True wisdom and making the news!

 Wow, I officially live in a disaster zone!  At least according to the statistical gurus over at reactive media incorporated, but I really haven't noticed that the world has come to an end.  Our extremely rural, podunk, nobody ever heard of it before county made the national list of top ten most infected counties for this ridiculous virus.  I know many people who have had it, one guy died in the nursing home, a couple have been hospitalized, but school is still in session and people aren't dropping dead left and right like the media assures us is the case.  One thing they don't mention in the scare statistic is that we are a minuscule region, 3000 people in the entire county, so when one person gets infected or die, statistically that is a huge percentage!  One out of a thousand is a much higher percentage than 1 in 100,000, so even one case dramatically spikes the numbers.  If we have a ten percent infection rate, that is 300 people, versus a region with 100,000 people would need 10,000 cases to equal that, which is hard to imagine.  We have a local hospital and have been doing massive testing drives, which means we are testing a large percentage of our population on a regular basis versus larger areas where it is inconvenient to test huge numbers of people.  We are also a close knit community which easily does back tracing since we all know each other and if someone gets sick everyone goes to get tested.  But none of that matters as long as the statistics are scary and get a reaction.  We didn't even know we lived at ground zero until a friend asked how bad things were after seeing our county on the list!  Who knew?

Should we be stupid, no.  Should we be panicked, no.  Why are we destroying lives over something, that even at ground zero, isn't that much more deadly than influenza?  We have had as many covid-related suicides in this county as we have had covid-deaths, and several more attempts that were unsuccessful but that doesn't make the news.  Let's destroy lives and the economy and our social infrastructure over this?!  What happens when something really nasty comes along?  Can you imagine our current society and government enduring a world war or the Great Depression or another Spanish flu (which covid is nothing like!!!).  But maybe that's the problem, this is all about feeling like we are in control of everything, life, death, creation, weather, everything, and when we aren't, we panic.  But we weren't meant to be in control.  It's a lie as old as creation: 'did God really say?'  Yes, yes He did, and we did die, at least spiritually and certainly physically, but maybe if we can control this virus it will prove we don't need Him, but the mess we are enduring is as painful and embarrassing as our exodus from Eden, and equally of our own creation.  But there is a cure, no it isn't a vaccine, but rather a baby, a helpless, shivering infant born to an unwed mother in the darkness two millennia ago.  When the wisdom of the world proves folly, perhaps it is time to remember the folly of Heaven.  Merry Christmas!

The Day After the End of the World...

 I'm an old campaigner, I've survived Y2K, Monkey Pox, Bird Flu, Acid Rain, the looming petroleum shortage (predicted in the early '90s), mutant frogs, the hole in the Ozone layer, and even life before the internet, I can even read a plat book (much more accurate than google maps!), so it is little surprise that I have survived the night, an epic battle with the fate of reality in the balance for both political parties...what the Romans had in the Coliseum we have on election night, ugh!  At least my gluten free graham crackers turned out, that's the important thing.  I am so tired of the drama, very much concerned about the deep divide between seemingly every person against every other over everything, but mostly just tired of 'the end of the world is nigh unless so and so wins...'  And the big story of the morning is not who won or didn't but again, how badly the polling reflected the actual results.

I don't know what could go wrong with polling, I mean everyone wants to be explicit on the phone with a complete stranger when your business and reputation can be destroyed, your property vandalized, your family threatened for a wrong answer, when every media outlet and social media source is constantly beating one over the head with one's innate racism, homophobia, stupidity, and nazism for even daring to momentarily ponder something contrary to what the cultural elites tell us is best for us.  In a country where looters and rioters are justified to vandalize, threaten, and destroy and can gather in any number (without masks) as long as their cause is 'just' but getting together to eat a meal with your extended family for anyone else is an overt violation of human rights and endangers the very fabric of reality, you wonder why the polling might be a little flawed?

After the last election, some number from a deep blue state called our church and demanded to know if my husband was racist.  This person happily clarified by demanding to know if he voted for Trump before slamming down the phone and not waiting for an answer.  I can't wait to see what happens this time around!  No, I can't imagine why people might be reluctant to mention their true thoughts on anything, especially a heavily contested election.  It is bad enough reading baking blogs looking for recipes, there are people that turn nasty at the thought of using real sugar or eggs or canola oil (and they still have the nerve to complain their results aren't anything like the real thing!), how much worse this political slough?!

I don't like politics, I don't want to get into them here, but the truly disturbing thing is the dehumanization of everyone who isn't one's self, anyone who disagrees with us over anything is an enemy.  I don't think the internet or social media or 24/7 news commentary has been good for human civilization.  It overwhelms us, it divides us, it intimidates and frustrates us and we take that out on our fellow beings.  Let's consider pulling the plug on non-essential media and internet usage, put down the phone and pick up a book or a conversation, shut off the blathering head on your TV and listen to your blathering toddler, it will be far more intelligible.  Learn to think, learn to love, learn to appreciate, learn to help, learn to encourage one another, that will save civilization as we know it far more efficiently than whomever gets elected.

On insulting one's intelligence and the nuisance of small gods

For all you science geeks, here are a couple articles you might find interesting from two completely different perspectives: are we living in a computer simulation (think 'The Matrix') and even more startling, intelligent design just got a peer reviewed study.

The modern concept that 'science must only tell us what we want to hear' drives me batty, that is like asking a scale to only display the weight you want to see.  Science should be an objective tool, not a subjective weapon.  Many published studies can't be replicated and some are just made up to enrich the publisher while anything that disagrees with our modern mores is enough to blackball your career, whether it challenges evolution, modern social constructs, or our determination that the sky is truly falling and only mass extinction of the human race can stop it.  How often do we hear angry pseudo-scientists claiming that they are being treated like Galileo when they are the ones proclaiming that the sun revolves around the earth and that everyone else had better agree with them or else?  It is the job of science to support or disprove natural phenomena, it is not meant to viewed through a political lens, it never proves anything, and it shouldn't be used to measure things in the abstract: love, faith, ethics, philosophy, the supernatural, meaning, purpose...when it does, which seems to be the case in this strange modern era, it is become a religion, a faith in its own right, with its own dogmas and ethical code and mythology, which is exactly how 'the experts' act, no wonder they are far more ready to believe everything is a computer simulation rather than admit their science is as mythic as they accuse Christianity of being.  They are the modern variant of the pharisees that Jesus confronted in His own day, 'you shut the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. For you neither enter yourselves nor allow those who would enter to go in' (Matthew 23:13).

