Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher

When our book club nominated "Winter/Christmas-themed books," Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher was one not chosen. I decided to read it anyways.

I did not love it. 

It's ostensibly about 5 lonely/disconnected people who find themselves together in a house in Scotland for the Christmas holidays. 

While it would be fine as a character-study, I didn't find any of the characters particularly enthralling. 

We are supposed to love them all because... well because they are the characters in the book. There's a lot of "telling, not showing," and so I can't really say we get to know any of them well. Carries is beautiful, but stoic. Elfrida is eccentric and marches to her own beat. Oscar is... I don't know.  An organist who... Sam... something, something... The most sketched out character is 14-year-old Lucy, but only because we get to read her diary. It is there that she comes alive. She is a typical teenager trying to make sense of the world the adults have given her. She is both sweet and self-absorbed. Apparently we are supposed to love them all and see them as the family we wish we could choose.

The problem is that I didn't love any of them. Even Lucy was hard to stomach at times. Carrie decides to rescue her from her very selfish grandmother and mother, whom we are clearly supposed to reject, yet their selfishness doesn't look that different from that of the others. Oscar and Sam are sympathetic, but we don't really get to know them, so... Also it's clear we are not supposed to like judgmental, religious people. Oh yeah, and that adultery is good when one of ours does it; bad when it's done to one of ours...

While we are supposed to cheer on the formation of a chosen family by these lonely, misunderstood outcasts, I honestly didn't care by the end. 

It's nice that Oscar returns to church in the end, I suppose, but the why and the how and the "therefore, what..." are completely truncated. And so the ending is also unsatisfying. 

Maybe I'm being overly harsh and the adultery stuff was too much. I don't know. I just know I didn't respond the way GoodReads says I was supposed to.

Letters From Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien

Every time our book club meets, we choose a book and reject several others. This one ended up on the rejection pile. It's too bad.

Letters From Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien is magical in the best sense of the word. 

From 1920 - 1943, Tolkien's children would receive beautifully illustrated letters from Father Christmas, updating them on his adventures at the North Pole, with commentary by his hapless assistant, North Polar Bear (N.P.B.). 

Father Christmas (or F.C. as he begins to refer to himself) delights to receive letters from the children, although as the years go on and the children grow, he receives fewer and fewer. His first letter is addressed to 3-year-old John, and his last to 14-year-old Priscilla. 

We see the children grow up and go off to (presumably boarding) school. We get hints of the magic fading and the very real longing of F.C. to keep the story going. 

In fact, as the letters progress, the letters get longer, the pictures get more detailed, the number of characters grow, and the adventures pick up right where they left off the year before. By the end, when F.C. signs off for what he knows to be the last time, our heart breaks. He, N.P.B., his secretary Ilbereth, the N.P.B.'s nephews Paksu and Valkotukka who came to visit and never left, the red gnomes, the reindeer, the snow people, the elves, and all the others that inhabit that world will continue on, as they always have: the presents, the shortages, the mishaps, the miscommunications, the warfare, the parties, the joys, the fears. But the children are simply too old. They are no longer interested. The Letters From Father Christmas cease because the letters from John, Michael, Chris, and Priscilla have ceased. 

What a wonderful gift that his children and descendants preserved the letters, envelopes, and drawings and published them for the rest of us to delight in. 

A Boy Called Christmas by Matt Haig

Our book club chose a light-hearted winter/Christmas read after a couple of heavy endeavors: A Boy Called Christmas by Matt Haig. It's a children's tale of the way in which Santa Clause becomes, well, Santa Clause. 

We begin with a boy named Nikolas, who was born on Christmas, and so is nicknamed "Christmas."

His mom is dead, having defended him from a bear in the frozen lands in which he lives. His father is off on a journey to discover if Elfhelm, the home of the legendary elves, actually exists. And Nikolas is stuck at home with his awful Aunt Carlotta. Eventually, Nikolas takes off with his trusty mouse, Miika, to find his dad.

Each adventure gets Nikolas closer to being the Father Christmas we know today. He finds and befriends a reindeer, they are revived from near death by the elusive elves using magic, which gives them magical abilities, he must escape from a prison through a too tiny and too high chimney (magic), he and his reindeer friend, Blitzen, fly (magic) off to find his father, he welcomed into the elven community, but must adopt the title of the elders, "Father." Because of his glorious reign and genuine desire to do good, he no longer ages and gives himself the moniker, Father Christmas.

His transformation is complete. 

The book was an easy read, as expected. Nikolas encounters some truly horrific situations. But it's predictable and didn't really add anything to the Santa story we all know. I guess I was hoping for something more clever than... magic. 

Oh well. 

