Summer Reading

 

Each of these books could easily warrant their own entire post where I could gush about them in an abundance of words. Instead, you might want to read each of them yourself. In fact, I encourage that. Interestingly, 3 out of 4 here are re-reads for me. I believe the best books are worth reading multiple times.

1. Phantastes by George MacDonald
I have been re-reading this book (for the ?th time?) along with the Rabbit Room, as they post questions and discussion video each week. It does not take much for me to pick up MacDonald - someone just has to mention it and I will go grab it to read again. Especially this book, which baptized the imagination of C.S. Lewis whilst he was still a young atheist. This fantasy book cause him to see beyond the film of the familiar, entering fairyland by way of Anodos (the hero), who is a young man who is lost not only in fairyland but also in himself. We learn with Anodos that in order to grow we have to go through the darkness and make mistakes as we go. He carries an innocence with him, which sometimes falls into the youthful pride of thinking he knows it all. That carries him into trouble, but when he finally gets it, he has grown into the man he was made to be, which is the beauty of the story.

This book has so much depth that I had missed in my previous readings that is coming out more now, and aided by the discussion videos at the Rabbit Room. My appreciation for MacDonald has hit an even deeper level.

2. Dune by Frank Herbert
I don't know if you are excited for the movie coming out, but it is one I am excited to see, and that is a rare thing for me to say about movies. I am the advocate who says the book is always better, and I stand by that notion. The movie does look amazing from what I have seen in the trailer and some interviews. I just had to re-read this one as we get closer to the movie release. 

Dune is a fantasy sci-fi novel published in 1965. It follows the house of Atreides and their move to the planet Arrakis, or Dune. Politically, there is a lot of  turmoil and scheming (mostly revolving around the spice, only harvested on Dune). Paul, the young hero, must learn how to be a leader and recognize he has faults as a human. Environmentally, Dune is a planet of total desert where water is a precious resource - not one drop is wasted. Tears are seen as gifts because tears are precious water. Mystically, a complex created set of beliefs and mysticism span different religions, which parallels a theme of the use and misuse of power. Much of this follows an ancient belief system, contrasting the very futuristic time in which Dune takes place.
"I must not fear - fear is the mind killer" runs the course of the book. It is a perfect epic story for summer. 

3. Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers
Classic whodunit mystery of who killed the painter and how was the murder done? Sure, there are many books with this kind of premise, but in the hands of Dorothy, it is always one step above all others, intellectually and complexity. Lord Peter is so fun to follow around and his manservant, Bunter, is an absolute delight to read. I often forget I am reading about a murder, their banter is so good. 

I sometimes get lost in the details being thrown at me in these mysteries. Lord Peter interviews this suspect, then that one, and another one. Soon, you wonder how he can keep track of all the people involved, the timetables of the trains they took, where the bikes were left, what time that suspect drove around that curve in the road. I just hang on and let the mystery take me, and it always takes me into wonder and enjoyment as I try to solve the case. I catch glimpses of details that show up later, and congratulate myself that I was detecting correctly. Then, I am taken for a loop as my weak theory is wrong, until Lord Peter clears it up in the end with a really fun re-play of the entire murder sequence.

4. Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle
I read this book so many years ago, it was time for a re-read, and thanks to my friend Emily for gifting me the book a little while ago, as it caused me to pick it up again. This book is the musings of L'Engle on being creative and a Christian. She often would get asked about how to be a Christian artist. This is her answer to that question - a whole book. It pulls on much of the threads that C.S. Lewis and Dorothy L. Sayers wrote about regarding good work, good writing. There is so much bad art out there labelled as "Christian". It is better to do really excellent work, which does not have to say Jesus in every paragraph. A good writer can say deeply Christian things in a story without mentioning God at all.  Her words have always encouraged me to create with the imaginative tug into the deeper, even if critiqued that it is not what will "sell" in the market.

Coffee and Keats

 

It really is a good idea to start a morning with coffee and Keats. I have been reading through this book of  selected poems of John Keats (1814 - 1820) and so enjoy the progression of his development as a poet. They are placed in chronological order from when he was  ages 20 - 25, and as I read more and more, I see the skill of language used and marvel at the beauty of his imagery. The improvement is remarkable. He had a way with words - his imagination was immense and so ahead of his own life, which sadly ended at age 25.

This poem in particular, titled as "When I have fears that I may cease to be" was actually written in a letter to a friend, as he was sharing his fear of dying (long before he became ill) before his ability to write all that he needed/wanted/desired to write. His creative energies were just growing into who he was made to be. He had decided not to continue his studies of medicine (on the journey to becoming a doctor) but turned to devote his life to writing poetry.