The idea seems to be 'believe anything but God,' and I've seen some very curious examples in a variety of disciplines and situations, including this one!  The simplest, the most obvious explanation is defied in preference to some other complicated, ridiculous supposition with all the confidence of the serpent in the Garden proclaiming, 'ye can be gods!'  'Did God really say?' was also his postulation and we still ask it today.  I love the people trying to wrap our modern sexual mores in a shabby cloak of Christianity and proclaim the resulting monstrosity as the 'true church, as Jesus intended,' minding me much of the donkey wrapped up in a lion's skin and called 'Aslan' in 'The Last Battle.'  And no one can understand why the liberal, modern denominations are stagnating?  Why play pretend with the Gospel when you get neither the benefits of true religion or the pleasures of its many secular alternatives?  In Revelation we are told to be either hot or cold, not lukewarm, which is just insulting to oneself and God, either choose for or against, don't rewrite the tale to suit your own agenda.  Paul warned that 'we of all men are most miserable if Christ be not raised,' meaning that if Jesus did what He said He did, there is some point in living as a Christian ought, but if he didn't, what's the point?  All the pain and none of the joy, all the trouble and none of the peace?  It makes as much sense as trying to twist PETA's views to support the beef industry!

Somehow both science and the liberal 'christian' faith are both telling us exactly the same thing: whatever the liberal left elitists think is the truth, always has been, always will be and anyone who thinks different is stupid, uncivilized, and inhuman.  That's why you need to consume material from non-social media and network news and mainstream papers, be it your grandfather's recollections of the second world war or a classic book or taking your dog for a hike in some beautiful place sans your phone or singing a wonderful song or laughing with friends or watching a good movie or cooking a good meal or whatever, just get away from the incessant, remorseless 'words, words, words,' of those that would have you react without thought, reply without knowing, think without understanding, shut out the noise, take a peek at something that is not 'safe, appropriate, socially acceptable, publicly approved, popular.'  Find out for yourself, silence the nattering heads, discover what you believe and why, instead of merely giving in from sheer exhaustion to the unending chatter of the socially acceptable gospel, just another blurry eyed, vacant minded sheep in a dull and boundless flock.  The real lion isn't tame or safe, but He's good, but alas that we prefer a preposterous little donkey in His stead!  Take a good, hard look at your god, whatever or whomever it be, is it merely an ass in a lion's skin, ridiculous, petty, and powerless, or can He make the mountains smoke and tremble, cause realities to crumble with a thought or produce whole worlds out of nothingness?  What did God say and why is the serpent so determined that we never figure it out?  That is truly the answer to 'life the universe and everything,' the number 42 not withstanding!

What it means to be a pelican of the wilderness

 Here's a great article on unlocking some of the hidden metaphors, references, and analogies sprinkled throughout classic literature and even our common parlance, it's like a great big riddle or mystery to solve, to deepen the meaning, to truly understand what the author is trying to convey (rather than the horrendous idea that the author is only saying what we want them to say).  I remember reading one of the 'Anne of Green Gables' books and came across a paragraph wherein a child asked her about 'the pelican of the wilderness' and I was delighted, I wonder how many thoroughly modern people could link that reference up with the King James version of the book of Job?  Don't become irrelevant and literally illiterate, go brush up on your anachronistic metaphors asap!  

On conflation and cats of one color!

 I'm terrible with names, unless it's a latin binomial, if your moniker consists of a species and a genus, we're good (in all save fish)!  Why is it I can remember the scientific name of a burrowing rodent or a bacteria often associated with bovine foot pathologies but can't remember my fellow men?  Maybe there is a sort of poetry in Eptesicus fuscus or Emydoideia blandingii which is lacking in John Smith or Jessica Doe?  Maybe it is the meaning hidden in the latin pseudonyms, Felis concolor, that cat of one color, while names of mere mortal choosing seem rather arbitrary.  Maybe it is the relationship between them and no two the same, though the Amos Yoders in the plat book in Amish country must be distinguished by their middle initial, none of the Genus Felis have that problem, concolor and domesticus are each their own animal but still cousins.  Or maybe it is all those years of forced memorization in the art and lingo of the biological sciences that it has become a second language?  Whatever it is, it has rendered me unappreciative for several years as to the existence and works of one Dorothy Sayers, yet another dead English author, whom I was strangely conflating with Flannery O'Connor (yes, an American with an Irish appellation, I don't know why I confused the two!).

I have read a few of O'Connor's short stories, but came away rather chilled by the experience, chilled, not cold mind you.  She is an excellent writer, a keen observer of human behavior and nature and able to translate that into excellent literature, but for me personally, too much delving into the darker side of human life, from which I am still trying to emerge like the mythic legged fish from the primordial ooze of non-being (who says there isn't poetry in atheism, but then poetry cannot exist without myth to give it metaphor and thus form).  Having consumed my tithe of O'Connor, I contented myself therewith and moved on, little realizing that I was closing the proverbial door on Dorothy Sayers as well, whom I had heard of certainly, but knew little more than she was an authoress of some fame, which is probably where the conflation arose, for that could be the inane definition of O'Connor as well!

I ran across an article a while ago about a book containing excerpts from the correspondence between Sayers and C.S.Lewis and was forced to reconsider my assumptions, since Lewis is a favorite author, perhaps this mysterious woman he was so happy to correspond with to such an extent that it warranted a book on the subject might be worth a second look, whereat I discovered my lunacy and delved immediately into the various works of Sayers, while wondering who it was I had confused her with (finally discovering O'Conner and putting my vacuous mind at ease).  I've read through the Peter Wimsey detective novels, which are pretty good, I still prefer Father Brown but Sayer's detective is much preferred to the legendary Sherlock, but far better is her 'Mind of the Maker,' which may just be my own authorial prejudices, but it is a book I'd rate as high as Lewis's Mere Christianity and Chesterton's Orthodoxy and Everlasting Man in being very readable, enjoyable, profound, understandable, and a great exploration of theology in a non-drowsy formula.

In the 'Mind of the Maker,' Sayers explores the nature of the Trinity by comparing it to the creative process involved in a literary work, particularly a stage play, but applying it more generally to prose, poetry, and any other creative process, even political speeches, sermons, and daily work.  As an author, I think her insight is brilliant and may help many a creative person in their endeavors to improve their art.  As a Christian, I believe her ideas are profound and help to shine light into a subject that is often beyond the ability of mere words to explain.  If you've ever found the idea of Christ attractive but have been bored or intimidated out of delving deeper, this just might be the place to start (or one of those other books mentioned above, which are wonderful for beginners and lifelong saints alike).  Don't let conflation or any other silliness prevent you from indulging your philosophical curiosity or enjoying a rare literary treat a moment longer!   

