Captivating stories with Moomin characters. For example: The Invisible Child, the Last Dragon in the World, Snufkin's Spring Tune, and Cedric (Sniff's toy dog).
Laura and I have now read all the Moomin books that are available in English. We loved them. I wish there were more.
Werewolves of London!
Quotes:
"Don't mention to anyone in London that you're werewolves. They have stricter rules over here than at home." (Mr Talbot)
Bible stories re-imagined with lots of ennui.
This one was in my to-read list for a while, since hearing the "Adam and Eve" story on the radio. In the end, i liked it a lot less than i thought i would. I think the problem is that to do a book like this successfully you have to like the stuff you're re-imagining, and Jonathan Goldstein seems to dislike the Bible characters very much. Or maybe he likes them in a weird way.
An interesting read nevertheless. The recasting of David and Goliath as a battle of comedians is one of the high points of the book.
The preface stands apart, though. Unlike what he does with the Bible stories, in the preface he talks about characters he likes, and the result is that the preface is great. Is it worth the price of the book? Maybe not, but it's very good.
For whatever it's worth, my favorite book in this genre is still Buechner's Peculiar Treasures: A Biblical Who's Who
Quotes:
“Hi,” said the snake. “In the mood for some fruit of knowledge? It’s fruity.”
The idea of her own nudity, as well as Adam’s, had always felt more like a Nordic, coed health spa thing; now, with the fruit of knowledge, it felt more like a Rio de Janeiro carnival thing.
Here it was: death. Cain couldn’t believe it.
He wanted nothing from God. He wanted nothing from the world. The world was what it was and he didn’t need it to change. And in this way, he’d finally gotten his wish: to be just like Abel. (Cain)
After the flood, man’s relationship with God changed. Where once there was disinterest—a sort of “you go your way, we’ll go ours” attitude—there was now distrust.
There is no sadder word than “ family,” thought Jacob.
Meanwhile in Haran, Jacob’s life was no bed of roses either. His uncle Laban worked him like a red-maned pack mule.
The angel smiled beatifically. Then, drawing his wings back like the ears of an angry cat, he dropped his elbow onto Jacob’s groin. After that it was all nonstop pile drivers and headlocks.
“But your god . . . God?” “You musn’t even speak His actual name!” interrupted Rodney. “He doesn’t like it, so we’ve invented nicknames for Him: He Who Will Kill You. He Who Will Crush You. He Who Will Set You On Fire and Douse the Flames with the Blood of Those You Love. You really have to be careful. The Beneficent One hears all and sees all.”
Goliath was a bully who produced nervous laughter. Terrified laughter. David wanted to cause laughter that made the soul brighten. [...] And right away, David knew that he had erred. His timing had somehow been off—not exquisite enough. Perhaps he had been overzealous in his delivery of the stone.
“The way your dad is always trying to kill me,” David complained to Michal, “it’s so undermining.”
At the end of the first day he thought, What a story to tell our grandchildren one day, but by the end of the week, he thought, Schmuck, what’s the matter with you?
“When I first started I relied on slapstick—killing giants and that—but then I moved toward more advanced forms of humor—like wordplay. Irony!” [...] “Comedy should help remind people of what is real,” he told his son. “Everyone gets used to the way things appear, but comedy can awaken us to what is.” Everyone went through life pretending, and revealing this pretending was at the core of all jokes.
On the road, Jonah stopped caring which side of him was crazy and which was not and as a result, he felt his craziness blossom, going from being the kind that chews the flesh of the fingertips to being the kind that pounds the chest and summons God.
Being a fair bunch, the sailors dangled Jonah overboard by his robe straps. The moment his toe touched water, the storm abated. As they dipped him in further, the sun popped out, and when they submerged him past his knees, little yellow birds appeared on the deck, chirping and singing. When they hefted him back onto the boat, the whirlwinds raged anew.
When he was a child, in spite of everything, Jonah had this unshakable feeling that things were going to turn out fine. And now he was in a fish.
