Tiny Bookish Views

 

I am sitting here at my desk by the window with my Lent book of poems at my elbow. The winds are gusting outside on a sparklingly bright day with lovely temperatures from the upper 50s to the low 70s. I am sipping a London Fog, missing the namesake city across the ocean, but feeling so thankful for this little home I get to live in and recharge over a weekend before entering Holy Week. Praying for time to reflect in my little space. Over the years I have tweaked this tiny home bit by bit making it more my own - a mixture of simple, classic, bookish. The only thing I have an abundance of is books. And I wouldn't change that at all. 

What are some things I love about my tiny home? You may sense a theme here, but around here, it's about books. A comfortable, simple atmosphere with beautiful small details and books. Lots of books. Old books, new books. And all the nooks.

When I travelled to Iceland and Norway, the beauty of their design and furniture really left an impact on me. I gravitate toward the natural light wood tones, clean white, and tapered lines. My favourite pieces of furniture are from Sweden or Denmark, or molded from that example of design. I admire the way the Scandinavian countries use elements of nature alongside something antique or modern, creating an effortless look, simple, timeless, and comfortable. 

My space is just over 500 square feet, and I honestly don't need more space. It means I am very selective in what I actually do have. Picking and selecting beautiful, well made items means I create a more pleasurable experience in the simplest of everyday things. I want pieces that last and are well made and look lovely after having them for years. Pieces I want to display and see. The simple pleasures of the everyday. 

And the books - lifelong companions they are. Old, new, and in between, they are always moving around my home, whether in my hands or open to be referenced for my book, my blog, just for fun, or a presentation I am giving.  I tend to research things just because something mentioned will spark my intrigue and I must dig to find that word or phrase, concept, or passage. A library must always be at my fingertips. Everything else is optional. 

As we travel deeper into the paths of Holy Week, may the comfort of knowing Jesus goes with us in every step or our daily lives guide our hearts and souls, leading us into more meaning-drenched moments and contemplative mindsets.

Breakfast with the Planets

 

He had read of "Space": at the back of his thinking for years had lurked the dismal fancy of the black, cold, vacuity, the utter deadness, which was supposed to separate the worlds. He had not known how much it affected him till now - now that the very name "Space" seemed a blasphemous libel for this empyrean ocean of radiance in which they swam. He could not call it "dead"; he felt life pouring into him from it every moment. How indeed should it be otherwise, since out of this ocean the worlds and all their life had come? He had thought it barren: he saw now that it was the womb of worlds, whose blazing and innumerable offspring looked down nightly even upon the earth with so many eyes - and here, with how many more! No: space was the wrong name. Older thinkers had been wiser when they named it simply the heavens - the heavens which declared the glory - the

"happy climes that ly
Where day never shuts his eye
Up in the broad fields of the sky."

He quoted Milton's words to himself, lovingly, at this time and often.

- Out of the Silent Planet, C.S. Lewis

This passage has always been wonderful to me. This is the part when Ransom is in the spaceship, held captive by Weston and Devine, on their way to Mars. C.S. Lewis brings one of his favourites, John Milton into the story, that great 17th century poet, and draws on Psalm 19, his favourite Psalm. Ransom's reflection shifts our viewing of space to the cosmos, something bigger, alive, and full of wonder. It evokes the Medieval perspective of how they looked at the night sky, calling it the heavens. There was something more held amidst those other worlds. I love that ancient idea. 

On mornings when I can take some breakfast with Venus, Mars, Saturn, and the crescent moon, it is a delight to celebrate. I came out to my kitchen one morning last week and was at my counter making my breakfast as usual. I turned around to set my bowl on the table and gasped at the sight outside my window as the bright Venus and crescent moon were absolutely radiant. Then a hug smile emerged on my face as I gazed at the little triangle in the sky, made up the three aforementioned planets, and the crescent moon hanging out. A cluster of cosmological beauty in the sky is pure poetry of God's creation. It set my soul to wonder and wander into the cosmos. Of course, my cell phone camera does not do this scene justice by any means. It is highly recommended you wake up early to view with the naked eyes.

