Books | dual personalities

January 20, 2015

Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening

by chuckofish

Did you enjoy your long MLK weekend?

We celebrated (belatedly) the birthday of daughter #3

and I celebrated (belatedly) the birthday of an old friend with my pals.

The OM and I watched American Sniper

with Bradley Cooper and–this is the last thing I thought I would be saying–he was awesome. He really deserves the Oscar. This movie is really, really good. Clint Eastwood–and I am not a big fan of his directing–knocked one out of the ballpark. I also have to say kudos to Clint, who is eighty-four, for even being able to attempt this at his age. (I know a lot of guys in their eighties and it is hard to imagine any of them making a movie in the desert.)

Put this movie on your “to do” list!

According to Forbes, American Sniper blew past all reasonable predictions and crushed the January record books with a scorching $90.2 million Friday-to-Sunday and an estimated $105 million Friday-to-Monday debut frame. Well, no kidding. This is a movie with an actual (non-comic-book) HERO in it, with a plot, characters, action, tension–the whole nine yards. Of course, people are going to go see it. Duh. Wake up, Hollywood.

In between bouts of reading Middlemarch, I read a Louis L’Amour oater, Ride the Dark Trail, about one of the innumerable Sacketts. I enjoyed it thoroughly. I am also enjoying Middlemarch, which is full of passages like this:

“My mother is like old George the Third,” said the vicar, “she objects to metaphysics.”

“I object to what is wrong, Camden. I say, keep hold of a few plain truths, and make everything square with them. When I was young, Mr. Lydgate, there was never any question about right and wrong. We knew our catechism, and that was enough; we learned our creed and our duty. Every respectable Church person had the same opinions. But now, if you speak out of the Prayer-book itself, you are liable to be contradicted.”

It is a sure sign that I am really getting old, that I identify with the minor, comic characters, I suppose.

Oh, lordy, life is good, right?

7 Comments

January 13, 2015

“I hear the train a coming”*

by chuckofish

On this day in 1968 Johnny Cash, backed by June Carter, Carl Perkins and the Tennessee Three, gave two performances at the Folsom State Prison

which were recorded and subsequently released as a live album–At Folsom Prison.

The album was a hit, reaching number one on the country charts and the top 15 of the national album chart. The lead single from the album, a live version of “Folsom Prison Blues,” was a top 40 hit, Cash’s first since 1964’s “Understand Your Man.” Indeed, the success of At Folsom Prison revitalized Cash’s career. According to Cash, “that’s where things really got started for me again.”

Hats off to the Man in Black! You were one of a kind. Awesome.

It is also the birthday of A.B. Guthrie, Jr. (1901–1991), the author of six historical novels that gave an unromanticized picture of the settling of the American West from 1830 to World War II. The most famous, “The Big Sky,” launched his career in 1947, and “The Way West,” published in 1949, won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1950. He also wrote the screenplay for Shane (1953), my favorite movie of all time.

I recommend A.B. Guthrie, who is a really good writer and whose character, Dick Summers, is (in my opinion) one of the great ones of literature.

He tried to put himself in Brownie’s place, tried to put there the him that used to be, not the him of now, worn and hard and doubtful by the knocks of living. You couldn’t tell a boy how few were the things that mattered and how little was their mattering. You couldn’t say that the rest washed off in the wash of years so that, looking back, a man wanted to laugh except he couldn’t quite laugh yet. The dreams dreamed and the hopes hoped and the hurts felt and the jolts suffered, they all got covered by the years. They buried themselves in memory. Dug out of it, they seemed queer, as a dug-up bone with the flesh rotted off of it might seem queer to the dog that had buried it.

–-The Way West

So a toast to Johnny Cash and to A.B. Guthrie–two favorites of mine.

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January 7, 2015

“Ah, how good it is to be among people who are reading.”*

by chuckofish

It is way to cold in flyover-land to be reading outdoors in a meadow, but it’s a nice thought.

Here’s an interesting article in the New York Times about the best books a list of editors read in 2014. Interesting because Moby-Dick and a biography of Nathaniel Hawthorne show up.

What was your favorite book of 2014?

Mine was probably Oscar and Lucinda by Peter Carey and my subsequent discovery of Carey as an author of merit.