A Caution on The Classics

 Depending on the subject, the term 'the classics' can refer to just about anything, be it music of a certain era or cars of a certain make or films of a certain taste, but on a blog that sometimes flirts with literature, I'm probably referring to the great fiction books of history, though in this case I'm getting even more specific and referring to the Christian Classics, books like Pilgrim's Progress, Practicing the Presence of God, the Confessions of Saint Augustine...  A while back I ran across an article mentioning an author I had not read, and went to project Gutenberg to see if they had any of her books, and found 'A Short and Easy Method of Prayer' and 'Spiritual Torrents' by Marie Guyon.  The first is a good solid book and well worth the read, but I'm halfway through the second and having a little trouble with the whole concept of the book.  While I like her idea and metaphor, I was a little horrified at what she explained, as it seemed to me, the ideal progress of every soul towards God, but then I remembered the preface, which mentioned just this:

"Of the experience of Madame Guyon, it should be borne in mind, that though the glorious heights of communion with God to which she attained may be scaled by the feeblest of God’s chosen ones, yet it is by no means necessary that they should be reached by the same apparently arduous and protracted path along which she was led.

The “Torrents” especially needs to be regarded rather as an account of the personal experience of the author, than as the plan which God invariably, or even usually, adopts in bringing the soul into a state of union with Himself. It is true that, in order that we may “live unto righteousness,” we must be iv“dead indeed unto sin;” and that there must be a crucifixion of self before the life of Christ can be made manifest in us. It is only when we can say, “I am crucified with Christ,” that we are able to add, “Nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.” But it does not follow that this inward death must always be as lingering as in the case of Madame Guyon. She tells us herself that the reason was, that she was not wholly resigned to the Divine will, and willing to be deprived of the gifts of God, that she might enjoy the possession of the Giver. This resistance to the will of God implies suffering on the part of the creature, and chastisement on the part of God, in order that He may subdue to Himself what is not voluntarily yielded to Him.

Of the joy of a complete surrender to God, it is not necessary to speak here: thousands of God’s children are realising its blessedness for themselves, and proving that it is no hardship, but a joy unspeakable, to present themselves a living sacrifice to God, to live no longer to themselves, but to Him that died for them, and rose again.

A simple trust in a living, personal Saviour; a putting away by His grace of all that is known to be in opposition to His will; and an entire self-abandonment to Him, that His designs may be worked out in and through us; such is the simple key to the hidden sanctuary of communion."  Amen!

While I think Madame Guyon's personal spiritual journey is worth study, proposing it, as she does, as a template for most everyone else, is dangerous indeed.  To her, God is a jealous husband that will suffer no rival, especially His bride's obsession with all His gifts and blessings, which in her case had to be stricken from her ere she would turn her eyes upon the Giver and love Him for His own sake rather than for the sake of His blessings.  That is not how everyone is wired or what every soul needs for its purification and growth.  In my own case, the 'severe husband' would only alienate me from the only One who can heal my stricken soul!  I am a survivor of severe emotional abuse and neglect from the earliest days of my existence, manipulated and shamed into self-hatred and extreme loathing of anything remotely resembling my own wants, needs, and tastes, never having encountered love, kindness, or succor at the hands of my parents.  I need a loving, gentle Father, not the 'severe husband.'  My iron-willed three year old probably needs something of the sort, but any hint of harshness, severity, or gifts given solely for the purpose of taking them away immediately shuts me down, for my trembling soul still thinks I am unlovable, unworthy of the least kindness, I deserve to be punished for existing, that my needs are an unacceptable burden upon others and inherently selfish; I lay down in the dust in despair, knowing it is more than just and of all men I am most wretched and deservedly so.

But there are many other pictures of God painted in the Scriptures beyond the jealous husband who so long chased faithless Israel through all her adulterous flings.  There is the gentle shepherd seeking the lost sheep and slowly leading the pregnant and nursing ewes, the mother with her little children, the patient husband who takes again his wayward bride, the Father who sends His only Son to purchase the life and freedom of an unworthy, wretched race!  Some souls may need the stern father or husband, but that is not my failing, I will cringe under severe discipline, declare it just, shrivel and die, to rise no more.  Rather it is kindness which smites me, humbled to the dust, I would help dig my own grave so wretched do I think myself, rather He stoops and lifts my chin, gazing upon me not in abhorrence but pity, asking 'where are your accusers,' and lo, I stood amongst the stone casting hoard, the most vociferous of all in condemning myself.  But kindness, that fatal dart!  The soul none could love He has called Beloved, Bride, Daughter, Child!  Severity and deprivation would only drive me further into despair, confirming my reservation in Hell, and I would call it just, knowing there could be no reprieve for such as I, one whom her own parents could not love.  But He is kind, patient, and loving when no one on earth was or could be, how then can I resist Him?

The classics, no matter the topic, are classic for a reason, but we should not abandon our judgement, our sense, our reason, our taste, our discernment just because the 'mob of history or thought' has declared something a classic.  We can learn much and enjoy more, but we also must be cautious in what we assimilate into our own lives, particularly in the spiritual sense, for all such are the work of fallen men, and like every mere man who has ever lived, subject to all manner of faults and flaws, but even so, the pursuit of excellence in any and every field is a wonderful thing and gives dimension and color to an otherwise drab existence.  Just like everything you read on the internet isn't true, so too, even the Classics have their shortcomings, but happily time and trial have sifted them again and again, leaving, in general, a profound experience for those willing to delve into them, rather than having to sift through a mountain of chaff on our own to find a single grain of wheat.

For to buy a toilet?

 There's nothing more romantic or adventurous than buying a toilet, save perhaps trying by every means possible to preserve those already in your keeping.  I'm a professional woman, but no plumber, and if you had told me on graduation day that fifteen years later I'd be maintaining and replacing toilets on a semi-annual basis, I would have asked what you were smoking!  But that was before I lost my job and had kids and a house and a church to take care of.  As a small church pastor's wife and mom of small kids, there are a lot of things you learn out of necessity, but happily in this day and age we have YouTube, where I can learn everything from toilet repair to new surgical techniques, so when you break the porcelain on your forty year old toilet trying to replace leaky washers you can replace the whole thing instead, now if only we had a YouTube channel for character.

Lately I've discovered Maria Edgeworth, a lady who wrote a little before and around the same time as the famed Miss Austen, and I must say I find both authors quite captivating, mostly because I've yearned for a proper Austen successor for years only to find a contemporary, but her stories are as much worth reading as anything in the Austen canon.  If there was a YouTube to encourage the growth of character and the cultivation of virtue, it would be the writings of Maria Edgeworth.  I haven't read everything, and some of her shorter tales are a little preachy, but overall, and her novels especially, I have really enjoyed as both a story and as a moral lesson and an illumination of various aspects of human character and society.  I often decry the lack of morals of modern man, but reading Maria Adgeworth or Jane Austen reminds me that it is the same in any age of the world, even going back to the biblical book of Judges and Ecclesiastes I should remember that, 'every man does what is right in his own eyes,' and that, 'there is nothing new under the sun.'

