A Tale of Two Books

 

This is not a crazy tale - just a little tale of finding two books in my town whilst perusing used books and what came of them next. It's a typical summer day. Intense heat from the sun starts early, as soon as it's above the horizon. Long days melt into the repetitive nature as it cascades over many months. Occasionally I venture out - daring to defeat the heat with a/c in the car and dashing into a building - preferably one that holds books in it. Recently I took such ventures and was rewarded. The best thing about used bookstores is that you will never be able to predict what you can find, and sometime you are met with some amazing treasures.

Oxford, by James Morris was sitting there on the shelf waiting for me. The name of Oxford of course caught my eye, in the history section, which I might not always peruse in great detail. This time I did, and I pulled this nice hardback off the shelf. It's a Faber book, published in 1965. Several sections of black & white photos accompany the book. I barely had to flip through anymore, it was coming home with me. 

The last few days have been my Oxford days. And let me say, they have been pure enjoyment whilst reading this book. I may not agree with every observation he wrote, but Morris was such fun. He covered historical aspects of Oxford, the weather, the atmosphere, his observations (of course from the perspective of 1965 or so), and it was all so fascinating. Perhaps because it's my favourite city I have more interest in the general history, but as an added bonus, every building and street he walked by, visited and discussed I was familiar with. Which meant that I could picture where he was talking about and learn something about it I might not have known.

The old photos are so fun to see, with the reminder of how little has changed in central Oxford, other than the modern cars, more bicycles and buses, and thankfully, better facilities in the buildings that were not always there, even in the 1960s. But for centuries this spired city has looked timeless. 

The Child From the Sea, by Elizabeth Goudge was sitting forlornly at the bottom shelf at the end of the $0.50 special section, almost too easy to gloss over and miss. But something caught my eye. The name Goudge is not one that I see often. This was a book I haven't read yet, and it was in my shopping cart online for  along time, then I simply saved it for future and forgot to ever order it. What a delight to add another Goudge book to my library, and this one I am just cracking open - fresh and in great condition from 1970. It's historical fiction written before the genre of historical fiction took a very popular turn in recent years, tracing back to the English Civil war and the (secret) wife (Lucy) of soon to be Charles II.

The tale of these two books ends happily. For, one book has been read and now joins a great host of books hanging out on my tall shelves, whilst the other book is in my reading stack, getting to be opened and read as a book should be. They are very happy and content. 

I feel it in the Air

 

"Ah!" said Gandalf. "That is a very long story. The beginnings lie back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember. If I were to tell you al that tale, we should still be sitting here when Spring had passed into Winter."

- The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

Can you feel it in the air? A slight change, a shift in the air. I awoke this morning and the air smelled different and graced us with temperatures at least 5 degrees cooler. Hints of a coming change of season, even if well in advance. The air smelled different. I might be keenly sensitive to it, with my longing for the colder months, holding the sense of adventure and inspiration. To me, the end of summer grants that presence of newness (such as a year back to school and all the excitement of the fresh pencils and notebooks, ah, always did that thrill me) of what is to come. A change of season and new journey at hand.

Can you tell I've been watching The Lord of the Rings movies? It's been ages since I watched them, and I am also going to re-read the books next. The movies do a good job of capturing the air of the books, the atmosphere of endings and beginnings. I am currently re-reading The Silmarillion which includes the beginnings of Middle-earth. It is truly the long tale that can be told of the history of creation and the first and second ages of Middle-earth before the tales of Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Legolas, and crew begin. It holds the history of beginning and endings, long tales of old that may have been shrouded in mist, but were not quite forgotten.

Perhaps because school begins in the Autumn (or very end of the Summer) that I feel this awakening and excitement in the air. Something fresh to shake off the idles of the Summer when it's too hot to move around or do much. One stays lounging in the shade to avoid the intensity of weather. But when the leaves start to rustle and fall of the branches, we are also rustled, awakening from the depths of somewhere this readiness for adventure. To move and be moved. 