Who I wonder will I discover in 2015? Well, for now it is back to Middlemarch and George Eliot for me. How about you?

*Rainer Maria Rilke

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January 6, 2015

Under the tree: “Big brothers know everything…Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!”*

by chuckofish

My dual personality blogged about her haul of Christmas gift books the other day, so I thought I would follow suit with a list of mine.

My big brother gave me the new biography of John Wayne by Scott Eyman and I dived right in. (Middlemarch was unceremoniously shoved to the back of the bedside table.)

I read the whole thing and enjoyed it very much. It supported my previously held view that old Duke was the greatest. I always knew he was intelligent, hard-working, kind, humble, and dreamy, but it was nice to have that opinion validated. Here is a good review of the book by Peter Bogdonavich in the New York Times.

When everyone goes home tomorrow and I am bereft, I am going to binge-watch John Wayne movies. This is what I call good therapy.

My sister gave me a new book about Raymond Chandler–another favorite of mine–The World of Raymond Chandler in His Own Words edited by Barry Day.

Chandler, as we all know, wrote not about crime or detection, as George V. Higgins once observed, but about the corruption of the human spirit. He is a man after my own heart: “Philip Marlowe and I do not despise the upper classes because they take baths and have money; we despise the upper classes because they are phony.”

As you can imagine, this book is chock-full of great quotes by the master of simile. “Soot…was down-drafted into the room and rolling across the top of the desk like tumbleweed drifting across a vacant lot.” (The Big Sleep)

An old friend (and a reader of this blog) gave me

which is full of good things to remember:

And, of course, I can always count on daughter #2 to give me something intellectually stimulating. This year it was a copy of

I can’t wait to delve into this one! Emerson is one of my favorites and you know I always like to look at the spiritual side of things.

“Travelling is a fool’s paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern Fact, the sad self, unrelenting identical that I fled from.” (Self-Reliance)

(P.S. I received some wonderful non-book presents and I hope the people who gave me these will not feel slighted that I did not mention them today.)

What are you reading?

*Charlie Brown’s Christmas Stocking by Charles M. Schulz

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November 29, 2014

For Studies and Other Honest Pursuits (Studiis et Rebus Honestis)*

by chuckofish

My grandfathers both grew up in Burlington, Vermont and several of their family members attended UVM. Recently perusing their online archives, I discovered some wonderful information about my great aunt Carly (Carolyn) and her brother, Guy, both of whom had very active college careers. I even found their yearbook pages. Here’s Carly’s (note the misspelled middle name. It should be Hendren).

Carly was a tri-Delt, the vice-president of her class and won prizes in economics and reading, but I especially like that she exhibited the family trait, an acerbic wit. After graduation, she appeared frequently in the alumni magazine — at that time a weekly that published social announcements, including notice of her wedding to Raymond Briggs.

The wedding must have been a somber affair, for Guy had been a fellow student and was, of course, her beloved baby brother. Their graduation photos were on the same page. I have divided them so that you can read them more clearly.

The school published several stories about Guy’s death, including the following:

and

Note that his commanding officer was George S. Patton. You’ll notice some discrepancies between the two stories. The official report says he died instantly (probably true); the other has him shot through the mouth, but still able to utter some last words (probably not true). Who knows? Clearly, Guy’s family felt the need to share these stories with the community. His death certainly convulsed their world: his wife, Dorothy, showed up out of the blue to meet the family; his mother died within months, and his brother (our grandfather), a veteran with a wife and child, never recovered his pre-war joie de vivre. After his mother died, I’m not sure he ever went back to Burlington again. Only the two daughters, Ethel and Carly (but especially Carly), kept the memory of family alive. She must have been the one who sent the stories into the alumni magazine. I wish I could have known them all.

I realize that the quality of these isn’t the best because they’re trimmed out of a scanned in yearbook page and enlarged, but I like these two pictures a lot.

Isn’t the internet a wonderful thing? Stay tuned next week for UVM news about the distaff side of the family!

*the University of Vermont motto. All photos and documents uploaded here are from their archive web page. See link above.

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November 17, 2014

“They can’t keep me out of heaven on a technicality!”*

by chuckofish

Today is the birthday of Clarence Day (November 18, 1874–December 28, 1935), the author of Life With Father and long-time contributor to The New Yorker.