The predawn hour is my favourite hour of the day. It holds so much calm, peace, quiet, and hope for the day ahead. The lighting slowly begins to grow, first as a nightlight glow from the horizon, then as the sun rises, light begins to emanate off other things like clouds if they are formed, to a range of vibrant colours. 

Star and planet gazing has always been something I love - to find something in the sky like Orion or a planet when it pops up in the morning as it has been recently, is like visiting your favourite waterfall or canyon - the sheer glory of creation causes one to stand in awe of it. And that's how I feel. 

The heavens declare the glory of God...

I will be keeping watch in these morning predawns over the next couple weeks, as another planet joins the planet party in the sky, Jupiter. The four planets will get into a nice line-up, on the ecliptic, reminding us that our solar system is a flat disc and all the planets line-up nicely on occasion.  

Old Books

 

"Old Books"

It's a sign drawing me from afar. Calling me from miles and miles away. It's an invitation to browse shelves upon shelves, and who knows what is to be found? I proclaim, a delightful discovery of various treasures inside a building that has this sign in front of it. 

Places like this are very few and far between around here. Only in a bigger city does it exist, so a jaunt out of town adventure is required.

On a beautiful Spring day, starting off with a sweet 56 degrees and a pale blue sky, the adventure to an old bookshop begins. Coffee is picked up on the way. Traffic is heavy, but moving. I sense that everyone is heading to the beach on such a day as this. The feeling of people taking their Spring Break rises with every car that piles onto the highway. I take a different direction (per usual) - into the curious depths, meandering rooms, and cramped spaces of this old bookshop. 

Happy as a little child I am whilst browsing bookshops. I love the feeling of the unknown - that I could stumble upon a great treasure with any momentary glance. And I did. Four lovely old treasures in fact. Old books indeed. I "barter" with the owner at his invitation, who is clearly enjoying every minute of his retired life running that bookshop and talking with people all day, and I come out with a Chesterton, Coleridge, Kipling, and Oxford University Press Collection of English Verse. The newest book in my little stack is from 1932.

The wind picks up after the morning wears on, bringing a warming air highlighted by the heat of the sun. Browsing books really conjures up an appetite, so a good place to eat is the next stop. And I head out with a smile on my face and lovely books in my arms.

On Seeing Wisdom in Quiet

  

The words of the wise heard in quiet are better than the shouting of a ruler among fools. Wisdom is better than weapons of war, but one sinner destroys much good.

- Ecclesiastes 9.17-18

Often the most beautiful things are the quietest. They don't shout for attention. It sits there quietly, patiently, being exactly what it was meant to be. And it can often be overlooked whilst the loudest thing grabs for attention. Why is it that the wisdom of the quiet is most ignored?

I try to make a study and observation of the world, and in my quiet nature, reflect on things that others probably never notice. I value the small details, the small gestures, the meaningful moments. I regularly see in my tiny sliver of the world I can see from, that most people get caught up in the whirlwind of the most popular and or most controversial news/hype/media etc. And it easily consumes them. It pulls them toward a side and extreme feelings (because everything these days requires that you take a side immediately, and voice that loudly on social media or you are not a proper human being) all while ignoring the wisdom of the quiet. 

Am I wrong to feel a strong resistance to this? I want to go the other way and think for myself. I want to hear both side of an idea, but not blast it over social media. I want to think about the deep and meaningful things. I want to read and study to understand. I want to let the beauty of small moments hold me in a stillness of reflection without distraction.

In my striving to resist the extremes and in my nature of observing, it is a bit unnerving to see the ever-increasing reliance on technology/social media. They are fine as tools (a means) to achieve many good ends, but they have become an idol to our culture and society in so many ways. It sets the tone for looking toward these things as an end. Rather than solving something ourselves through creative thinking. Get the app, the device, expensive item, or pill that will solve your problem, and then you have even more problems you never predicted. It's a cycle that never ends and it is consuming, as it is meant to be. When can we stop being such consumers and instead be creators of beauty and goodness? When we allow anything other than God to be the source and center of hope beauty, truth, and goodness, we enter into a dangerous territory. 

