Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

Our book club chose to read Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. We had previously read The Remains of the Day, a Downton Abbey-type book, and I expected this to be no different. I was wrong.

This book is slightly dystopian, I suppose. It seems to be set in the near future where children are "lifted" -- that is genetically improved -- and seem to have lost interpersonal skills in the process. AI and robots have been melded into Artificial Friends (AF) to fill this void. 

Klara is an AF and the narrator of the tale. As such, she's an obviously unreliable narrator. She is learning and discovering the world for herself throughout, and so we discover it with her. 

Klara's story begins in the store where she lives with other AFs and Manager, who is "raising" her. Eventually she is bought by Josie's mother and brought to their home. All thoughts of prior friends and even Manager fade into the background as Klara adjusts to her new life. 

It become clear relatively early that Josie has a medical condition that may very well prove fatal. It is through Klara's limited understanding that we seem to find out the condition is the result of the lifting, but that Josie's mom would have chosen to lift her regardless. Strange. In fact, we eventually discover that Klara is being groomed to replace Josie should she die.

And this seems to be a real possibility. 

But... Klara fervently wishes to avoid this outcome, not for her own sake, but because she (alone, maybe?) seems to realize that Josie cannot be simply duplicated. She wants the real Josie to live and to experience a full life. So Klara, who seems to be solar powered, turns to the Sun to make a bargain: heal Josie and Klara will destroy a pollution-generating machine. Of course, once Klara destroys the machine and realizes that it was only one of many such machines, she believes she has failed. In desperation, she asks the Sun to heal Josie because of the great love Josie and her boyfriend, Rick, have for each other. 

For a while, Klara's prayers(?) do not appear to be answered as she would like, but eventually the Sun and his healing rays, shine brilliantly on Josie. She is healed and her life moves on as hoped, even as Rick fades from importance to her. Klara seems to come to believe that the Sun healed Josie, not because of a bargain or even because of her love for Rick, but simply because the Sun chose to do so out of goodness. 

Once Josie heads off to college, her need for an AF seems to disappear. So Klara is forgotten in a closet and eventually shipped off to the dump. Here she will quietly "fade" while reliving her memories. 

I told my book club, "I need you to tell me what I think about this book." I felt lost. The book club helped clear up some confusion, but I guess I still didn't "get it." The books own jacket says that it seeks to "explore a fundamental question: what does it mean to love?" I guess. I mean the mom loved both her daughters -- Josie and her older sister, Sal, who had already died as a result of the lifting -- yet made the same choice for Josie. Dad loves Josie and isn't convinced that an AF can actually replace her, but he's willing to give it a shot. Rick loves Josie and Josie loves Rick, but it turns out that it's just garden-variety teenage infatuation. Klara seems to genuinely love Josie and even sacrifices a great deal to destroy the pollution-inducing machine. In fact, only the robot seems capable of genuine, sacrificial love. But it is not returned. At all. 

Maybe the point is that as we become more technologically advanced, we become less human and the machines become more human? Maybe. Perhaps Ishiguro is warning us that we are losing our humanity, but humanity will out, somewhere, somehow? I don't know. 

And what's the deal with the Sun? Is it a fill in for God? No one else prays except for Klara. And her prayers are answered in a magnificent way. Are we being reminded that we need God and if humans lose that connection, robots, in sheer desperation, will reestablish it? I don't know. 

And why is Klara simply allowed to fade? She is literally a member of the family and then...garbage. It's kind of a reverse Velveteen Rabbit. Again, is this an indictment on humanity? Or is it Ishiguro's way of reminding us that Klara is not actually human and is in fact simply a piece of technology, so it's ok? I don't know. 

Ishiguro raises a lot of interesting questions in our age of heightened technological feats. Genetic engineering? Good or bad? AI? Good or bad? Urban infrastructure? Good or bad? Human souls? Real or imagined? Love? Sacrificial or transactional? God? Present or not? But I'm not sure if he answers the questions. He leaves a lot of ambiguity, and not in a good way. 

It is a somewhat easy read, although the ignorance of the narrator can make it tough at times to understand what is going on. Klara is delightful, but I also know that the way of Artificial Friends leads to death! 

A Praying Life by Paul E. Miller

Our book club made an odd choice: Non-fiction and theological. But I loved A Praying Life by Paul E. Miller. The author calls the reader to a prayer life filled with helplessness, humility, and childlike faith.

He begins by describing the relationship Jesus had with the Father. It's one of utter dependence. Despite the fact that Jesus, alone among humans, is the only person who could truly declare himself capable of living independently of God, he is the only human who has ever fully dedicated himself to live at one with the Father. We are to become "like little children," wholly trusting in and depending on the Father, moment by moment. Miller says about Jesus when he contemplated the separation he would feel on the cross, "He had never experienced a moment when he wasn't in communion with his Father. Jesus' anguish is our normal." (p. 33) This hit me hard. Do I anguish over my lack of engagement with God the way Jesus did?