In this short poem, he embodies the fears of all of us who create - that we will not have enough time to create all that we were meant to create. He does it so beautifully, in this sonnet that he models after Shakespeare's sonnets. 

When I have fears that I may cease to be

   Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,

   Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,

   Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

   Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

   That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

   Of unreflecting love—then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats' best poems are written after he scribbled this poem in a letter. And he produced a lot of poetry in the time before his death. As I read this, as a writer, I feel the same pang of time, knowing that there is so much I need to write. It is not just a passing fancy - oh I hope to write some more one day - it is a deeply rooted purpose in life. I agree with Charlotte Brontë in what she wrote in her journal - "I must write". 

I love how Keats phrases the cloudy symbols above as his inspiration and then never having the ability to trace their shadows with the magic hand of chance. For what is the work of a sub-creator but to take that deep searching for beauty through experimenting with words in the most thoughtful manner?

And oh, how my pen has so much more to glean from my teeming brain. I love that image of the gleaning of the brain, just getting the bits and clips takes time and practice. Just as this collection of poems shows me, in my very long appreciation of Keats, that his poetry grew and improved over time. I read two of his longest poems, Endymion (1817), and then read his later poem Hyperion (1819), and there is a significant difference in the flow and imagery of these poems that makes the latter the better poem by far. That's why the idea of gleaning is so perfect, as a reminder that any skill or talent that we work on is done not in vain. Every little bit that we give to our talent to share with the world might have meaning and purpose well beyond our own time.

Time Present and Time Past

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

- T.S. Eliot, "The Four Quartets"

Time is a funny thing, is it not? It distorts our memories - sometimes it feels to us that time is speeding by so quickly, whilst other times it feels that time is creeping just barely. Like holding infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour, to borrow from William Blake. Sometimes it feels like something happened yesterday, when it was actually 10 years ago that it took place. We are stuck in a sort of time tunnel. We are not actually able to slow it down or speed it up, unless we move away from the fixedness of our planet earth. I won't go into that, but it is fascinating to consider that time is not the same everywhere in our galaxy and universe, but for us it remains linear.

But something simple like a very quick stop at the grassy foot of my old college chapel one morning sets my mind to wondering back into memory of my years past on this campus. Day in day out, walking these paths under the low-ceilinged esplanades to class and into the buildings designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I appreciated my time in college when I was living on campus. I am a lifetime student in my heart. I loved exploring the buildings and getting to know their history, and I loved learning in the classrooms. 

I was a very studious student, foregoing many social activities to study. Immediately after college I had a little regret not being more social, but now I don't. Because that is not who I am. I really am that studious girl who always has been and always will be happiest whilst wrapped in between pages of good books, and preferably surrounded by books as well. I behold the time I have and seek out that which I do not know, to acquire wisdom through the eyes and words of others. There is simply too much wonderful in our world to learn, read, and ponder.

The campus of cement blocks shaped into buildings with odd alcoves and layers, completed with triangular edges somehow feel like they grow out of the ground, which was Wright's intention. I loved anytime I had a reason to go into the Annie Pfeifer Chapel, pictured here on a gleaming hot morning. It always holds a peaceful stillness held softly in the light streaming in from the tall steeple rising (like a bicycle rack as students used to say). There is comfort in familiar shapes used in utmost creative ways. It somehow holds together time present and time past.

A Poetical Gathering

 

I am just a fly on the wall in the house of painter Robert Haydon in 1817, on that December 28 evening in London when he invited the writers Charles Lamb, William Wordsworth, and John Keats for dinner. What if we somehow could have a recording of the conversation of that dinner? Wouldn't that be something? In our current time, it's nothing to record a meeting with the click of a button. But in 1817? Only what is left behind in letters and journals lives on for us to ponder now.

Haydon was at that time working on the grand painting "Christ's Entry", a piece which he worked on for years, inserting the faces of Wordsworth, Keats, and Lamb, among other historical figures like Newton and Voltaire in the crowd on the side of Christ entering Jerusalem on the donkey. This invitation to dinner was partly to see the progress of the painting that each of these poets were part of. 

You cannot bring up Wordsworth and Keats without also making the connections of the friendships of Coleridge and Shelley, among other poets and writers in London at the time. The first and second generations of the Romantics mingle here, a period in English history that produced some of the most beautiful poetry and thoughts on nature. As a counter to the purely rational reductive Enlightenment period of thought, the Romantics did not look to science but to nature and beauty to find truth. 