It isn't that we live in an exceedingly hedonistic age, that is temporal myopia on my part, but rather most men, no matter the age of the world, prefer dissipation and vice and selfishness and their own pleasure above all things, even the welfare and happiness of their own souls and families.  While it may be necessary to fix or replace a necessary plumbing feature in one's home, it is not so obviously necessitous to cultivate and grow one's own character and virtues.  While  the toilet that is flooding the bathroom is an obvious disaster that must be addressed, how little do we realize the shipwreck that is our own morals and go obliviously onward without evening pausing to muse thereupon?  That is one reason I love Austen and Edgeworth and some of their contemporary authors: they are a mirror we might hold up and examine our own lives and souls, and hopefully that we may address the faults reflected therein.

Some of the recent movie adaptations of these beloved classics get it right while others miss the point entirely, making Pride and Prejudice into merely a romance or chick flick.  How many viewers understand that Elizabeth cast off a 'great catch' because she perceived a glaring personality fault she was sure would doom her to misery in such a marriage?  How many of us act like Lydia, running off with Mr. Wickham at great cost to ourselves and those that love us and then return and boast of our triumph at another's expense without the least notion we did anything wrong?  What won Darcy Elizabeth's affections?  Overthrowing his personal shortcomings and exercising his virtue on her behalf.  Which marriage produced a life of mutual comfort, respect, friendship, love, and joy?  Only that based upon virtue, that invisible glue that holds families and societies together!  How's your plumbing?  Is it time to replace a flapper valve or maybe the whole thing?  It might be time to take a look!     

There can be only One

 I had a dubious flirtation with the Highlander movie and TV show back in the '90s when I was babysitting late and the only other option on TV was Star Trek.  I found the idea interesting and the show promising, but hadn't really thought about it much in the ensuing years, except that infamously cool sounding quote, but found the first season and the original movie on a streaming service so gave it a try.  Strangely I'm having similar qualms about it as I did with Harry Potter and Wheel of Time.  I'm an avid story nut, I used to stay up way too late trying to finish the next chapter if a book or series really captivated me, I went to a random movie I knew nothing about to watch a trailer for 'Return of the King,' I read and reread my favorite books impatiently awaiting the next installment, if something hooks me, I'm determined to finish it out, except in the aforementioned cases.

In all three cases I was hooked by a promising story, interesting characters, intriguing setting, big ideas, humor, wit, fun, adventure, a little romance, a promising exploration of what it means to be human (which is what a story is at bottom!).  But even as I devoured the material, gradually it seemed to grow less wholesome, less nutritious, less tasty and satisfying, I really wasn't savoring it as once I had, but why?  I read through five and a half Harry Potter books and ten twelfths of Wheel of Time before I couldn't stomach any more of these cult classic and beloved tales, but why?  The story began to lag, things grew ever darker, characters and plot began to languish, but most of all the worldview was driving me crazy and all hope seemed dead.  I hate modern lit and dystopian tales like 'Brave New World' and 'Animal Farm' (not that I don't appreciate the moral of the tale, and the role of cautionary tales, but they leave me feeling personally depressed which is probably the point!) for just those reasons (fuzzy worldview and lack of hope).  What little time I have to read, I want to read something that can cultivate hope and kindle virtue in a world that is dark enough at times, and before you accuse me of only liking sunshiny tales wherein the roses never fail to flower, take a look at my favorite book list, Les Mis and A Tale of Two Cities and Lord of the Rings aren't exactly replete with daisies!

Highlander struggles with this as well, everything is dark and drear, death and destruction, without a coherent reason for why things are as they are or a set of rules to which they must adhere or why we don't all just commit suicide and get it over with if this is all life has to offer?  Sort of like liberal visions of utopia: eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die, except we should probably die today so we don't further desecrate the earth?!  Why are we living?  That's why we love stories: they tell us how and why life is worth living.  I don't love those books because they are happy, happy, happy all the time, rather I slog with Frodo through Mordor because it is the only way to secure hope, if not for himself, then for the world he leaves behind.  We dodge the law with Jean Val Jean in hopes of a brighter dawn for a wretched little girl.  We rot in jail in revolutionary France because there is such a thing as love.  This sort of sacrifice, determination, endurance, strength, patience, courage I can understand, it makes sense, it is within the realm of our understanding, it is coherent within the stated worldview of the work.

Wheel of Time had a coherent worldview within itself, but it just got so bogged down in minor details and subplots that I lost interest.  Highlander and Harry Potter drove me batty as they never explained how or why things happened, they just were that way?  All three were rather melancholy, at least to me, what is there to hope in or long for or sacrifice for or pursue virtue to attain?  Why bother?  Much like this tale we call life, if you have yet to discover the Author and delve into the backstory, the characters, the rules and laws that govern the world, and have peeked ahead at the denouement.  I suppose tales like Highlander and Harry Potter appeal to the vast array of folk that don't have any other tale to explain existence, to give them a reason and a hope, so they cling to whatever they can, such as it is.  What are you clinging to?  Why do you live?  Are there any rules or coherence in your existence?  Have you any hope?  It may be time to find yourself a new favorite Author, to delve into your own fairy story, for therein is Hope indeed!  

Maria Edgeworth, better than Austen?

 Sacrilege, I know, but I think I might actually like Maria Edgeworth a tad better than Jane Austen, though I'm still a diehard fan, perhaps it is just that Edgeworth's characters get out of the house more?  Austen wrote what she knew: the rather confined life of a single woman of limited means in a rural setting, whereas there is a bit more variety in the experiences of Edgeworth's characters, but otherwise there is humor, excellent writing, a celebration of virtue, interesting characters and plot lines, keen social commentary, and piercing insight into the human condition to be found in the works of both authors.  I've looked for Austen's heir for a long time, and am still looking, but happily one of her contemporaries is definitely worth the read, and all their books can be found for free on Gutenberg.org, enjoy!

Hope for those who have exhausted Jane Austen

I had thought there was no hope of finding an author I like as well as Jane Austen, at least in the same genre, place, and time, but I believe one Maria Edgeworth might be just such a worthy lady, though I had never heard of her previously, I have just finished two of her books (Belinda and The Absentee) and found both delightful!  She was a novelist that Miss Austen herself quotes in Northanger Abbey, upon the novel as the pinnacle of literary portrayal of morals, virtue, and human behavior, and I must side with Catherine and say that at least in Maria Edgeworth's novels, that is indeed true.  I had previously read Cecilia, by an authoress who very obviously inspired Austen, but found it long, sometimes tedious, and certainly sensational (Jane makes abundant fun of fainting in her 'Love and Friendship' but it is taken quite seriously in Cecilia!).  The best I can describe is that Edgeworth is like reading Austen, if Miss Austen wrote about scenes and society outside her country manors and genteel society, she possesses an equal depth and breadth of characters, the virtues and vices of society are explored, humor is rampant, and a happy ending lurks just out of sight.  So if you have run out of Austen, give Maria Edgeworth a try!

