Book Hangover

Been there too many times. However, sometimes taking two aspirin and getting a good night's sleep helps . . . . When that fails, a stiff whiskey sours will do the trick.

Maybe it's Time

To whom it m may concern:

After months of on-again-off-again reading, I've finally finished Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. To begin, let me mention why it took so long. Besides the normal drama life throws at us all, I relocated very long distance, not once, but twice during my tenure in this massive tome. 

Published in 1749, like its predecessor, Don Quixote by Cervantes, it is a mammoth book, nearly 800 pages. The similarities don't stop at mere length though. Like Cervantes's work, this book is chocked full of chapters. No, correct that, this work is full of books like Homer or Virgil. However, there are 18 books in all which are then subdivided into short chapters, usually between 10 and 18 per book. So it doesn't take a rocket scientist or math whiz to see the magnitude of verbiage awaiting the reader. 

For those who have mercifully forgotten, or who wish to re-read my semi-review of Don Quixote, you will find it embedded in a much longer post here. However, in case it's not clear, the similarities to Cervantes is primarily restricted to age and length. Otherwise, Fielding's "history", as he's fond of calling it, bears little resemblance to the idiotic foolery of Cervantes's deluded, and most times, down right dangerous, Clouseauesque knight. 

However, for all his improvements on Cervantes, he manages to create some annoying features of his own. Namely, at the beginning of each book, he introduces them with a first chapter "preface" as he will later call them. Naturally, and might I add, ironically, he eventually writes one of these introductions, late in the book, sadly, explaining that they are worthless, have nothing to do with the topic, slams those who write them for plays, and claims one could mix and match the ones written for plays without any ill effects to the reader, the topic at hand, or the work thereto appended. Many are interesting in their own right, but most are simply side bar reading material, typically unrelated to the topic at hand, dragging out his already too long narrative far beyond reasonable expectations. In any event, one can easily do the mental arithmetic and determine that there are 18 "filler" chapters (and one horrid, dedicatory epistle to his patron at the beginning of the book) which, by the author's own admission, are worthless and have nothing to add to the story. 

Now, my point is this, I'm one who has vowed never to read an abridged book on the first reading. I don't want some, often anonymous editor behind the curtain somewhere deciding to what I should or should not be exposed, denying me the privilege he no doubt once had while earning the credentials necessary to edit such works. I want the full experience of what the author intended, at least the first time. On subsequent journeys through a work, I might cull some material, known to be boring or insignificant, on my own, but never on my first time through. 

However, maybe it's time I do. Honestly, I'm not getting any younger. The faster time slips past me, the more I rue wasting it reading non-essential drivel. Now that I try to restrict my reading material to the "great" books, I'm finding that there are often time killers in them at times. Truth be told, I did not finish the dedicatory epistle, and realized, by the second introductory essay, as he also calls them, that they were irrelevant to the topic up coming or past. I easily could have played the odds and missed nothing, saving myself the time of reading at least 15 or 16 chapter length, and often the longest ones, time wasters. In the end, I stuck to my guns and read every word. I really need to revisit my tenacious resistance to abridgment. 

Regardless of my proclivities and his editorial style, his story is coherent and the characters are sympathetic and repeatedly thrown into difficulties which, at every turn, threaten to undo what each is trying desperately to accomplish. It's a classic tale, a boy chasing girl, with two protagonists, and no real antagonists.

Fielding's writing is lively, fresh, mostly light, and very funny. He is good with puns and turns of phrase. Like Cervantes before him, he engages in a delightful blend of meta-fictional elements, regularly, as narrator, speaking directly to his reading audience, rather than through some agent in the story. Like Cervantes, Fielding is truly a character in his own story.

One linguistic caveat: keep Google handy if you are rusty, like I am, on your Latin. There are lots of untranslated, albeit, short Latin phrases. Most are meant to mock the pseudo intellectualism of one of Tom Jones's travelling companions, who either misquotes, or worse, misapplies them to the conversation. Maybe that's what the author intends to communicate by not translating them (longer Latin quotes he does translate, btw). I'll let you decide. 