In reading this encounter and about the intertwining of their creative lives, I am reminded that there is a real importance of collaboration in the sense of sharing one's work with others, but it does open up the door to receiving critique. Sometimes critique will come through other opinions - Wordsworth did not have the warmest regard for Keats's poem "Endymion" that he was invited to read from on a different evening as an unfinished work. When Keats finished reading a passage, everyone looked to the elder Wordsworth for praise of the younger Keats and he coolly remarked, "A very pretty piece of Paganism." 

Hopefully more often it is praise and encouragement that comes to us through creative friendships. Though it is a very difficult thing to open up one's heart to reveal creative work. When you create something, it is heart and soul that is put into the work, and the aim is work that looks toward a perfected skill. It is always a process of progress and improvement. In just a two year time period from this 1817 dinner, Keats for example will reach his epoch talent, writing poems that are absolute treasures. We study them today as masterpieces (his splendid Odes for example). It is an encouraging thought that in Keats's time he was not fully appreciated. Of course he sadly died of consumption at age 25 and I wonder if he would have seen any of such deserving praise for his work if he had lived longer.

Oh the wondering! Well, it's been an enjoyable evening dropping into a creative-filled dinner discussion. Until next time.

Eventide

 

The sun is setting later each night. It is a slow burn turning orange as it descends from our viewpoint. Even as the sun sets, it stays bright with lingering light for such a long time. I can sit at my desk with a cup of tea and drink two cups before the rays diminish. Long summer days awaken in us a new sense of reality over the hottest months of the year. Trees have burst forth with the greenest leaves. I feel the shift in the air and it invokes a mellow vibe in me; something causes me to linger in thought - maybe it is the extra light. But the eventide falls and the words flow on a particularly windy evening. For now, the evenings have been dry and dusty, allowing a coolness to seep into the strong breezes.

Eventide

A wistful glow dances through leaves

Basking in the refreshing air, I seize

A breath where heart and soul choose a place

Here in the quiet melancholy of grace.

The softness of the air and light

Fills me with an atmospheric delight.

I am in the space between the trees,

Letting a subtle moment fill my needs.

If you look for me, I shall be here,

In my mind, letting in a breezy clear.

Brilliant Storytelling

 

I am thankful that in the last year I have discovered many writers, especially a wonderful, brilliant writer and storyteller, Susanna Clarke. I am absolutely enchanted by her writing, her style, her subtle themes and metaphors that reach into the past from writers, myths, and legends that influenced her. She writes with elegance and magic that I find so often missing from today's writers.

For years I was curious about Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, but had not read it. Yet I wanted to at some point. Then, in September her newest book came out, Piranesi. In the last year I have been more intentional about supporting writers and their new releases as Covid had shut down so many bookshops and events/talks for authors. So in September, my interest was peaked, as this was already an author I wanted to read. 

I ordered Piranesi and read it in a couple days (it's not a long book at all - less than 250 pages), in a mysterious, enchanted, puzzlement of a story wrapped in wonder and imagination I deeply desire in a good book. It is difficult to describe the book without spoiling important things, but all I will say is - it is marvelous. I was left wanting more, and the feeling automatically swept over me that I wanted to read it again. 

The next step was to finally read Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, which I did. You can read my post about it HERE. It was a heavy volume of more than 1,000 pages, and I loved it. I was further enchanted by her talented writing. After that epic book I still wanted more, and discovered that there was one more book available, The Ladies of Grace Adieu, which is a collection of short stories. I just finished reading this collection and feel that want for more yet again. These were all written whilst she wrote Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, and they feel like footnotes from that epic book (if you read it you would have noticed how her footnotes were stories themselves, often extending to the following pages). Indeed, even Jonathan Strange and other familiar characters appear in a few of the stories. The magical charm and wit of each story and her writing in general is sweeping my imagination with wonder-filled stories and I am only sad that there are not more books to explore by her. 

Is there an author you more recently discovered and wish there was more to read by such talent?

Ode to the Coffee Shop

 

I sat in my neighborhood coffee shop for the first time in over a year to enjoy my latte and write as I used to do on a weekly basis. I usually go in just to pick up coffee, but I have so deeply missed sitting there to drink and write. Real ceramic cups were still not being used, but I finally got a tiny sense of the way it used to be. Naturally a poem unfolded in appreciation of coffee shops.