“She was much roomier than she looked” (Jonah)
I've never seen the movie, and i've been wanting to read the book since visiting the Stanley Hotel (Estes Park, CO) in 2009 (where the movie was done).
I didn't like it. It did keep me reading, but it wasn't a satisfying read. Stephen King has done better books.
Quotes:
“You got a knack,” Hallorann said, turning to him. “Me, I've always called it shining.
grownups were always in a turmoil, every possible action muddied over by thoughts of the consequences, by self-doubt, by selfimage, by feelings of love and responsibility. Every possible choice seemed to have drawbacks
Dying was a part of living. You had to keep tuning in to that if you expected to be a whole person. And if the fact of your own death was hard to understand, at least it wasn't impossible to accept.
Another very interesting book. Moomintroll and Little My are awake, while everyone else is still hibernating, so they experience winter for the first time. They're surprised to find out that a lot goes on during the winter. The stories revolve around the wise and mysterious Too-ticky and the good but overbearing Hemulen, who plays the French horn and teaches everyone to how to ski. The Groke makes a brief appearance. Together they learn to share and care for the more vulnerable creatures, and about the harsh beauty of winter.
Quotes:
"One has to discover everything for oneself, and get over it all alone." (Too-ticky)
This is my second reading of Moby Dick; the first one was many years ago. All i can say is: wow!
This is a book that can be read many times without losing anything. Although i do think Melville puts a little bit too much filler at times, most of it is simply amazing good writing. Bold, muscular, shocking at times. The guy was good. This is a long book, but by the time you get to the point where Ahab spots Moby Dick (‘There she blows!—there she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!’) you feel like you've had a good meal.
Quotes:
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos* get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
* hypochondria
But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.
he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be
I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible Presbyterian Church.
But what is worship? thought I. Do you suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God?— that is worship. And what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow man to do to me— that is the will of God. [...] Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolator.
Now, Bildad, like Peleg, and indeed many other Nantucketers, was a Quaker, the island having been originally settled by that sect; and to this day its inhabitants in general retain in an uncommon measure the peculiarities of the Quaker, only variously and anomalously modified by things altogether alien and heterogeneous. For some of these same Quakers are the most sanguinary of all sailors and whalehunters. They are fighting Quakers; they are Quakers with a vengeance.
For all men tragically great are made so through a certain morbidness. Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.
Heaven have mercy on us all—Presbyterians and Pagans alike—for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.
Now, as I before hinted, I have no objection to any person’s religion, be it what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, because that other person don’t believe it also.
hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans
‘I mean, sir, the same ancient Catholic Church to which you and I, and Captain Peleg there, and Queequeg here, and all of us, and every mother’s son and soul of us belong; the great and everlasting First Congregation of this whole worshipping world; we all belong to that; only some of us cherish some crotchets noways touching the grand belief; in that we all join hands.’
Luck to ye, Starbuck—luck to ye, Mr. Stubb—luck to ye, Mr. Flask—good-bye, and good luck to ye all—and this day three years I’ll have a hot supper smoking for ye in old Nantucket. Hurrah and away!
Don’t whale it too much a’ Lord’s days, men; but don’t miss a fair chance either, that’s rejecting Heaven’s good gifts.
‘I will have no man in my boat,’ said Starbuck, ‘who is not afraid of a whale.’
They were bent on profitable cruises, the profit to be counted down in dollars from the mint. He was intent on an audacious, immitigable, and supernatural revenge.
‘There she blows! there! there! there! she blows! she blows!’ ‘Where-away?’ ‘On the lee-beam, about two miles off! a school of them!’
There, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair.
THERE are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody’s expense but his own.
A large whale’s case generally yields about five hundred gallons of sperm[acetti oil].
But pity there was none. For all his old age, and his one arm, and his blind eyes, he must die the death and be murdered, in order to light the gay bridals and other merry-makings of men, and also to illuminate the solemn churches that preach unconditional inoffensiveness by all to all.
Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, but my face shall not be seen. But I cannot completely make out his back parts; and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face.
Now, in general, Stick to the boat, is your true motto in whaling; but cases will sometimes happen when Leap from the boat, is still better.
Was it that this old carpenter had been a life-long wanderer, whose much rolling, to and fro, not only had gathered no moss; but what is more, had rubbed off whatever small outward clingings might have originally pertained to him?
‘Thou hast outraged, not insulted me, sir; but for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; thou wouldst but laugh; but let Ahab beware of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man.’
Thou should’st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad? How can’st thou endure without being mad? Do the heavens yet hate thee, that thou canst not go mad?
‘Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!’* deliriously howled Ahab, as the malignant iron scorchingly devoured the baptismal blood.
‘There she blows!—there she blows! A hump like a snow-hill! It is Moby Dick!’
Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feels; that’s tingling enough for mortal man! to think’s audacity. God only has that right and privilege. Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that.
On the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan.
There seems to be renewed interest in monasticism, from Shane Claiborne to the book Anathem which i liked so much. The Rule of St Benedict is perhaps the most successful attempt to put all the rules of monasticism together in a book. It's fascinating at times, sometimes predictable, sometimes surprising. A good read.
Quotes:
Listen!
The abbot must be led to understand that any lack of good in his monks will be held as his fault.
Whenever an important matter is to be undertaken in the monastery the abbot should call the entire community together.
Individual desires have no place in the monastery and neither inside nor outside the walls should anyone presume to argue with the abbot.
The first degree of humility is prompt obedience.
Our prayer must be heartfelt and to the point. Only a divine inspiration should lengthen it. The prayer of the assembled community should be short.
Above all, he must have humility. If he has nothing to give, his response (to the request) should be a good word for, “A good word is better than the best gift”
The vice of private ownership must be uprooted from the monastery. No one, without the abbot’s permission, shall dare give, receive or keep anything—not book, tablet or pen—nothing at all. Monks have neither free will nor free body, but must receive all they need from the abbot.
The sick should be permitted baths as often as necessary, but the healthy and especially all young are to bathe rarely.
We read that wine is not for monks, but in our times they cannot accept this. Let us therefore agree on this limit at least, lest we satiate ourselves with drink.
Idleness is an enemy of the soul. Therefore, the brothers should be occupied according to schedule in either manual labor or holy reading.
All guests to the monastery should be welcomed as Christ, because He will say, “I was a stranger, and you took me in” [...] with bowed head and a prostrate body all shall honor in the guests the person of Christ. For it is Christ who is really being received.
No one may associate or converse with guests unless ordered. If one meets or sees a guest, he is to greet him with humility as we have said, and ask a blessing. If the guest speaks, the brother is to pass on, telling the guest that he is not permitted to speak.
so that this vice of private ownership may be cut away at the roots, the abbot is to furnish all necessities: cowl, tunic, shoes, stockings, belt, knife, pen, needle, towel and writing tablet. With these, any excuse for need will be vanquished.
Admission to the religious life should not be made easy for newcomers.
[...]
Should the petitioner continue knocking [on the gate], and if he shows patience and persists in his petition for several days despite harsh treatment and reluctance to admit him, he shall be permitted lodging in a guest room.
We who are slothful, bad living and careless should be ashamed. Whoever you are, if you wish to follow the path to God, make use of this little Rule for beginners. Thus at length you will come to the heights of doctrine and virtue under God’s guidance. Amen!
Another deep and touching book, at points disturbing, but with a warm ending. Moominpappa makes another impetuous decision and this time it almost breaks the family apart. Moomintroll and the Groke reluctantly become friends, and everything changes.
Marcus Borg's first novel, probably won't be the book he's best known for, but heck, it's a nice one. He thinks of it as a didactic novel, and that's what it is. The story is interesting, and it's all about professors, students and academia, but he seems to use more ink recording the classroom lectures and discussions, than the story itself. No problem, it's all good. All very interesting. And cheaper than going to college.