For all those who aspire to be Miss Austen's heir in the modern era, please read both Austen and Edgeworth thoroughly before you attempt it, make sure you 'get' Austen, it isn't a trashy romance, it is a witty social commentary disguised as a romance!  You can't be Miss Austen's heir without having her manners, virtues, and wit!

Chasing unicorns

I've wanted to get into astrophotography for some time (taking pictures of the night sky and its inhabitants), now that I have a camera that can handle low light conditions, but it was just one of those things that I never got around to.  Then I saw a little article on a comet that is in town for the weekend and decided it was time to dust off my tripod and give it a try.  Happily one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere is you can actually see the stars without taking a road trip, though there are some rather significant obstructions on the northwestern horizon, at least from my yard, I thought I'd give it a try.  For two nights, I snuck out with my binoculars but to no avail and probably making the neighbors wonder what I was up to at night with my binoculars or camera!  Between said obstructions and low clouds, there was no comet.  I had read somewhere that it would appear right after sunset, and checked diligently every half hour thereafter for two nights and then went and set up camp, ready to take pictures on the third.  The sun set, there wasn't much for clouds, but still no comet!  I gave up on the dream, though I got to see two comets back in 1997, so I figured I knew what I was looking for, especially as this one was said to be less than those, which while interesting, weren't really all that cool to look at.  Instead I turned my gaze and spotting scope to the opposite horizon and did a little planet gazing, as Jupiter, and supposedly Saturn were rather prominent in the night sky as well.

I've never tried star gazing before, I took astronomy back in undergrad, but we never went out and actually looked at the stars, instead we just did more physics problems.  It was amazing to actually see another world (and 4 of its moons!) and then the rings of Saturn, amazing!  While I was busy trying to take a picture through my spotting scope, full dark fell, the stars came out in their myriad hosts, and glancing idly off to the northwest, there it was!  Wow!  I had given up, I was ready and accepting of disappointment, content with nothing or leftovers, but wow!  1997 had nothing on this baby, what a tail!  Then I saw a shooting star, and since I was already out there with all my gear, I finally got around to trying a shot of the milky way, which was actually pretty easy after Jupiter!

No wonder the psalmist proclaims, 'the Heavens declare the glory of the Lord!'  And in another place, 'taste and See that the Lord is good.'  Not just read about or watch on YouTube or inherently know, but rather taste, see, prove with your senses!  A dirty snowball, a lifeless rock, an incendiary ball of gas, all displaying His glory, His wonder, for me!  How much more can I do likewise in the lives of others?  Modern society is too much addicted to passive pursuits, ticking off things on the bucket list, watching it in HD, instagramming it instead of experiencing it.  We've lost our sense of wonder, our sense of humor, our humility, our joy!  We've become old, jaded, bitter, cynical, critical, not the immortal children of a boundless Kingdom as He intends us to be.

A friend of mine just went to Yellowstone for the first time, and gloried in the geological variety around her (she's a rock nerd!), astonished at the busloads of indifferent tourists that merely traipsed by, barely looking at anything, just taking in the requisite scenes and moving on or taking a selfie in front of some wonder or other, filling up most of the frame themselves rather than glorying in the sight itself or giving thanks to its Maker and theirs.  How very sad are such little lives!

May we lose the technology, the cynicism of our age, the hubris that easy access to seemingly limitless knowledge breeds, the jaded indifference of having seen it all, and reclaim the wonder of small children, who are delighted as much by the Morning Glory Pool as with the trash receptacle, who are very heirs to the Kingdom!  Go chase unicorns and dragonflies and rainbows, learn how to laugh, to sing, to dance and not care what anyone else thinks, learn to see the glory all around you, so much so thoughts of your own recede far from you (true humility)!  Lose yourself in the wonders of creation, rediscover your Creator!

Orphan no more!

Here's a great article to read if you just feel 'not good enough,' 'not accepted,' alone or unloveable.  I've been fighting that fight with myself, coming out of an abusive home, trying to convince myself that I am as worthy of dignity, love, and respect, the same as any other person.  Ironically, it goes on to say that God sees us as adopted children, children!  Beloved, accepted, blessed, giving pleasure to their Father!  I'm an adoptive parent of two amazing kids, most days I forget they are adopted, they're just my kids!  I can love and accept them, but I deny myself the same right?  I'm not doomed to ignominy, leftovers, wretchedness, and pity, as my upbringing has convinced me that I am, either in a current physical sense or in my eternal destiny, why can't I wrap my head around that?

He isn't a stingy, miserly, grudging God, it is His good pleasure to give ME the kingdom, really?!  He is excited about it, like a loving parent?  Like me giving my kids stuff they need and desire?  Unlike the mother who bought me Christmas presents because it was socially prescribed and handed me the dreaded birthday present like it was some sort of illicit deal she found degrading and hoped no one would discover the truth thereof, and it was always something she wanted, never anything I had a desire, need, or use for, and then I was never allowed to play with or even look at it, it had to be safely stored in the closet because it was 'collectible.'  I feel like that sums up my whole young life: put it away in a dark corner, where it will eventually fall apart and decay, never having meaning, purpose, or value and never having any enjoyment therein.

Then there's God, and His crazy call to come out of that unwitting tomb, there's more to life than dust and shadows, despair and sorrow and shame.  He made a whole brilliant world to explore and marvel at and delight in.  He sent His only Son to pay the price of sin and rectify the world's ruin, so I don't have to.  He's surrounded me with people, interesting, warm, loving, annoying people to replace the family I never had.  And this is only the beginning, only the title page!  Me?!  The little girl whose own mother didn't love her?  A beloved daughter, a part of a family, heir to a Kingdom?!  Talk about fairy tales, this beats an enchanted frog any day!  And the door is open, shed the orphan's rags and become the child you were meant to be!

Young Author Syndrome?

I recently decided to do a major revision on my early books, a decision a decade in coming, but my writing has improved drastically since then and I want all my writing to shine, not just my latest books, but part of me felt like I was desecrating something sacred, but they need attention so bad!  No changes to the overall story, just smoothing out the choppiness, fleshing out characters and dialogue, and removing bald statements of the obvious, ugh!  Interestingly enough, I found a nice little article on a promising author and found one of her books at the library, hoping I had found Jane Austen's heiress at last, only to find the same problem in her writing as afflicts my own!