So many of our own issues can be worked out through quiet and contemplation. Prayer, mediation, reflection, reading. When we pause to notice, we are able to see our issues more clearly, and have a better frame of mind to perhaps make a small (or significant) change to help solve that problem. If we dare to listen to God, we turn off our own worldly desires (if but for a brief moment). Sometimes we overlook the most simple thing, while we reach for the most costly and complex thing that loudly promises to solve our problem.

Poems for Lent

 

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Each Lent, I venture through a book of poems to help me pause each day to reflect and let the season shape itself in my soul. Usually it is Malcolm Guite's The Word in the Wilderness, which I highly recommend and use year after year. This year a new book emerged out in the world, Hearing God in Poetry, compiled and with reflections by the former bishop of Oxford, Richard Harries. I am a sucker for collections of poetry, especially the old poems from before the twentieth century. There is so much depth to explore in older poems that may seem simple, or may be quite complex in nature, but visiting with them offers an insight from the past into something we might feel today.

The form of poetry is that much more is said in a significantly smaller space. Lines often don't even reach the right margin of the page! So you often need to sit with it for a while. Let the rhyme and the meter set the pace and musicality of the reading and then read it again. Words are carefully selected in poetry, so ask yourself why the poet chose that word or phrase. What might he or she be eluding to, or wishing to evoke?

We do fairly well at remembering Easter, but the whole season of Lent is often so overlooked as time to be reflective. Poetry helps me do that. Sometimes people give things up for Lent, in an effort to remember when they miss that thing, I believe the good news of Easter cannot be fully comprehended if there is nothing preceding it. How did we get to Easter? What leads up to it? Why was it necessary? There are all kinds of questions and ponderings that we should take time to explore. 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove.

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Bedtime or Reading Time?

 ...when, I say, these things leave us, we either sink exhausted into longings for the future, or turn back and recall visions of the far departed past.

- The Duke of Zamorna, Charlotte Brontë

I stay up late to finish the last story in this collection of early writings by Charlotte Brontë. What is it that causes me to ignore my necessary bedtime to read a good book? Why wouldn't I just close the book at the precise time I need to go to bed? Ah, it's too difficult to stop reading a good book.

This collection of stories, Tales of Angria, is from Charlotte's late teens and early twenties, when she and her siblings created an imaged world of dukes and duchesses, mystery and intrigue, drama and wars. The storytelling draws me in. It's just wonderful, not necessarily what is happening in the story, but the storytelling and characters she develops is superb. She draws on politics from her day, and characters that are modelled after those figures. This is where Charlotte is developing her skills as a writer. You, the reader, somehow find yourself liking the Duke of Zamorna, but you know he is kind of a scoundrel, modelled after the scandalous Lord Byron (who was alive in Charlotte's time). He tangles himself into webs of family drama stemming from his father-in-law, Northangerland, modelled after the Duke of Wellington, which leads to ill regard and anger, and yet the Duke shows he is brave, charming, witty, and stands up for those he loves.

The intrigue and sweeping storytelling is something I love. I am removed from the world and dropped firmly into this imagined world where Charlotte often describes the action without saying it (developing these scenes as atmospheric glimpses as if viewing a silhouette from afar), and then goes inside the feelings and thoughts of the character. A sort of glittery spotlight on a moment that freezes in time for deeper inspection.

Something in Charlotte's writing sparkles for me, lifting me outside the boundaries of this world and into a realistic fantasy (what an oxymoron!). The creative imagination is flowing freely and such delights show up through the fantastic dialogue, full of quips, quirks, wit, and plays on words. The way charm and jealous suspicion battle each other through the conversations is so fun to read. It is so outside the way you the reader would live, and you stand to the side watching the drama unfold, deciding for yourself the quality of the characters, and why they might be like that.

'I've got a head-ache, Mary." This was a lie, told to awaken sympathy and elude further cross-examination.
"Have you, Adrian? Where?"
"I think I said I had a head-ache. Of course it would not be in my great toe."
"And was that the reason you came away so soon?"
"Not exactly. I remembered I had a love-letter to write."
This was pretty near the truth. The Duchess, however, believed the lie, and disregarded the truth. The matter was so artfully managed that jest was given for earnest and earnest for jest.