Quotes:
“Well, as a country, we are the empire of our time, the Rome of our time—and we go around pretending that we’re Jesus.”
[...] distracted, she sat down on the table in the front of the room and said, “I heard on public radio today that the number two cause of death among people under thirty-five in our country is narcotic painkillers. Prescription drugs, not illegal drugs. I think that’s an interesting and sobering comment about our time—what is it that leads young people to overdose on painkillers?” I don’t know, thought Erin. I could think of a few reasons [...]
The heaven unexpected came, To lives that thought their worshipping A too presumptuous psalm.
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Mary Oliver - When Death Comes
stories can be important, meaningful, truth-filled, and truthful without being factual
Thomas Mann: a myth is a story about the way things never were, but always are.
Suppose we knew that Paul was really, and strongly, against homosexuality—that he was convinced that it’s sinful, and that it really mattered to him. Just suppose that for a moment. Now, a question: Would it be okay to say Paul was wrong about that? Would it be hard for you to do that?
there are some unnecessary intellectual stumbling blocks to being Christian—like needing to believe that the Bible is inerrant and that we are to interpret it literally and factually, or that really big miracles happened in biblical times, or that the earth is only ten thousand years old. The way I see things means that those obstacles are gone, and then the real meaning of Christianity emerges.
Virtually all mainstream scholars of the gospels agree on two matters that are important to many people.
First, “exalted” language about who Jesus was does not go back to Jesus himself. Familiar words and phrases like “Son of God,” “Messiah,” “Lord,” “Light of the World,” “Bread of Life,” and so forth are the testimony and witness of early Christians—this is who Jesus was for them. But this language does not go back to Jesus; he didn’t talk about himself this way.
Second, the saving significance of Jesus's death is a post-Easter development.
Fredrika added, “And one more thing. You know that biblical phrase, ‘Fear not,’ ‘Do not be afraid’? Somebody told me that it occurs 365 times in the Bible—one for each day of the year.
“The opposite of faith as trust,” Niebuhr says, “is anxiety. Think about that for a moment—the opposite of faith as trust is not doubt or skepticism or unbelief, but anxiety, worry, and fear.
As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them;
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace. (Denise Levertov - The Avowal)
Listen to your life. Listen to what happens to you because it is through that happens to you that God speaks... It's in language that is not always easy to decipher, but it's there, powerfully, memorably, unforgettably. (Frederick Buechner)
A beautiful and beautifully written book. The characters are wonderfully developed, thoughtful, relevant. As good, maybe better than Harriet The Spy. I wish she had written more.
Quotes:
JESUS HATES YOU
“Daddy?” Harriet said after a while. “Yes?” said Mr. Welsch. “Are you religious?”
“Frankly I don’t cotton to fanatics of any description. They tend to think the end justifies the means, always. I’ve never seen a fanatic that didn’t think that, and that’s just stupid.” Mr. Welsch appeared to be getting very heated. “How can it? When there never are any ends … everything goes on and on … so it remains that we are all means.
“I,” said Janie, “don’t understand how you can be so curious about people. I mean, elements or why certain things do certain things, I can understand—but people. People are just silly. Look at the mess they make of their lives. You can’t ever depend on them.”
Jessie Mae sat down with a bump. “You mean you don’t think there’s another one?” she gasped out. “Even if there is, Jessie, why does this one have to be so bad?” The Preacher asked calmly.
“Religion is a tool, Jessie, just like a tractor or a shovel or a pitchfork. It is a tool to get through life with. And if it works, it is a good tool. And if it don’t work, it is a bad tool. Now, for my people there it don’t work.”
“You have no talent. Believe me, we would have heard by now if you had. At your age Michelangelo had painted the Sistine Chapel.”
“Shy people are angry people.”