Most of my trouble with Jane Austen-wanna-bes is that most are little more than trashy romance novels wearing an Austen cover, though I would love to hear Miss Austen's comments on her so-called successors!  The book I read was neat, clean, and okay.  I wish I could call it great or even good, but it had no sparkle, no depth, no lure to draw me deep and skip two nights of sleep to find out what happens; the characters were shallow and uninteresting, there was a lot of promise but we only skimmed the surface and hastened on to the next plot point without pausing to experience the moment we were in, to explore the nuance and depth of personality and experience and what happens when they collide.  It felt like a chick flick on paper sans the trashy romance.  But there is promise, there are ideas there, that if developed and deepened, with a little practice, could yield wonderful fruit.  I can say the same about my early books.  It is young author syndrome.  And the cure is time and experience, both on an authorial and a personal level.

Write, write, and write some more.  Don't forget to read and read and read again.  And grow, especially as a person, your characters can't have more depth than the one who writes them, so deepen and expand your own character and thereby your fictional ones too!  I couldn't write like I write now back then because I was a shallow, two dimensional figure myself, only in discovering myself, the deepest corners of my haunted soul, could I become both the person and writer I should be.  Now, as a better, deeper person and writer, I'm going to attempt to go back and add depth and wit and whimsy to my original works.  I can't wait to see what this particular author develops into, there is a lot of promise there, but it is merely hinted at in the book I read, but the seeds of greatness are there!

 I think that is why modern people content themselves with trashy romance novels: there is no need for plot, character, or any talent at writing whatsoever, like our modern culture, we live for the moment, the now, for me, for the cheap thrill and shallow relationship.  But this young lady is not settling for that, and it will be exciting to see her continuing development!

Foolishness?

Do you ever think you are living in an episode of the Twilight Zone or an article from the Onion or the Babylon Bee?  More and more I get that feeling!  The first hunch happened when I was in college, a certain pro-wrestler was elected governor of my home state, sort of a prequel to a certain guy being elected President.  But more than the political aspects of it, socially and culturally I found myself in a place that didn't seem to have the same reality as I had experienced elsewhere, and since then, it has only gotten worse, then it was confined to academia, now it is the very parlance of the media, politics, music, books, art, and trendy culture and even the social sciences.  And if you don't happen to celebrate, celebrate mind you not just tolerate, all the trendy aspects of this brave new world, well you are worse than a Nazi.

But then I read in a certain dusty old book, a true relic left over from unenlightened times, when they didn't even have google or social media, poor benighted fools!, that, 'it is the foolish things that will overcome the world.'  Interesting!  But then the ancient church was accused by the Romans of being cannibalistic atheists, so why should I be surprised?  Apparently it isn't just me or modern sensibilities, the same nonsense has been driving the world crazy since Eden fell.  Wasn't Paul accused of being driven mad by his great learning?  Didn't a dozen unlearned fishermen 'turn the world upside down?'  Wasn't there a riot in Ephesus even though the majority didn't know what they were protesting?  It is no different now.  It isn't that the world is being turned upside down so much as  parts of it are being turned right side up, in its current state it is upside down, that old book is the key to setting it aright: turning darkness to light, bringing life out of death, joy out of sorrow, hope from despair.  Maybe it is time to look anew at those foolish words from ancient days, the modern media, politicos, and internet gurus certainly don't have any sensible answers and they've had two millennia to come up with an answer to 'life, the universe, and everything,' and even 42 makes far more sense than some of the drivel they've come up with!

Late to the party!

I finally read one of the best selling and most iconic books in American history, albeit it was published in 1880, but what is a hundred years between friends?  I saw a really bad Canadian movie of 'Ben-Hur' last year and recently we listened to the Focus on the Family audio drama, but I had never read the book, along with all the other snippets and cultural references that were still present in my own girlhood: an episode call 'Ben-Hog' in the animated Garfield series of the late 1980s, Anne of Green Gables getting in trouble for reading it during geometry...  I think I have even seen the classic movie, but I have never read the book!

Overall I found it an excellent read, the author's attention to detail is exquisite and is the next best thing to a trip to the Holy Land.  It kept me interested, characters, plot, language, pacing, even though I vaguely knew the plot, were all very well done.  The only thing that really annoyed me was the author's insistence on placing Christ's birth on December 25th and making Jesus and His mother's physical appearance identical to all those romanticized, Caucasian Jesus pictures, where He looks like a well groomed hippy!  For a guy who did so much research and paid such attention to every other detail, it was a little irksome, if he hadn't bothered with such painstaking detail elsewhere, I would have let it pass, but it is obvious he's only trying to avoid angering his readers by enlightening them to the real facts of the matter that Jesus most likely did not have blue eyes and that we don't really know the exact day of His birth, though it is likely around lambing time.

Jesus wasn't physically pretty, Isaiah tells us that, 'He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him,' in the 53rd Chapter predicting the Messiah and His suffering for humanity's sin.  So boy band Jesus is a figment of our imaginings.  I understand why he wrote that way, but it clashes with the rest of the novel, which is otherwise so precise in every minute detail, which is ironic as a major theme of the book is people realizing that the Messiah did not come as a physical King or a military conqueror to overthrow the Romans, but rather to save the souls of men.  While the author wanted to open the eyes of his characters to the true nature of the Son of God, he was willing to allow his readers to persist in their cultural naiveté as to the birth date and physical appearance of their Savior, not that those are major issues, but it is amusingly ironic!

I also find it interesting the vast differences in the movies and audio dramas and other spin offs from the original.  Many of them miss the entire point of the book, and it is not the chariot race.  Just for that you should read the book, and even if you've seen all the movies, etc., you might be rather surprised by the plot!  Overall, it is a very good read, especially if you are curious about the subtitle, which most of the spin-offs seem to forget, 'A tale of the Christ.'  Enjoy!

The Great Bread Machine Revival?

People, we are seeing a movement like we haven't since the nineties!  It is full on revival!  It's another Great Awakening and no, I'm not talking 1890s...bread machines are back in demand!  That wasn't what you thought I was talking about, was it (though maybe the title gave it away).  Is this news, probably not, I'm only aware of it because my bread machine decided to have mental issues yesterday and my husband's answer was to go price shopping online, only to discover the things are sold out everywhere.  Happily my own unit came out of its stupor and seems to be working again, but I was still intrigued by the temporary shortage of something so obscure as a bread machine.

When all this started I noted that bread was completely sold out in our store for a week or two, but as I haven't bought bread in over a decade, it wasn't more than an idle curiosity, though I also noted that the flour was all gone and so was the yeast.  Apparently people were going to try making their own and this bread machine shortage shows how widespread that idea is.  I find it wonderful that this pandemic has produced such unexpected and wholesome fruits.  A couple months ago, bread making was a lost art, only practiced by foodies with an interest in that sort of thing or by necessity for those with dietary issues, but most people in general, had no clue about the process.  Necessity has forced us to look back to the wisdom of the past, to wonder how our forebears survived in a world without Google and Wonder Bread.  And what will be the result?  Has a whole new generation of bread makers come of age?  Long after this crisis passes, will they still have their sleeves rolled up and covered in flour, recapturing the joy of turning water and flour into a true culinary miracle?