Caveat number two: there are seemingly endless conversations that, for all practical purposes, serve only to elongate the work. You know: filler, fluff, blurb. Apparently Fielding was being paid by the word *smirks*. One could easily eliminate a few books by cutting, or sharply truncating said adjunct conversations.

Lastly, as is so often the case today, one fancies that Fielding probably ran up hard against his publication date as he attempts to connect his ridiculously complex plot in book 18 alone. Thus, he is forced to render his concluding narrative in 13 chapters when previously he would have taken at least 60 chapters (often dispersed throughout 5 full books) to cover the same material. Needless to say, what began as a leisurely meander through the complications of class conscious, young love, ends more than a bit rushed. 

Nevertheless, all in all, it's a good read. Just plan on taking your time. 

Until  next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, read good, even long books, and remember to breathe.

All Too True!

I blush to think of how many times I've thought this!

New Year's Resolutions

To whom it may concern:

For all the usual reasons, I'm not a fan of New Year's resolutions. Some of the best life corrections I have ever made were done on the spur of a moment. To me if something is worth doing, it's worth doing today. However, given the radical changes in my life this year, I took the week between Christmas and New Year's to evaluate the year ahead. This gestation period yielded the following:

I want to finish 50 books in 2013. I'll draw these from a list of varying topics. One or two of them might actually take the whole year to complete. Such are theoretical books. Others will be simple and consumed in a weekend or so. Regardless, I'm going to read more.

Writing seems to be my latest kick. Thus, I want to dedicate at least an hour or two each day to doing nothing but creative writing. I currently have 3 blogs. However, I really want to try my hand at short stories I could submit for publication in the real world. I can't imagine seeing my name in print, but I'd like to try. Whatever comes of it, only this time next year will tell. 

More than anything else, I want to really live this year. Like Thoreau, I don't want to come to the end of my life, or this coming year, only to find that I'd never really lived. I want to love those around me more, and grow. 

Thanks for reading, 

and until next time,

contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Happy New Year!

   

You Can Never Have too Many

This reminds me of Thomas Jefferson's 1815 quote to John Adams:

         "I cannot live without books." 

                  This is my idea of Heaven!

The Irony

To whom it may concern:

Saturday night after a long day of shopping our favorite second hand stores, we settled in for the night to unpack two large bags of books we'd bought. While doing that, something happened, something simply spectacular, something I've wanted to do for a very long time, something I've dreamed about for decades but never, or very rarely, experienced, and never like this night. We managed a scene right out of John Denver's Poems, Prayers, and Promises, where, after talking quietly from the heart about the things most important to us, and passing the pipe around as it were, when I got to it, I opened a used copy of some collected poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and began to survey its contents.

For whatever reason, I began at the back and began sampling here and there as I moved forward. As I was moved, I began reading aloud to her. What a magical moment: sitting with my best friend and lover, in a dimly lit room, sharing thoughts, dreams, and then poems from this newly purchased volume. Such a state eventually lead us to quoting favorite lines from memory where we could, and searching for others online when memory gave way to the ravages of time. 

After surveying a few pages, I came across his poem entitled Haunted Houses. Upon reading it, I realized that, like second hand houses, anything we purchase used, including books - maybe especially books - comes with a history, a past, ghosts if you dare. Some second hand items are significant, like valuable antiques, others simply carry the impressions, scars, and spirits of previous owners. This irony was not lost on either of us as I read Longfellow's beautiful argument, so lucidly laid out in Haunted Houses, from a used book. It was such a mystical experience all by itself that I have to share a significant stanza with you. It runs thus:

"We have no title-deeds to house or lands,

Owners and occupants of earlier dates

From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,

And hold in mortmain still their old estates."

What a perfect experience: sitting in a used house, built and inhabited since the early 60's, reading from a previously owned book of poems, immersed, or should I say, accompanied by, not only the spectral spirits of earlier generations of readers and dwellers, but also in the authorial presence of Longfellow himself (Anyone unfamiliar with this author/reader union needs to read Walt Whitman who makes it a habit to address future generations of readers as being present with them. Longfellow, while not as explicit, does the same thing by addressing topics such as time passage, aging, and the impermanence of life and reality). We both independently expressed feeling the ghosts of this simple volume. If I might be so bold, I'd say that we ALL enjoyed a beautiful evening singing chants from Longfellow and others.

