fate of Troy and Helen, Hector, Achilles, and the lot. I would wager that many of my fellow Americans know the sketch of this story, and the crushing majority have never read the book. And so, it is also sad to read, as it is not even a book in the traditional sense. The oral tradition and cultural heritage it represents is long dead, replaced by iPods, CNN, and Hulu.com. My anger at the time I've lost to inane digital media addictions is fueling this little counter-cultural experiment.
As I proceed through these 100 books, I plan on sharing my love of literature, my sordid history with books, and my fears and hopes for our culture and its dangerous fascination with digital media and the destruction of critical thought. As a way of beginning, I chose the name for this blog and the first book to be read because of the nature of this undertaking. It is a battle.
I contemplated reading the Odyssey first, but ultimately realized that reading 100 books in 365 days is a direct assault on the digital age. It is not a journey. It requires a battle plan, not an itinerary. I laid out my strategy last week: minimal internet usage. Checking e-mail, updating the blog, and a quick fb check once in a while. No TV. That's easier, as I don't have one. Always have a book. You can't read if you don't have the book! This necessitates reading multiple books at once. For example...
Although I started the Iliad first, reading a few of the first books in the saga, this morning found me in a tree stand hunting deer at 0715, in single digit temperatures. The Iliad is not exactly light material. And it's thick. So, to pass the time in the tree (think Stylite) I had a trusty paperback copy of Lancelot by Walker Percy. If you've never read Percy, it's fantastic stuff and even better with a deer rifle as a book rest. Lancelot is memorable, as it is told first person from the narrator speaking to his old friend, a friend with no dialogue in the book.
While I didn't kill a deer this morning, I've nearly killed off Lancelot from the list, and the Iliad is about a third of the way finished. It's Day Two. I'm on track.
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