Born in New York City, he attended St. Paul’s School and Yale, where he edited the humor magazine. He was an Episcopalian. But bedridden with arthritis for the last 23 years of his life, he was barely able to hold a pencil. Isn’t it amazing that he wrote such hilarious material?

Scenes from Life With Father, along with its 1932 predecessor, God and My Father, and its 1937 sequel, Life with Mother, published posthumously, were the basis for the 1939 play by Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse, which became one of Broadway’s longest-running non-musical hits. In 1947—the year the play ended on Broadway—it was made into a wonderful film starring William Powell and Irene Dunne and directed by Michael Curtiz.

Sadly, Day died in 1935, never having realized the sensational success of his book or the play and movie based on it.

We always got a big kick out of it, especially all the poking fun at Episcopalians:

Mary: That’s funny. The words are the same, but it’s the wrong tune.

Clarence Day: Oh, it can’t be the wrong tune. We sing it exactly that way in church.

Mary: We don’t sing it that way in the Methodist Church. You see, we’re Methodist.

Clarence Day: Oh, that’s too bad. Oh, I don’t mean it’s too bad that you’re a Methodist. Anybody’s got a right to be anything they want, but what I mean is, we’re… *Episcopalians*.

Clarence Day is buried in Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx.

That would be an interesting place to visit, don’t you think? A rural cemetery, it is one of the largest in New York City and is a designated historic landmark. There are lots of famous people buried there including Fiorello La Guardia, Irving Berlin, Damon Runyon…and Herman Melville! But I digress.

In the meantime, I’ll toast ol’ Clarence tonight (along with his mother and Father).

*Life With Father (1947)

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October 6, 2014

“You may have found your sweet spot. But there’s what Bonhoeffer said: ‘We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.'”*

by chuckofish

Ah, it’s pumpkin weather. Seriously my favorite time of the year. The OM of course is complaining that it is cold, while I am throwing open the windows to let in the fresh air. C’est la vie.

Several people have sheepishly asked me about my own little pumpkin patch, which they notice I haven’t mentioned in quite awhile. Well, my pumpkin patch, which at first seemed to thrive, shriveled up in August and is no more. Heavy sigh. The OM said it didn’t get enough sun. Daughter #1 surmised that it was because I planted the pumpkins in the Indian Burial Ground corner of our yard where nothing has ever grown. Whatever. I refuse to get all upset and weepy about it. The pumpkin patch at the Methodist Church has a ton of pumpkins and so I bought one there on Saturday.

It’s a beauty!

Meanwhile I finished The Big Sleep and have moved on to Jan Karon’s newest Mitford book—Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good–which I am enjoying immensely. Reading it is like taking a vacation. I know some people find Father Tim and his wife a little cloying, but to them I say, “Bah humbug!” This is science fiction, after all. Furthermore, Karon and I are on the same page. And she includes enough Thomas a Kempis and Wordsworth and references to the BCP to deepen the storytelling. Her focus is always on God.

In any decision making, he’d learned to wait for peace; it was heedless to make a move without it. There was no time for waiting, and yet waiting was imperative.

He remained on his knees, prayed aloud. ‘Heavenly Father, in whom we live and move and have our being: We humbly pray thee so to guide and govern us by the Holy Spirit, that in all the cares and occupations of our life we may not forget thee, but may remember that we are ever walking in thy sight…’

He moved directly then to the abridged version. ‘Help me, Jesus.’

And she’s funny! So if you are in need of a little literary vacation from the vicissitudes of modern life, I highly recommend Jan Karon.

‘Tis also the season when Evensong starts back up at church. I dragged the boy along with me yesterday and it’s a good thing we went, because we made up 2/3 of the congregation. Afterwards I cooked dinner for him. His wife was at a meeting at the flyover college where she is the recruitment advisor of her sorority chapter, so I think he appreciated the meal.

Hope you are enjoying some glorious fall weather. Try to get out and breathe some fresh air. Have a good week!

*Jan Karon, Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good

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October 1, 2014

Way Back When Wednesday

by chuckofish

On this date back in 1942 the first twelve titles of the Little Golden Books series were published. You remember. These were the books your mother used to buy for you in the grocery store when you were a good child and deserved a treat. The books, which initially sold for 25¢ (rising to 29¢ in 1962 and currently $3.99), were published by Simon and Schuster.