If you can, get into the habit of buying second hand goods when you can, and you too can encounter these same multi-generational spirits on a regular basis. Please don't think this is just for books, houses, furniture, pictures, and sundry housewares can have the same effect. All one needs is something durable with a past.  I can't think of anything more spine tinglingly flattering than being honored to contribute to the life of a piece of furniture, a garment, or a book, a place, carrying on it's history, adding to its legacy. There's also something comfortably right about it. So join in and add your emotional footprint, your energy signature, to the life of the tangible.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

(Favorite Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 1947. Henry Seidel Canby, ed. Doubleday & Company, Inc. Garden City, New York. pp.276,7)

Never Judge a Book by Its Cover?

To whom it may concern:

Ted Bishop, a professor at the University of Alberta, wrote a book chronicling a motorcycle trip he made from Edmonton to Austin Texas (and back again - Just like a Hobbit - well if Hobbits rode motorcycles). While in Austin he did research on James Joyce's Ulysses. Among other things which he observed, what struck him most was the fact that the notes and questions left by previous owners in the various margins of the editions available to him (and apparently, the University of Texas at Austin has quite the collection of this work) varied greatly depending on the cover of the book and the various prefaces and introductions. He claims, as you'll see below, that all that preceded the text in a given edition of Ulysses colored the reader's expectations, and therefore his marginal remnants. 

Now, loving books myself, I've judged many a book by its binding, cover, paper (quality, thickness, AND color), age, and too many intangibles to mention. However, when I read this paragraph congealed from Bishop's careful research, I was astonished at it's truth.

"Seeing all these different editions together I was beginning to get a sense of how the physical book would change your reading of the text. I don't know the term yet, but what I was doing was reading the "paratext," the elements surrounding the text - cover art, blurbs, prefaces, introductions - all of those "thresholds," as the French critic Gerard Genette calls them, that we must cross before encountering the text itself. There is no such thing as a pure text; we always reach it through the paratext , and though we may try to ignore it, it shapes our reading. Who said, "Don't kjudge a book by its cover"? We always do. (Riding With Rilke: Reflections on Motorcycles and Books. Ted Bishop. 2006. W. W. Norton & Company. New York. p. 119).

Because of this paragraph alone, I now consciously attempt to begin reading a book at the first line of chapter 1 regardless of what precedes it. Of course, I must still see the cover, must still evaluate (at least when purchasing a copy) the quality of the paper if I expect it to last, and the myriad of other things related to the pure physicality of the volume itself. Thus, in many ways I don't always succeed. After all, we all know that often an author's best argument is in his prologue. So not being swayed by paratext material is hard under the best of conditions. Nevertheless, I thought I'd share this one caveat about reading which might have otherwise gone unobserved by readers like myself.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe (and skip the paratext material!).

Invisibility

To whom it may concern:

I was watching the 1977 cartoon version of Tolkien's The Hobbit last night. While it is silly in so many ways, something stood out which made me question the plausibility of the concept of invisibility. No. I don't think it's really possible. No. I don't want it to be possible either. Given that it's a fictitious concept, maybe I'm thinking about it too much. However, I, and many writers throughout the ages,  have thought about it a lot, and this movie only re-opened the mental quandry again. 

The concept comes up early and often in man's literary history. In my experience, the earliest I've encountered the theme of invisibility was in Plato's The Republic where he discusses the ring of Gyges. Similar to Tolkien's ring of power, this ring, when worn a certain way, renders the wearer invisible. In like manner, H. G. Wells's The Invisible Man, could be characterized as a modern re-telling of the same episode. Here he wages the same argument and yields the same basic answers (While Wells answers clearly the question of what one would do while invisible if he knew he couldn't be caught, he doesn't wrestle the same way Socrates does about ethics. He implies a lot, but doesn't quite tackle, to my satisfaction, the issues Socrates raises). 