Why am I drawn to good atmospheric scenes and witty dialogue? I confess I am not a fan of idle chatter and shallow talk in any aspect, and Charlotte pokes fun at such things frequently in the tales. It's a delight to me to read that. Thus, I end up staying up late to finish reading a tale and eventually the book.

As we, in our everyday reality, view the scenes of real life war and suffering destroying lives of so many, it is all too easy to get caught up in it, letting it consume us and thinking of little else. But that is like letting the battle be won before the war has even hit your land. If something is worth doing and enjoying during regular times, it's just as important to partake in times of darkness and uncertainty in the world. Indeed, it is almost in defiance of the darkness that clouds, as the pursuit of good things is never done in any "normal" circumstances. Days are never "normal".

Vita Nuova

 

As I rode out one day not long ago
by narrow roads, and heavy with the thought
of what compelled my going, I met Love
in pilgrim's rags coming the other way.

Vita Nuova (new life). Dante writes this short book of prose and poetry to share what experiences led him to a new life. This is Dante's first major work, and it is beautifully written. The parallel of Beatrice and his love for her follows the path that leads to God, and therefore the truest, deepest love that is at the centre of all things. The three characters of this book are Dante, Beatrice, and the Love that sees all outside of time and as one whole thing. Yet it is a Love that still shares tears with Dante and seeks him in the joys and sorrows. Ah, the more I read of Dante the more I am drawn to his writings and want to read more and study more.

Dante opens this book of his memory to share the story through prose and verse, telling of the catalyst that began his new life. The vita nuova. What preceded this story doesn't matter. He looks at this as the important episodes to share, leaving out anything else he sees as not significant.  

We become more familiar with his love for Beatrice, which at every level points to God. All the allusions and trinity-inspired language clearly points to this deeper source of how Dante became something new. If we feel low or in a point of darkness of grief along with Dante, Dante's recollection from his book of memory tells of the dreams/visions he has when visited by Love himself, who shares his tears and has compassion on him.

When Dante asks the Lord why he weeps, the answer he receives is - 

"I am like the centre of a circle, 
equidistant from all points on the
circumference, but you are not."

Dante is not sure what this means, so he asks why he speaks so obscurely.
The Lord replies - 

"Do not ask more than is useful to you."

More mystery in the reply and Dante is left confused in these moments. But what we learn later is the truth of God's place outside time. So, He is at the centre and can see all of everything at once, equidistant from everything at his central position. There is no time for Him - He sits above it all. So, He knows the sorrow that is to come for Dante when Beatrice dies. Yet, He reminds Dante that sometimes we aren't meant to know more than is useful to us at that moment. We are made to live inside time, yet move toward the centre all the while, closer to God, who knows all and draws us to Him.

Love, who perceived her in my memory,
had come awake within the ravaged heart
and to my signs he said, 'Go forth from here,'
whereat each one went on his grieving way.

It's beautiful writing, nourishing to a soul divided with questions and battles with reason. It lays down the pathway to discovery of the deeper recollections of the trinity and God's place in our longings. As the reader, you can follow down that path and ponder more about his use of numbers, 3 and 9, and how those are perfectly fitted to the trinity and also the medieval astrological views of the 9 spheres that move, and have relation to one another. This segues so smoothly into the main theme of The Divine Comedy where he explores this in much more detail as Love is One who moves the stars and planets, and the lyrical perfection of the heavenly spheres is the pathway leading closer to Him.

This short book sets us up for his later masterpiece, The Divine Comedy, which he even alludes to at the end of the poem saying if he is one day capable of writing about her (Beatrice) in a more worthy fashion, he hopes to write more. 

Winter Raindrops

 

Winter Raindrops

Scattered leaves, verdant, and made of 
a camphor page,
Adorn the roof outside my window.
Glued in place with winter droplets of rain.

The pitter pat of the soft rain, not heavy,
Lest the leaves scuttle if by water fall
From clouds, swept away, no longer steady
Would their clinging be.

But a notion of refreshment accompanies
this gentle rain.
The air is quiet and still, holding the morning
In its embrace - giving the birds, one by one,
A spotlight to sing their refrain.