What other 'ancient wisdom,' will we rediscover out of doubt, fear, necessity, or boredom?  What about the answers to the great questions of life?  Why are we here?  Where did we come from and where are we going?  Why is there evil, pain, and suffering in the world?  Perhaps it is time to rediscover the faith with answers to those tough questions, have you discovered the Bread of Life?  Even if you can't get your hands on a bread machine, the 'Bread that comes down from Heaven' is available anytime, anywhere, to everyone!

This is your life?

I keep reading L.M. Montgomery's The Blue Castle and thinking it is my own autobiography, save a few minor details.  Have you ever found a book like that?  One you read and wondered how it was your own life had been captured by a stranger, especially one who wrote a hundred years ago?  That's the power of story, my friend, no matter in what genre you are dabbling: film, books, video games, comics, music and art...all of it should tell a story, at least any of it worth bothering about!  Story is the language of the soul, no matter the medium!  Wondering what to do during these strange weeks at home or how to help others or change the world for the better?  Why not engage with story?  Read to your children, watch a good movie with your spouse, write that novel you've been incubating, take a virtual tour of an art museum or listen to the Requiem or the Messiah in their entirety or break out your own forgotten paints and add some color to the world!

Take this time to add beauty and meaning and wonder to the world, put something beautiful in!  Modern forms of art, music, literature, and poetry revel in destroying all the rules, all the meaning, the entire point of any of it.  Art and story must have meaning or they are meaningless, just like our lives!  So if you find yourself in a lonely, colorless existence at the moment, all this enforced time at home has revealed the utter bankruptcy of your soul, you aren't alone nor are you hopeless!  Begin today, add color and meaning and purpose to your drab little life!  Read great books and good poetry, watch wonderful movies, have real conversations about deep things, study great art and music, develop your own latent skills in whatever discipline and add to the vast human repertoire.

But remember it is all still meaningless if there is no Meaning behind everything.  If we are the result of some cosmic sneeze, with no eternal destiny or meaning, then go ahead and watch and listen to drivel as meaningless as our reality, until the coldness and loneliness and pointlessness freezes your heart and mind as cold as the regions between the stars, for that is our ultimate destiny: cold, dark oblivion, if Nothing is Everything.  Otherwise, take that thirst for Something and look under the metaphorical rocks and logs of reality until you find it, sell all that you have for this Pearl of Great Price, this Treasure buried in a Field.  That very thirst is a sign you are alive, that life has meaning, and that the point of life is to find that Meaning.  A mere chemical abstraction shouldn't feel empty, lonely, pointless, but a living, breathing, quivering, wondering soul certainly can!  Enjoy story in all its variations and remember the Great Author to whom they point!

Lest ye die?

I'm totally puzzled about the strange insanity that has gripped the country.  People are actually driving 3 hours to our itty bitty hole in the wall town to buy toilet paper as all the urban centers are sold out, but this is a respiratory virus, why do you need scads of toilet paper?  True, dogs and calves get diarrhea from a corona virus, but as far as I know each is species specific and of no relation to the current human strain.  Why aren't we then worried about weird cancer like growths then as happens to the unfortunate feline sufferer?  Anyway, life in general is canceled until further notice for something that is far from having the ramifications of a war or the plague.  Should we use common sense and take reasonable precautions, yes!  Should we destroy the economy and all social intercourse, no!  But why are people going bananas?  I just don't get it.

Then I ran across this beautiful article.  Wow!  Now I get it.  Nobody wants to die.  Nobody wants to stare death in the face.  Everybody wants to have control of their entire destiny from birth through death.  We want to choose, we want to do it our way.  And we want to be so distracted from the concept that any interruption thereto is cause for crisis.  And since we need to stare mortality in the face at the moment, let's have a panic to distract therefrom!  Lent has gone viral (sorry, bad pun).  So wake up Church, reexamine your lives, stand up amidst this crisis and offer calm, truth, sense, and hope for a world gone mad!  The world needs Hope, not toilet paper, and we're the only people who know how to find it.  So when death finally does stare you in the face, even if it isn't for many years to come, you can grin back because his is a losing hand!

The Jane Austen Prequels?

The miniseries Sanditon (Jane Austen's unfinished novel) seems like to meet the fate of the source material, as it finished on a rather non-Austen cliff hanger with little hope of a second season to smooth out the wrinkles, unless of course they are going for a 'Becoming Jane' feel and ending on such a wretched note because that's how real life turned out, but this is fiction and Jane Austen too, I hope someone reconsiders lest they never live down the irony!  But if you are tired of modern remakes and interpretations and disasters pertaining to all things Austen, why not indulge in Fanny Burney?  Yeah, I never heard of her either, but I saw a little article about her writings and thought I'd give her a try, apparent influence on Austen as she was.  It was a little eerie, reading Cecilia, I felt like I saw the ghost of a hundred different characters or plots of Austen fame all through the book.

Overall it was wonderfully written, but it was insanely long and tedious at times and I even wonder if the young Austen was poking fun at Burney with her quote, 'run mad as often as you like but do not faint' for some of the antics of the characters?  If you have exhausted all things Austen, and are a diehard fan, give Burney a try, but if you are a casual acquaintance, go watch the five hour mini-series of Pride and Prejudice starring Colin Firth!  In Austen you find all of Burney's exquisite satirical wit and social commentary, but refined, sharpened, precise, finished, dare I say perfected?  The pupil has out shown the master!  There are several characters that could be left out entirely but are given pages and pages of conversation that is neither advancing the plot or amusing, rather it is tedious, not to mention you want to slap the main characters at various moments as well.  The romance minds one of either Persuasion or Mansfield Park or Jane Eyre with the long, painful, impossible, never-ending twists and turns but without characters half so interesting to walk that interminable road with.

Check out project Gutenberg for free copies of Burney's novels, they are certainly worth a try for the hardcore Austen enthusiast, but for anyone else, they might be the death of their interest in classic literature, perhaps death by classic literature?

Making the Myth Real

Here's an interesting little article, anything that quotes C.S. Lewis must be worth the read, right?  Then I realized that's why I write stories, well besides for the fact that I'm apparently wired to do nothing but.  I am fascinated with the idea of why stories haunt us, why was that the mechanism through which the Word made flesh decided to communicate to humanity?  Even in this age of disparate interests, Story is still at the heart of our entertainment, purpose, recreation, and culture.  Nobody would care about climate change if it was a mere conglomeration of statistics and measurements, rather we clothe it in epic splendor and proclaim it like the Prophets of old did the coming Messiah and suddenly it is as widespread and accepted as the Gospel in our grandparents' day.  There's a reason He speaks in parables!  The only question is, will we come to embrace the old, old story as more than an intriguing tale of ancient days?  There is a reason we were brought to Narnia, but will we be Susan or Lucy, very participants in the fairy tale of life but either blind to its reality or eager to see what lies beyond it?