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey is a magical realism novel about a childless couple, Jack and Mabel, homesteading in 1920s Alaska who build a snow child that mysteriously comes to life as a wild girl named Faina. The book explores themes of love, loss, isolation, and the boundary between myth and reality. Inspired by Russian folklore, the story follows the couple as they form a bond with the ethereal Faina, who appears and disappears with the seasons, forcing them to confront their grief and find hope in the harsh Alaskan wilderness. (AI)

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White

Cary Christian is doing a faculty book club in order to acquaint our staff with what and how we teach. Our latest read is Charlotte's Web by E.B. White.

I read this book as a child and found it magical. I read it again to our children and loved it just as much. I will say the ending it heart-rending, however.

But this time, although I expected the same magic, I didn't feel it. 

I hate to say it, but maybe I'm too old...?

It's hard for me to try to suspend disbelief and imagine non-humans as sentient. I love Toy Story, but it only works if the toys are alive in Andy's imagination. If they are truly sentient, the ramifications are too horrifying to contemplate.

I wanted Wilbur and Charlotte and Templeton to be alive in Fern's imagination. But not only does the book disallow that entirely, Fern loses interest in the whole animal world when she meets a boy! 

I realize it's a children's story exploring themes of friendship and sacrifice. White nicely contrasts Templeton, who never learns to look beyond his own selfish appetites, and Charlotte, who sacrifices all for Wilbur. The pig, himself, grows a bit as he realizes he just might be who Charlotte has always seen him as. All very human. But if real for a single moment, I am a mass murderer of hundreds of other Charlottes found lurking in my home. 

I hate to be a spoiler of magic, but I just couldn't feel it this time. 

The Feast by Margaret Kennedy

We read The Feast by Margaret Kennedy for our Book Club. I'm really glad we did. 

It takes place in an isolated bed and breakfast in Cornwall, England, in 1947. World War II has just ended, but the world is not back to normal yet. A few families have gathered to escape that world for a few short summer weeks. By the end, they will have bonded in a way they never thought possible. 

Early in the book it is revealed that a landslide has buried the seaside hotel, killing seven guests. The story unfolds as the survivors recount the week leading up to the disaster. We know it is coming, we just don't know when or to whom.

Yet as the book goes along, the reader finds she is rooting for some to make it, and cringing to think there are some that don't deserve to. 

By the end, we find that Kennedy chose wisely.

The best part of reading this book came during our discussion. Apparently we had all missed the introduction that stated, "The Feast situates the age-old questions of sin, retribution and salvation against a specific post-war context of shortages and squabbling, and this is what gives the novel such immediacy and texture. Pride, gluttony, covetousness, lechery, wrath, envy and sloth are well in evidence at the Pendizack Hotel" (p. IX). I think we all assumed those sins would be evident. We completely missed Kennedy's ingenious ability to embody each sin a particular character. We all gasped with the realization.

It's a clever, enjoyable read. The twist is worth the price alone.

Beauty for Truth's Sake by Stratford Caldecott

A fellow teacher recommended Beauty for Truth's Sake by Stratford Caldecott, stating that it had a great impact upon her. Since I greatly respect her, I figured her recommendation was as good a reason as any to buy it and read it. 

I had to read it twice. 

It's very dense. Even the title, Beauty for Truth's Sake, is enigmatic. What does that even mean? Even after reading the book twice, I'm still not sure that I can explain it. 

Caldecott is making the case for re-enchanting education. He believes we went wrong when we separated Faith and Reason. 

He begins with a discussion of the trivium, grammar, logic, and rhetoric, and the quadrivium, arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy, which together compose the seven liberal arts. As understood by the ancients, it was the study of these things that would lead a student to the ultimate good, which was the study of God. In this world, faith and reason worked together to free the student up for that most good, true, and beautiful. "The assumption of this system of education was that by learning to understand the harmonies of the cosmos, our minds would be raised toward God, in whom we could find the unity from which all these harmonies derive: Dante's 'love that moves the sun and the other stars.'" (53) But western civilization long ago lost the connection between faith and reason and so God and the study of theology became worthless pursuits. 

By losing sight of the purpose of education according to Plato, we have lost sight of our very humanity. Plato describes the power of learning on the soul: "the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming to that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good." (22) Knowledge, then, is its own end. It is be valued because it leads us to beauty. And truth resides in beauty. John Newman states, "I have said that all branches of knowledge are connected together, because the subject matter of knowledge is intimately united in itself as being the acts and work of the Creator." (29) True beauty is the harmony found in the universe. To miss or denigrate beauty is to lose both truth and goodness as well. And all beauty is found in acknowledging the Creator.