Daring to go against all popular opinion, I love the soft winter rains, and I won't change my mind about it. It is pure delight to me. Soothing and calming. Providing interest to the day - a little bit of unpredictability never hurt anyone. Perfectly suited for a cup of coffee/tea and some deep reading or writing. I sit my rain-loving self at my desk looking out the window trying to take in all the atmosphere I possibly can, which usually results in me writing a few words, which morphs into a poem of sorts.

Whether you love rain or love when rays of sunshine glimmer across your face, notice those moments that you are graced with and stop to enjoy them. Take a deep breath and let nature soothe you by it being itself, simply doing what it was created to do. Don't let anyone tell you that you are wrong about it. Our own inclinations and the way we were made might need a different kind of atmosphere to feel calm and at peace. Discover what that is for you, if you don't know already, and let yourself indulge in the enjoyment of the simplest of moments.

Curious About The Old Curiosity Shop

 

She sat down at the window where she had spent so many evenings - darker far than this - and every thought of hope or cheerfulness that had occurred to her in that place came vividly upon her mind, and blotted out all its dull and mournful associations in an instant. (The Old Curiosity Shop, pg. 102)

If you have read any Charles Dickens you know that he wrote about the time in which he lived, creating characters that portray the aspects of life that were frequent in England in the 19th century. You can see the grit and grim on the paths of London. It is not always the friendly place we envision now. There were dark corners where child labour was the norm and poverty was extreme. I can see how Dickens would have been criticized for sentimentality in this novel, but even so, it has been worth the time reading it.  

We meet little Nell, who is mostly referred to as "the child" throughout the novel, when she is living in the old curiosity shop with her grandfather. She is a happy child, sweet and innocently facing challenges of the darkness and corruption during the industrial revolution in England. Her grandfather is poor and we find that he spends his evenings out at the gambling tables, leaving Nell at home alone, as he squanders away their last coins with that ill-fated hope of winning big next time. Instead he loses it all, and eventually becomes largely indebted to the evil-spirited Quilp (referred to as the dwarf), who finds immense pleasure in torturing everyone around him. When grandfather cannot pay their debts, Quilp takes over the shop and brave Nell sees the evil that he is, and proposes to her grandfather that they take their chances out in the world, getting away from London.

Can you suppose there's any harm in looking as cheerful and being as cheerful as our poor circumstances will permit? (pg. 173)

So, they walk into the countryside, meeting other travelers and gypsies, making acquaintances, and dodging some dangerous situations. They are sometimes met with kindness, sometimes absurdity, and always Nell tries to look toward hope. When her grandfather falters again, getting into the greedy slippery slope of gambling away all their money and being tempted to steal money to continue that urge, Nell again takes charge and forces them to walk away, deeper into the country, deeper into the heart of the black smokes of the industrial revolution.

The characters are quirky, offering some comic relief, especially with the lawyers Mr. Brass and his sister Sally Brass. Richard's observations and the comments he makes about them made me chuckle. While Quilp makes me cringe every time he shows up on the page with his evil grin and dark motives, I love the descriptions of nature in its raw and beautiful form, as Dickens personifies it, offering comfort to Nell as they journey, and contrasting it to the grim and darkness of certain places. 

The moon rose in all her gentle glory...

The noble sun rose up, driving the mists in phantom shapes before it...

Overarching the story is this sense that there is a Divine one overlooking the good, but it doesn't stop her from suffering. It just offers her comfort and glimpses of the light and joy because she chooses to see it before her, even in the more dire of circumstances. 

The same spirit which has supported her on the previous night, upheld and sustained her now. Her grandfather lay sleeping safely at her side, and the crime to which his madness urged him, was not committed. That was her comfort. (pg. 329)

Eventually they are met with kindness and a place of rest and solitude at an ancient church, where Nell and her grandfather are given a duty and house to stay in; a purpose for her life that Nell had been seeking all along and could not find. She is completely fascinated by the church, in equal measure, the church and the graveyard.