Thesis anyone?

Anyone need a thesis in psychology or literature?  How about 'Narcissistic Personality Disorder in Classic Literature?'  There's much worse out there, let me assure you, my favorite being 'Oedipal Complex in Good Night Moon,' yeah, I don't get it either!  In my last post, I mused upon why so many famous and beloved authoresses seem to be so familiar with the idea, namely Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, and L.M. Montgomery.  What is it about narcissists that inspires great writing?  Is it that they make such lovely villains?  That's certainly necessary for a good story, but what makes a good writer?  Basically it is someone who can so describe in words, landscapes, people, situations, and other complex realities that we can see them in our mind's eye, feel them in our hearts, acknowledge them with our mind, all without ever actually seeing them, but feeling that we have known them in person.

I propose there is a four fold reason for this phenomenon in those significantly influenced by a narcissist.  This is not to say that every great writer was raised by a narcissist or all children of narcissists will be great writers!  Rather it seems far too curious a coincidence to be mere happenstance, thus I may theorize at will, but I leave it to the biographers and historians to say who the narcissist might have been in each of these women's lives.  First, a soul must express itself for we are creative beings, and when all other arts are forbidden, the imagination is sometimes our sole escape, creating elaborate worlds, stories, and characters to people our bleak and colorless lives to such an extent that our inner world is far more lovely and intricate than our real surroundings and relationships.

Second, when you live daily with such a person, who questions every blink, breath, movement, thought, look, sneeze and so forth, when you can hardly breath without criticism or permission, you become a keen observer of human behavior, learning painfully how to minimize the offense given for such grievous sins as hiccups and laughter or tears, you learn to read the least signs of others' moods and dispositions, lest you fall afoul of an already precarious situation by some inadvertent blunder that might have been prevented had you been paying attention to the other's mood.  This familiarity with humanity in general and in particular would be very useful for a budding writer in developing characters and cultures.

Third, when you have no solace in human company or relationships, solitude and peaceful surroundings are then your only solace (at least before social media!).  You escape outside (no matter the weather, it must be better than the subzero temperatures withindoors) and wander far and wide, learning to see beauty and hope everywhere, developing a love of nature and all her moods and aspects or perhaps histories or museums or fairy tales or a hundred other escapes fill that aching void in your heart that should be filled by human love and kindness.  As you learn the many facets of human behavior and mood, so too do you fill your mind with the intricacies of your given retreat, be it a forest or a drawing room, which in turn might allow you to recreate the phenomenon in words for others' perusal.

Lastly, writing is an escape, an outlet for otherwise pent up feelings, emotions, and experiences.  When you are not allowed either to laugh or cry, sometimes your only outlet is words, words, words.  Sometimes we write to understand ourselves or the world about us, sometimes to save ourselves from madness or exploding with the pressure.  Our fantasy worlds become more real and beautiful than our daily lives, into it we pour all our stifled passions and heady visions, so drab on the outside, but alive and bubbling as a fountain within and as easily staunched.  If you do write the thesis on this, remember to cite this article!  Enjoy!

The novel is already written, and it is good!

Many people are familiar with L.M. Montgomery's works, if not with the author herself, for 'Anne of Green Gables' is almost as classic a novel as 'Pride and Prejudice,' and the television adaptations have their own place in many hearts around the globe even if they've never read the books.  While I love the Anne books, to paraphrase a character in 'Anne's House of Dreams,' in referring to her own childhood sorrows compared to the more tragic life of another character, "your own unhappiness is only that of a child with no one to love them."  At first it seems an odd thing to say, for is not sorrow and misery, especially in children, an abhorrent thing no matter what?  What matter degrees?, but as some theorize that there are seven circles of Hell, I have come to realize she is right.  Yes, Anne has a rough start, a very unhappy and friendless early life, but she knows that, and while tragic, a mind can eventually wrap itself around that and come to peace with itself.  Anne has dwelt in the first or second circle of Hell, certainly, but eventually she does find love and acceptance and Home.

I have long theorized that the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen are very familiar with what we now call narcissistic personality disorder because of certain characters in their novels, but Montgomery had hitherto stumped me, she wrote as one who might be familiar with the topic, especially in the above mentioned book there is certainly a character that seems thus afflicted, but then again, Anne and 'Emily of New Moon,' while certainly having tragic beginnings, were not themselves raised or significantly influenced by such a personality.  Then I reread The Blue Castle, and I had no more doubts, though I'm beginning to wonder if all the great classical authoresses have been significantly impacted by a narcissist?

While we see a little of what it is to be raised by a narcissist in 'Jane Eyre,' it is rather a brief glimpse. The Blue Castle takes a good long look at the subject and even includes a look at the extended family.  But then it moves on to the inward struggles of recovery from narcissistic abuse and even examines the mindset of the victim after she has been freed, as she wonders that anyone could actually loves her.  Some people reading this book might wonder at the idea of anyone having such a wretched, drab existence (I cannot call it a life) and think it all fancy, but there are others, like me, who will identify with the main character so much that she could be a long lost sister, and rejoice and cry by turns, or perhaps, gain hope and confidence that they are not crazy or alone in their struggles and that there is hope even for them.  I've wanted to write a novel like this, but happily I don't have to.  Montgomery's lesser known novel is an excellent read in itself, but particularly for those who suspect or are struggling with these issues, it offers a source of hope in a world that often thinks us mad in saying that our own mothers could be so awful.  I can stick with my paltry little fairytales as Montgomery has already written a veritable fairy tale upon the subject.

As to Anne's conundrum of her sad childhood, what could be worse than no one to love you?  Growing up unloved but not even knowing it, for the word and concept are so twisted and tortured that the child has no concept of what it truly is or means, perhaps they believe they will be loved when they do something to deserve it (not that they ever will) or perhaps they hate themselves for being so awful their parent(s) can't love them.  One can live with the truth of not being loved, but when one thinks one is loved (or will be under the right circumstances) and that is not true, that is the very definition of the seventh circle of Hell: to think one walks in Eden only to find oneself a resident of Hell, where hatred, indifference, and manipulation are called love, and Love itself is a concept beyond finding out or understanding.  But Montgomery does an excellent job of showing the conditions of such a wretched life but also the hope of healing and happiness if one is willing to address them.  It's an enchanting tale, and maybe it will help you or someone you know discover that they can have life and love indeed!

Who needs real when you have virtual?

Here's an amusing look at modern 'community,' well worth a look!