Caldecott then discusses the poetic imagination and our need to awaken it. This means understanding how the medievals saw at the world. Theirs was a cosmos infused with divine symbolism. "Everything that exists, in whatever mode, having its principle in the Divine Intellect, translates or represents that principle in its own manner according to its own order of existence; and thus, from one order to another, all things are linked and correspond with each other so that they join together in a universal and total harmony which is like a reflection of the Divine Unity itself." (48) It was this elimination of the symbolic and poetic understanding that caused the great divorce between science and religion and art from science.

The author then goes onto discuss how the ancients imbued that first of the quadrivium, arithmetic and numbers, with symbolism. He starts with mathematics and shows how numbers pointed the mind of man to God. It begins with 1 - the ultimate symbol of unity that exists in God, himself. Then 2, which clearly delineates the symbiosis of the Father and the Son. But it is 3 that completes the picture of the Trinity and the love that flows between Father and Son. Caldecott spends quite a bit of time on more number symbolism, including the "golden ratio," and the ways the medieval world used number theory to point the people to the truth of God. 

From arithmetic, he moves to the next topic of the quadrivium, geometry. Specifically he shows how circles and other geometric shapes point to the unity of the Trinity. Not only do circles and triangles capture the beauty of the godhead, but proportion as well. Caldecott states, "A single relationship unites the Father to Christ, Christ to his disciples. Christ is the proportional mean between God and the saints." (81) He even relates pi, and its unending string of numbers, to the infinite love of God for his creation. If the Holy Spirit is the circle connecting the two points of Father and Son, then his measure is πd, an infinite number times the distance between Father and Son. We reside in the middle of that circle!

Next in the quadrivium is music and to this Caldecott turns. According to the ancients, the universe is singing! And "to understand the universe is to appreciate its music, the harmonies between its parts, the rhythm of if movement, and the proportion of its elements." (94) This music becomes physically manifest in architecture as well. Unfortunately, we have lost sight of the verticality seen in medieval architecture, with its intentional pointing to God. We have focused on the horizontal, that is man to man and to his environment. Even the tallest skyscrapers are simply horizontal buildings stacked upon each other. He calls for an architecture based on verticality, permanence, and iconography. Not only buildings, but the natural world is singing. "The animals, plants, and minerals, the stars and elements, were universally thought to 'praise' their maker, either simply by their very existence, or when called upon to do so by man (who gives them a voice they do not possess in themselves)." (107)

This universal singing leads naturally to astronomy, the fourth branch of the quadrivium. C.S. Lewis brilliantly reminds us that "The music which is too familiar to be heard enfolds us day and night in all ages." (110) We live in an enchanted creation and we miss it because it is all too familiar. Unfortunately early astronomers missed the mark in their insistence on an earth-centered system, and so lost some credibility. The problem was that the astronomers so believed in the mythical symbolism of creation that they worked backward from that presupposition. Rather than let the actual data guide them and then discover the beauty, they tried to impose their own vision of the beautiful, distorting what God had actually designed. In attempting to "save appearance" they created increasingly complicated descriptions of what was actually a beautiful system: the sun at the center (light) and the elliptical orbits of planets which contain two centers, just as we orbit our lives around the visible and the invisible God. Much beauty exists in the truth of the created order. The ancient astronomers lacked the faith to wait for that beauty to be revealed. 

The final subject of astronomy should lead most naturally to the study of God, but in our secular and disenchanted world, we have become buffered selves, disengaged from the world. "Without those ties, without that embeddedness, nature was drained of grace, and our connection to the transcendent God became less a matter of imagination or intellect or feeling than of sheer willpower." (124) To re-enchant the universe, we must return to revelation and worship. If we define "liturgy" as "a formal ritual enacted by those who understand themselves to be participating in an action with the divine..." (Wikipedia), then liturgy may be our salvation.

Can we see liturgy itself, then, as the "lost key" to humane education that we have been searching for in this book; that is, to the reintegration of all things, all subjects, in a vision of sacred order? Would a renewed appreciation of liturgy help to anchor theories about number and symbolism and quality more profoundly in real life, enabling us to introduce some much needed harmony into our own souls too? (126)

Caldecott reminds us that all societies are religious societies and all contain a creation story, a doctrine of the end times, and a liturgy or set of rituals to organize time and space. Ours has moved away from true religion to a secular and God-denying counterfeit religion. We must therefore start with remembering. We were created by God and that knowledge should evoke in us gratitude. That gratitude should turn into worship. This, then, should engender an appreciation of the seven liberal arts as a way to give ontological depth to our universe and point to a harmony that harmonizes our souls with the soul of the Creator. Modernity rejects this vertical dimension and so leads to a fragmented and dissipated self. It is the very definition of hell. The man whose soul seeks to harmonize itself with its creator flies on wings of both reason and faith, all bound up in love. Reason will lead to faith as beauty is revealed and faith will naturally engage in reason to reveal more beauty. It is, as Dante tells us, love that moves it all.