It would be wise for us to heed the advice of Gandalf, though, as we set out (or plan to set out) on another adventure. It might not be the long road we are ready for, but we are at least ready for the next step.

"No indeed!" said Frodo. "But in the meantime what course am I to take?"
"Toward danger; but not too rashly, nor too straight," answered the wizard.

- The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

A Glimpse Only, at Brideshead

 

It is a cosy morning, replete with soft lighting subdued with some early clouds and calm air. Dew is quietly diffused into the air creating a humidity heavy and showcasing the depths of summer. Rain fell early yesterday but not in the evening, so the morning feels thirsty and as the sun parts the clouds the landscape will seek refreshment by the afternoon.

I reach for my book, currently reading Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. Re-reading it, in fact, with a new appreciation for the beauty, nostalgia, and journey to redemption of this book. It's more than 11 years since I read it. I know this because I found a plane ticket stub stuck in the back page/cover of the book, for my flight to IN for training in my new job (still my employer today!) in March 2013. I know I did not fully appreciate this book back then. I was not nearly as deep or attentive of a reader back then to understand the nuances of this novel. 

This book is deeply nostalgic, set between the two world wars, mostly taking place in Oxford and London, setting us up from the very beginning with the mature Charles Ryder falling upon an estate whilst camping with his troops in the countryside, and suddenly when he hears the name of the estate  "Brideshead":

...an immense silence followed, empty at first, but gradually, as my outraged sense regained authority, full of a multitude of sweet and natural and long-forgotten sounds - for he had spoken a name that was so familiar to me, a conjuror's name of such ancient power, that, at its mere sound, the phantoms of those haunted late years began to take flight.

 And there follows this journey back to Charles's young college life at Oxford, still a city in "aquatint" in those early lightweight days before deep trials came through his associations with the Marchmain, an English aristocratic, family. Through the years of some painful growth he encounters episodes of grace and conversion, he encounters the culture shifting and faces the ultimate decisions of choosing faith over the depravity of a sinful life. 

The writing is exquisite in this book. From reading some of Evelyn's biography, he must have drawn from some of his own youthful Oxford experiences for the story of Charles, and the lovable, yet facing inner demons, character of Sebastian. This kind of book, I feel, could not be written today with such beautiful and harrowing encounters of life in between the world wars, unless someone had lived through such a time. One cannot imagine exactly how the culture shifting (deep growing secularism and dismissal of Catholics until a later time) would have impacted someone living in that time, facing the secular and religious clashes unless one had seen that unfold. What we see now is different, naturally, our world is different, so getting a glimpse of this life in the 1920's, 1930's is thought provoking and insightful. How is it different from now? Is there more or less freedom? These are questions we can ask as a modern reader.

He led me through a baize door into a dark corridor; I could dimly see a gilt cornice and vaulted plaster above; then, opening a heavy, smooth-swinging mahogany door, he led me into a darkened hall. Light streamed through he cracks in the shutters. Sebastian unbarred one, and folded it back; the mellow afternoon sun flooded in, over the bare floor, the vast, twin fireplaces of sculptured marble, the coved ceiling frescoed with classic deities and heroes, the gilt mirrors and scagliola pilasters, the islands of sheeted furniture. It was a glimpse only, such as might be had from the top of an omnibus into a lighted ballroom; then Sebastian quickly shut out the sun. "You see," he said; "it's like this."

This is what occurs through the book, of Charles telling his story, looking back. There arises a glimpse here and there, of something more, something trying to break into his life as he encounters the Marchmain family and their Catholic faith, for years he resists these glimpses and pushes them off, but when events take a turn, even if still not wanting to be folded in for the deep reasons, he kneels and prays. If motivation is at first in the direction of Julia, he begins to understand it is actually for something much deeper and more fulfilling, it is true belief. 

Things may not end in the worldly happy sense, and yet, the turning toward God, for both Julia and Charles, is the best of all possible endings, with their gazes directed toward God as their ultimate source of all they need. Leaving their own desires for God's.

I found it this morning, burning anew among the old stones.