All that said, my basic problem is this: when one is in an invisible state, by means of a ring or other device, what actually is invisible? It's been too long since I read about Gyges or the invisible man in Wells. In Plato, Gyges was not, but in Wells, the invisible person might have to be naked. Does anyone remember specifically? I bring this exact point up because it is at this very point that my metaphysically addicted brain becomes over active. 

Let me expand on my question by allusion to The Hobbit. In this version of the movie, Bilbo wears the ring, waves sting (his small sword) around, and it appears, tho it's not stated as such, that the sword was still visible. I really don't care whether it was or not, my question remains, or at least shifts to: what is the basis of invisibility of inanimate objects? Obviously, Bilbo's clothes were invisible, and if you follow where I'm going, what else would be? I'd always assumed his sword or other carried objects were. However, what becomes of objects or people with whom he comes in contact? I.e. what about if he's riding a pony, carrying a basket, a back pack, or throws something which had previously been in his grasp and presumed invisible? Does it suddenly appear? Does the pony, etc vanish when he wears the ring? This is a problem to me because if it's anything he comes into contact with which becomes invisible, wouldn't the entire world (Universe?) by extension also become invisible because his feet are on the ground?

More recently, Harry Potter is also entrusted with an invisibility cloak by someone. As you'll remember, everything which is covered by it is rendered invisible. Of course, this only raises more questions than it answers to me, because, like the problems stated above, and very kin to the paradox of what container can hold a liquid which can consume anything?; why isn't Potter's invisibility cloak, well . . . invisible too? Or have we passed into the problem of the set of all sets? Maybe I'm digressing. 

Seems sort of self defeating to me. Silly I know, but I'm curious. Maybe I've just thought too much about it. Thankfully, it's never affected my enjoyment of stories where such devices grant the user invisibility. As a matter of fact, I can't imagine a good fantasy tale without at least someone going invisible part of the time. It's kind of like Sci-fi without some time travel. It just seems right, even tho in reality, it seems puzzling and problematic. Ah, well, maybe I need something else to think about.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries (*puts on magic ring*) and remember to breathe

*disappears* 

Favorite Books: Part II

To whom it may concern:

After my rather long winded introduction, let's proceed directly to my favorite books, as grammatically conflicting for me as that name is. Well, almost directly . . . I must admit that I have many difficulties defining favorites of any kind. Maybe this is because, when applied to books, I enjoy too many genres of reading material. Or maybe it's that not all classics, whether books or other things, are created equally. Whatever it really is, laying out even a simple, general list of favorites is tricky for me at best, cumbersome at worst. Add to this the fact that I strive to read the canonical books of any field when learning about a topic. As a result, I've been plowing thru the standard canon of literary works for years. However, to claim that every work which appears on a recommended or required reading list is a page turner or immortal book for some common reason, is a mistake. 

For example, Don Quixote is a classic which appears on nearly every reading list I've ever seen, from High School Summer reading programs to requirements for Doctoral candidates. There are many reasons for its inclusion. Primarily I think, because it's the very first truly modern novel. At least that's the claim advanced by it's defenders. However, I did not find it a good read by any definition I can apply to it. While this is my mere uneducated opinion (i.e. I haven't studied the text in a class environment), I have read it and compared it to others of the same genre and find that it rambles, takes unnecessary detours, seems to contradict itself in places, and generally runs way too long (up to 1,000 pages in some editions!)

However, to it's credit, it incorporates multiple narrators (say some, and I'm not quite sure but that they are correct. Maybe a second reading is in order?), a complex plot which, written in two halves has the characters reacting in part two to real events in the life of the author. To explain, in part two, the main characters find a sequel to their own adventure, which really was published in Cervante's time prior to his publication of part two. In it, they read about themselves and decide to take alternate paths in order to frustrate the false writer's narrative. Quite complex and ingenious I think. Sort of time travel before the fact. The author also utilizes a good bit of meta fictional writing long before Calvino or his predecessors came along.

Nevertheless, as a novel, the story sucks, pure and simple. While there are many stories within the larger story; and often they are superior in quality to the deluded and ill conceived adventures of Don Quixote. However, don't let the fact that it's mammoth and shows up on every reading list in creation fool you. It's worth reading for the reasons I listed above. Prior to it, there was nothing else like it.