Ode to the Coffee Shop

The simple nature of a semi-social space -

Chairs and tables sit lingering guests

Sipping hot lavender lattes in a place

set-up with vibes minimal, trendy, and cool,

I likely don't belong, and yet we all do.

The beauty of a coffee shop is a rule

unspoken, that all belong here and now.

If you have a love for coffee and tea

place your order, sip, and wonder how

they make a drink so keen, it makes

you desire to linger, like a cosy home.

It was a New Time ; It was an Old Time

It was a new time, it was an old time.

It was a strange, in between time.

We are in a new season of transition, one we have not experienced in our lifetimes before. Exiting a global pandemic isn't something we have had to think about before this year. This is the chance for a reset in how we do things, as a whole. My big question is - do we make meaningful, thoughtful changes to the way we did things before?

In the spirit of Charles Dickens' opening lines to A Tale of Two Cities ("It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...") can we see the contrasts of our last 14 months with fresh eyes to keep the good hanging around before it all goes back to the normal it is all rushing back to? I don't discount the loss and the pain of this last year in any way, but there are good things that can come out of a tough time, and I think history shows that in ways of innovation, poetry, story, and other creative acts of community. 

When we are forced to look at our comfortable way of life in an alternate way (with a newly revised sense of appreciation) our brains begin to formulate and ponder in a different way. Sometimes periods of trial forces upon our human nature something uncomfortable, hopefully resulting in a sense of ingenuity and creativity as we move through it. 

We humans have a great sense of resilience and comradery. In times of crisis, the importance of looking beyond ourselves fills the spirit. That quickly leaves the atmosphere in times of prosperity, though. It almost seems like we are right on the cusp of understanding this.  

Can we embrace the new time and the changes we will implement, as well as hold onto the good of the old? In a similar sense, can we embrace the old time whilst holding onto new goodness that can come through creative changes to lead to something better for all of us? 

These are just some muddy musings I ponder (in very general terms because there are multilayered elements of thought)  as I see things pushing forward. I don't pretend to have answers, but I take the advice of Rainer Rilke in his Letters to a Young Poet, to live the unanswered questions, to dwell in them. Let the unanswered questions live out as they unfold and some day we may live into the answers.

Take us to the Cosmos

 

Do you ever look up at the sky in wonder? Do you ponder what is out there beyond our telescopes? We humans are naturally inquisitive and we want to know more. Always seeking to discover and explore, if we set our sights into the imagination, there are no bounds. We can reach the other side of the universe to visit strange galaxies and planets. 

It amazes me that even all of the distant nebulae, galaxies, quasars, and black holes are part of God's creativity. God's creation is not limited to the bounds of earth, it expands out to everything we know, and even what we don't know yet (like what is dark matter?). For the earth did not come first and then the rest of the universe. No, God created all of it, with earth coming along at some point along the history of the cosmos. In the twinkling of an eye, really, God's eye.

Several weeks ago some of my family visited the Kennedy Space Center on a windy, chilly, rain-soaked day. We live close enough to make a day trip of it (how we were able to coordinate everyone is a mystery to me), and I hadn't been since I was a teenager, so my sense of wonder was opened again. Going with my two nieces and one nephew made me see things through their playful, imaginative eyes. If you read my blog regularly, you know I am endlessly fascinated by the cosmos and astronomy. Not only is it always a realm of possibly discovery, but it is a beauty of God's creation that we get to look up and see from our cosy neighborhoods (we can view with our eyes the moon, planets like Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Saturn, and sometime Mercury, plus innumerable amounts of stars).

We saw the Space Shuttle Atlantis, a full replica of the Hubble Space Telescope, the rocket garden, Mars mission objects including a full replica of the current Mars rover, Perseverance, and the helicopter, Ingenuity, which are both dancing around the Martian soil as I write. Dashing between heavy rain drops, we ate lunch in their large dining hall, watched a couple 3D IMAX films, and let the little ones play in the kids planet zone. 

Evidence to the Mystery

 

Evidence to the Mystery

A fluttering flit glint flashes by

Crimson and bold, yet hard to find

Smart, keen, gliding swiftly to twig

To and fro, staccato chirps the sign

of the feathery presence.

I watch closely from my perch -

set in the trees, branch and leaf

are my window decor, viewing life

breathing in and out, a brief

ever-changing view, in hue, with a clue.

To the secrets hidden in sight -

An abundance present outside and within.

Pressing to our home, secret and delight -

Thoughtful notions to express and pin

as evidence to the mystery.