Many of the best children’s writers and illustrators have worked on the series, including several of my personal favorites:

Mary Blair,

Margaret Wise Brown and Alice and Martin Provensen,

Garth Williams,

and, of course, Richard Scarry.

You will be happy to know that now there are Little Golden Book apps for children: “Now the Little Golden Book that you loved as a child can be shared with a whole new generation in this magically interactive storybook app. Open the cover, complete with its distinctive gold spine, to reveal the timeless story, beautifully rendered with interactive illustrations on every page, and activities that encourage reading comprehension and creativity.”

“Magically interactive”! Oh brother. Just what every 3-year old needs for his/her iPad, iPhone, and iPod touch! Gone I suppose is the magically interactive time you spent with your mother or father while you were read these books.

I know I am an old curmudgeon, but this concerns me. And I have to say, it’s sad that there is no name plate on an app where you can make that first attempt at proudly writing your own name on your own book.

Oh well. C’est la vie. Do you have a favorite Little Golden Book?

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September 23, 2014

“Shake your business up and pour it. I don’t have all day.”

by chuckofish

This past weekend I finished a mystery that was recommended to me by someone at work whose opinion I respect. The book was okay. I mean I read the whole thing and that is saying something. It was well-written and engaging enough, but as mysteries go, it just wasn’t Raymond Chandler.

So I decided to re-read, for the umpteenth time, The Big Sleep.

And, omg, on the first page you are greeted with

I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

And a few pages later, Philip Marlowe says, in reply to Mrs. Regan saying she doesn’t like his manners:

“I’m not crazy about yours,” I said. “I didn’t ask to see you. You sent for me. I don’t mind your ritzing me or drinking your lunch out of a Scotch bottle. I don’t mind your showing me your legs. They’re very swell legs and it’s a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings. But don’t waste my time trying to cross-examine me.”

Nobody writes like Raymond Chandler. He is just the best. And as I’ve said before, Philip Marlowe is one of the great characters in fiction. Right up there with Hamlet and Holden Caulfield, if you ask me.

And R.C. was an Episcopalian. I know we would have been best friends.

5 Comments

September 20, 2014

“The only books that influence us are those for which we are ready…”

by chuckofish

While it’s true that the internet abounds with unnecessary top-ten lists, they persist because they are fun and cause us to reflect a little as we compose our own. Recently I came across one that inspired me to think about the books that influenced me most — the ones that, to finish the quote above, “have gone a little farther down our particular path than we have yet got ourselves.” So here they are — hopefully without repeating too much from earlier posts about books — in no particular order.

1. I don’t know how or why my parents (or was it my brother?) had a copy of this book, but as soon as I opened it, I was smitten. In many ways, this book inspired me to become an Assyriologist. I still have it.

2. I’ve blogged about Seven Pillars before, so won’t add too much here. Suffice it to say that reading this just added to my fascination with the Near East, which was, after all, so much more exotic than St. Louis. And besides, camel-riding sounded like it would be fun.

3. My fourth grade Sunday school teacher was Mrs. Roeder, whom I revered. She was beautiful and oh, so kind. She made me want to go to church and that was also the year we received our Bibles. I read all of the Gospels. It kind of freaked me out (more than once I figured I was headed to hell), but it had a big impact.

4. Sometimes when I couldn’t decide what to read or just didn’t feel like undertaking a whole book, I would just dip into the Oxford Book of English Verse or its American counterpart. Thus, I not only became acquainted with the major poets, but developed some taste (of a decidedly adolescent nature I’m sure, but taste nonetheless).

5. Sometimes I didn’t feel like reading at all, so I just looked at pictures. That’s probably why I picked up the Assyrian Art book in the first place. Looking at pictures gave me an appreciation of art and an abiding love of buildings, especially ruined ones. The last book my mother ever gave me (birthday 1987) was a book on the Chateau of the Loire Valley. She always knew what I would love.

There are many books I’ve discussed in other posts and still more I should mention, but I think I’ll stop here for now. I hope that you will reflect a little on your own reading history and then share your top most influential books in a comment.

Enjoy your weekend!

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