Yet to determine its true worth, ask yourself why there are so few movies about it (I actually can't think of any, but I haven't Googled it either). Also, ask yourself why you don't know anyone who's read it. Or if they claim they have, see if they can name any adventure other than the one with the windmills. That "adventure" occurred in the first 20 pages or so (Chapter 2 or 3 I think). I mention this because that's the only comment I typically get from people when discussing Quixote in person, I'm convinced that most people have only read that far. If that describes you, don't feel alone. There are entire blogs devoted to this book in which some of the authors confess that they've never read beyond the first part (which doesn't even represent the first half). In my experience, there are many who have tried to read Quixote but few, and by few I mean almost none, who finished it. Don't feel like the Lone Ranger on this one. Besides, it's not one of my favorites. 

OK, after a horribly long winded aside, let me finally list some of my actual favorite titles and tell you why I enjoyed them. What follows may seem too generalized for true favorites, but to me the literary world is a buffet of flavors. There are simply too many beautiful options to settle on just a handful. I hope you'll enjoy some of favorites. So, here goes! 

For fiction in general, my favorites are among the oldest and most famous. I think it impossible to surpass Homer's Iliad and Odyssey for pure fiction and creative genius. The former is deep, in many ways darker than the latter, and deals with more pointed issues. In the Iliad Homer hammers home again and again what it means to be human. Both take noticeably divergent perspectives on the power of the gods. The latter is at places funny, lighter, and contains rollicking adventures not even matched by Tolkien, Twain, or Lewis. Throw in the lyrical quality of even many English translations, and Homer can sing you (and he sang it for his original audience(s) rather than required them to read it) into a world where one-eyed monsters live, where men get turned to pigs, the wrath of one man alters the course of history, and the knowledge of one's future is anything but a blessing. These stories are alive and still kick after 2,800+ years. 

Next on my favorite fiction list has to be The Lord of the Rings by Tolkien. It is epic, deep, dark (except for the Hobbit), and breathtakingly profound in places. Beyond that, it's a riveting tale told by a master storyteller which keeps my mind glued to it, savoring morsels from it for weeks after the last page has come and gone. The hobbits in it ironically demonstrate to us what it means to be human, which is, or should be, the task of all good, serious literature.

For sheer depth of imagery, poetic beauty, theological excellence, drama, and overall effect (and more quotable quotes for me than in most Shakespearean works, not to mention a thorough romp through mythology by allusion), one would be very hard pressed to select anything better than Paradise Lost by Milton. His depiction of the fall into sin by our original parents paints a disparity few of us have even pondered, fewer still have grasped, and no one else I've read can communicate. It too is deep, dark (I'm seeing a pattern here), tragic, heavy, hauntingly beautiful,  tells me where I came from, what I am, what I should be, and why I'm not what I should be. At the end of it all, he not only tells us what it's like to be human, but why we are like it.

On a less epic scale, I've read many other works multiple times, which in my mind qualify them a favorite. At the pinnacle of this heap fall none other than the works of the venerable Charles Dickens. I can't recall how many times I've read Great Expectations. And I have read The Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve for the last few years. Some of my most loved and hated characters come from Dickens's pages. More evil than Gollum or Sauron is Quilp from The Old Curiosity Shop. I actually cheered when his dead body washed up on the river bank. There would be few better men than the Cheeryble brothers in Nicholas Nickleby. Nowhere in my experience, either in life or in literature, have I seen such a pure form of Christian love for another where the right hand truly didn't know what the left was doing. These aren't good books and characters, they are great ones. Don't pass up Dickens.

Others in this category would include The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis (his space trilogy is great too). I've read them at least 5 times. Dracula by Bram Stoker, Frankenstien by Mary Shelley, The Foundation and Robot series by Assimov, To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee, In Cold Blood and Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote form a group of works divergent in their topics and approaches, powerful in their delivery, and simply unforgettable in the stories they tell. In a totally different vein, the fictional works of Aynn Rand are enlightening even if one doesn't buy her philosophy. 