Upon these tenements, the attention of the child became exclusively riveted. She knew not why. The church, the ruin, the antiquated graves, had equal claims at least upon a stranger's thoughts, but from the moment when her eyes first rested on these two dwellings, she could turn to nothing else. (pg.354)

Sometimes in this big, strange world full of darkness, if we are able to let ourselves be riveted by the good, the life-filling, the acknowledged grace that sets itself before us, our decisions will be easy because they are obvious as we view the contrasting options the world sets up. Not letting ourselves get mixed up in the middle ground of grey maybes and slanted morals leads to a simpler life. Reading these kinds of stories highlights that way of living, by choice, and acceptance of the grace we are given, the goodness we can look to dwell in, to whatever end.

Everything in our lives, whether of good or evil, affects us most by contrast. (pg. 401)

The Library

Libraries only last as long as people find them useful.

How do you use your public libraries? Do you find them useful?

What would our world be like if there were no libraries? What if they were only digital?

There are millions upon millions of books in the world held within libraries. Vast collections of ancient documents of parchment, leather, paper, and clay tablet (the beginnings of the written collection). And for us, re-prints and modern books in our local libraries. Looking back through our history as humans, this chunky book, The Library, A Fragile History, is a lovely book to add to my own library and is a study of the history of the library through time. It explores how and why a library was created throughout history. What was happening in history to encourage or deflect the efforts of a library. I am endlessly fascinated by the history of the library as it mingles with the history of humanity. They cannot be taken separately as they are linked always. It discusses the effect of wars, shifts in culture, resources available (parchment, paper), religious history, printing history (printing press), manual processes (hand made), publishing history, human influence (power). It is about so much more than just a simple library.

In our modern times, I think some of the questions that rise are: What would happen if libraries were taken away, and everything was digital? If you wanted a book, you would go online? Where would the community meet for study, research, classes, events, or mingling? Where would children go to browse and delight in the sense of discovery of a book they never knew they wanted to read?

As the world shifts in priorities and deepens the reliance on technology,  libraries are used less and less. Many have become more of a community centre than a library. Is this a good thing that it has shifted from its original intent?

This was a brief age (in the time of illuminated manuscripts) in which books were an expression of the highest form of visual art, and where the price of a book might match or even outstrip the value of other possessions of the home.

Do we value books today in the same way? Most of the illuminated manuscripts or precious old books are now held within university libraries or great museums, some are on display so the public can view them. But is there a norm in our culture today that deeply values books as if they were treasures, rather than toss away items (or something to be moved to digital, and is it okay that one company, name starts with a G, owns and can control those digital books?)?

I treasure my books, but I don't just collect to collect. I read all of them. I remember growing up I revisited the same books on the bookshelves constantly. The feel of the pages, the scent of the book, all of it was enchanting to me. And it still is. As my own book collection has grown over time, I confess I am much more of a personal library person. I want to own the book, underline passages, jot notes in the margins, reflect and re-visit the book later, re-read in a year, etc. I cannot do that in library books. So, I do not check out books too often. But I love to buy books from their books sales, and I love to sit in the library to read or write in the quiet atmosphere that is a great alternative to a coffee shop for focused time (and while I am there end up picking some books from the surrounding shelves to dip into while there, sometimes checking them out to bring home). A library should always be a safe place for exploration, study, and learning.

But what do we do as the culture demands for libraries is diminishing? There were predictions years ago that books and publishing would be dead by around this time and that the digital books would take over everything - that was proven wrong. People still want physical books, and I believe they always will. More bookshops are opening. One opened this last summer in my downtown. There is an experience you get with a physical book that you cannot ever get with a kindle or reading online. The books on my shelves will never run out of batteries. They will never be lost in cyberspace. They will never by owned by G and controlled for any reason. I can go pick a book off my shelf anytime. No internet connection needed. 

I love reading about the history of books and collections like libraries because it tells a bigger story and asks some bigger questions I think deserve some thought. As you study books, you study human history. We have much wisdom to gain from this. Books and libraries have spanned thousands of years and something tells me that it will continue for the next thousand years. I won't be part of that time, but I can do my part now in appreciating books and places of learning like libraries and museums preserving such treasures, and sharing that love.