Of course, no list of my favorites would be complete if I didn't enjoy in Shakespeare, the short works and poems by Poe, the novels of the Bronte sisters, and the classic short stories from O. Henry. Lately I've been reading the works of Thomas Hardy. I you enjoy not knowing the end until it happens, read him. Be warned tho, he attacks nearly every social convention, and the three novels I've read are tragedies. However, he's easy to read, and for classics, are real page turners. I suppose my list could go on if I actually went and looked at the books on my shelf. But by doing it from memory, I'm sure I've caught the best of the best.

Naturally, I enjoy good non-fiction too. However, since nonfiction can be very categorical  favorites might be harder to recommend. Thus, I'll only mention the tip of the top here and as generally applicable as possible. The Bible can't be overlooked if one expects to be fully educated (and maybe now one would have to toss into the same argument the Koran and other religious texts. While I've never read the Koran, I  imagine it's only a matter of time before I will). One need not believe it to benefit from it, but so much in our western culture comes from it, that one really has to be familiar with it's stories and themes. Mythology, Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Luther, Calvin, Descartes, Kant, Hegel, Heidegger, and others have shaped the way we view the world around us. In a sociological context, one really should read Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death, and Technopolies. And if you've ever wondered why the modern corporation operates  the way it does, read Matthew B. Crawford's  Shop  Class as Soulcraft. Just for fun, if for no other reason than to be able to argue with his defenders, it's worth the effort it takes to read Robert Persig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (The follow up book Lila is no where near the quality of ZaAMM, read it at your own risk). Some call it deep philosophy, others Buddhism, and yet others complete excrement. I've read it twice and find it fascinating if not totally convincing. You decide.

Beyond books that are unquestionably great, I also enjoy the voice of good writers. Joseph Heller writes in a most engaging way. He wrote Catch 22 which resonates clear overtones of M*A*S*H. Maybe I should say that the series flashes personality from his book since it predates the show. Nevertheless, his voice captivates me, as does Twain's, Faulkner's, Steinbeck's, Franklin's, and especially, that sweaty-toothed-madman himself, Walt Whitman. Or, give me a Garrison Keillor book where he sing-songs along like a verbal Ulysses inebriating the Cyclops with his dry, mid-Western humor, and I'll laugh out loud until I cry reading it.

Anyway, that's about the best I can do in delineating my favorite books. However, I think you get my point, and hopefully,  you'll got a few of these titles to whet your appetite. Additionally, in my side bar I've listed the books I'm currently reading. The last title will generally be the last book I finished. So a title will slide down the list until it disappears. At least that's the plan.

I hope you found some fodder for your own reading edification and enjoyment.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe (and sleep - some of these books are addictive).

Favorite Books: Part I

To whom it may concern:

First, my apologies. This post is long in many ways. So, to help speed things up, I've decided to break up this topic into at least two posts, maybe a third will evolve before it'd done. I promise not to do the same with music, movies, or art. Thus, without further ado . . . .

There may be no dearer topic to my heart than books and reading them. Mention books and my soul lights up, even my subconscious takes conscious notice. When combined with conversation (speaking) and writing, reading completes the social and communicatory trifecta.

I don't know why, but Blogger asks for my "favorite" books - plural. To me, being the geek that I am, my mind requires the word favorite to be a superlative. Thus, disallowing the possibility of there being more than one. However, I imagine they were just being generic with the classifications and really mean, what are the books which have meant the most to me in some way. I'll not bust their chops on this lest while living in a glass house I throw stones to my own detriment.

Before I begin giving titles, some preliminary remarks might help set the stage. All my life, people from all walks of life have told me that smart people read good books. Maybe that's true as far as it goes. My mentor in college used to answer the question, "what do you do for a living?" with, "I teach people to read difficult books." I always assumed he meant that because he taught Greek and Latin that they were difficult because of the effort required to translate them. Once I began reading ancient philosophy, even in translation, the import of his comment became all the more poignant.  One local pastor said on more than one occasion that he no longer had time to read good books: he only had time to read great books. Regardless of the minutiae one attaches to classification, I think Mark Twain summed it up quite memorably when he declared that:

"The man who will not read good books has no advantage over the man who cannot read them." 

Collateral to this discussion, it didn't take me long in my reading career to realize that if challenging books had the power to make one smarter or wiser, then the one who wrote the book must, by default, already, and maybe forever, be smarter and wiser than the reader. So, now, when reminded of the habit of smart people to read good books, I agree with my well intentioned adviser before advancing the probability that smart, maybe I should say the smartest, people actually write the good books. Maybe wise people read them, but it takes something very special to write a good one.

Regardless, Blogger didn't ask about my theory of writing, but of my favorite books. I'm really glad that they asked for favorite books rather than my all time favorite book. However, even that broadening of the field doesn't remove my major hindrance to answering the question. The major problem for me is that I can never narrow down my choice to a single book for the same reason I can't narrow it down to a top 10 list, or even my top 10 within a given topic. I would argue that I have an internal, intuitive gauge of ranking books. It looks something like this: Loved it; hated it; or read it but won't read it again. Pretty generic I know, but in the "loved it" category fall many titles which I either have or will read over and over.

Someone during the Enlightenment, and I wouldn't put it past Frances Bacon to be the culprit, once remarked that if a book was worth reading, it was worth buying. That, in a time when books were very expensive, was probably very sage advice. But now that books are so much cheaper in relation to one's income, and free lending libraries so plentiful in most areas of the US, I'm beginning to see the wisdom of such a plan even more acutely. Thus, I've taken his statement and modified it. Now it reads, "unless a book is worth reading twice, don't buy it." This prevents buying a room full of books which I will have only read once.

Like many readers I know, I read a multitude of books at once, broken down into some broad categories. In order to prevent the truly great, and often difficult books, from being trampled by their easier, and typically more fun brethren, I discipline myself to have one slightly more difficult, non-fiction work in progress. This requires I set aside time and priority for it so it doesn't get started, then neglected for weeks. Generally these books cover anything from very deep and difficult philosophy or theology to just a non-fiction topic covering one's memoirs or autobiography. Next I make it a priority to read one serious fiction book usually drawn from some "classical" or literary reading list. Of course for those nights when I'm tired I reserve something lighter on deck. I think of this one as my fun book. It can be anything from popular fiction, which may or may not be easy reading, sci-fi, or just something contemporary. Obviously, there is some overlapping.

One last aside before beginning in earnest. It has been claimed, I think by John Piper, a minister in Minnesota,  that one is not affected by good books, but rather by good sentences within such books. With this I'd have to agree. Consider Jerry Bridges's book The Pursuit of Holiness. In it he lays out all sorts of illustrations and schema for sanctification, the pursuit of holy living. However, the only thing I took away from it was the rational for obeying divine commands, namely, "It is not the thing commanded but rather the majesty of the law giver which is the standard of obedience" (quoted from memory, sorry can't provide an exact citation). Not that all good books fall into this category, many are so revolutionary that they are paradigm shifting from the very beginning and challenge our thinking all the way thru. But by in large, the ideas which change our thinking, and by extension, our lives, typically come in small sound bites which attach themselves to our receptive brains, maybe after being opened to the ideas by the skill and intention of the author, or maybe as a stroke out of the blue.

Having preambled more than enough, I'll mercifully stop here and begin with my actual favorite books in my next post. Thanks for reading, and thanks especially for you patience. And if I might be so bold as to make a small assignment to read before next time, please have a look at O. Henry's The Four Million. It's a collection of a dozen or so very short stories. It's available in e-reader formats (most of them) at Gutenberg.org. Just food for thought to get you started.

Until next time,

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.

Geez

To whom it may concern:

I just glanced over my extant posts. The last two, which dealt with introductory material about myself were mammoth! If there's one thing I hate when reading blogs, it's posts that are too long. Truly good blogs, you know the type, the ones with dozens of comments under each post, seem to have two things in common: 1.) very frequent, if not daily, posts, and 2.) short posts. 

Unfortunately, my post on books is no exception to its forerunners. However, beyond that, out of respect for you and your time, I'll try to keep them to a few million words. 

But remember, try as I might: "Brevity is not my long suit"

Until next time, 

Contemplate the mysteries, and remember to breathe.