Unfortunately in our modern era, we have allowed cynicism to replace trust. Even Christian will try to give their cynicism a gloss of religiosity by becoming stoic and acting as if they are fine with whatever God does, that it doesn't matter to them at all. Jesus was neither a cynic nor a stoic nor an eternal optimist. He wholeheartedly gave himself to the Father and cried out with anguish when he saw hurt and injustice. The Father wants us to come to Him aware of reality but fully trusting in Him. Miller says, "I am not called to put on rose-colored glasses and see everything in life as pretty and good and uplifting. Rather, I am called to trust that God sees what I see." (p. 72)

As children, we are to come to the Father asking "anything" in Jesus' name, that is, with his authority. That's an overwhelming promise if we truly believed it. The problem is that we don't. Again and again Jesus says that whatever we ask will be granted to us. But how does that work? Can I ask for a million dollars and expect it show up on my doorstep? Apparently not. Rather we are to have an attitude of ask in expectancy and desire, while maintaining a sense of surrender: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego's "if not" faith. We desire, we ask for our deepest desires, trusting that God placed those desires in our hearts in the first place, we hope, we wait, and we accept His perfect answer. He said we can ask for the impossible, for "nothing is impossible with God." He gave as an example asking for a mountain to fall into the sea, yet we struggle to ask for renewed relationships, remarkable healing, and the resurrection of long abandoned dreams. We have not because we ask not. What a convicting truth. God wants me to come to him with my real childlike self and ask for anything. So often we think either that God doesn't care about a particular desire, or that it's too selfish or frivolous. But how do you have a relationship with someone to whom you cannot tell your heart's desire. He gives the example of a vacation home. What if, instead of worrying and saving and planning and researching and stressing about our ability to afford a vacation home, we simply told the Father that it's our desire, but that we would rest and submit to His good plan. Let Him delight to provide and "make our joy complete." What a waste to not ask, not because then we won't receive, but because when we do receive we fail to see it as a gift from Him. In all this asking, we must also ask that he change me. I must allow Him to conform me to the likeness of His Son so that my desires begin to align with His. This one scares us because He might actually do it!

But what happens when we ask and the Father is long in answering? We learn to live in the story. So often God's answer is, "Not yet." He's working, moving the pieces, waiting for the time, and so often that feels like abandonment. It's ok to feel abandoned. In fact, one of the charges against Israel was that they failed to cry out to God when they felt alone and hopeless. God wants us to come to Him in lament when we are in the midst of the story. God is not a genie for whom we snap our fingers, and He obeys our command. What kind of relationship would it be if we did not learn to wait and trust? It would not be a relationship at all. In fact, Miller says that we live in the "Desert" between "Hope" and "Reality." This is where our story is being written. If we fall into denial, or determination, or despair, we miss the story He is writing. Rather we are to turn to Him, (not complain to those around us) with our reality and then place our hope in Him. It is in the desert that we experience communion with Him as together we walk the path He has laid out. Not knowing how the story ends is the hardest part. That takes us back to that childlike trust. As we walk in the desert, we must believe "three things about God: First, God is sovereign. He can do something. Second, God is love. He is for me. He wants to do something. And finally, God is a covenant-keeping God. He is bound by his own word. He will do something." (p. 186)

I love the way Miller sums up our role:

"1. Don't demand that the story go your way. (In other words, surrender completely.)

2. Look for the Storyteller. Look for his hand, and then pray in light of what you are seeing. (In other words, develop an eye for Jesus.)

3. Stay in the story. Don't shut down when it goes the wrong way...When the story isn't going your way, ask yourself, 'What is God doing?'" (p. 205)

We are not victims in our story. We are constantly being made to die to self and trust in the Giver of Life. It is only in relationship with the Father that any of this life begins to make sense and achieve purpose. And that relationship is formed in the crux of the desert as we ask, wait, and watch. He is for us, not against us and delights to give us the desires of our hearts, while transforming both our hearts and our desire.

Virgil Wander by Leif Enger

Our book club decided to read Virgil Wander by Leif Enger. He also wrote Peace Like a River, which we loved.

I thought this book was really sweet. 

It follows the life of Virgil Wander after he experiences a near-death crash into the ocean. He is saved by a witness and returns to his own life as a bit of an outsider looking in. 

A visitor to the small town, Rune, arrives flying kites and asking about the death of his newly discovered son, Alec. Because of Virgil's accident, he needs someone to watch over him while he recovers and Rune needs a place to stay. It's a perfect match. 

The small town is full of eclectic characters, none more so than the son of the founder, Adam. He comes off as slightly menacing, but we're not sure why. Regardless, a pattern of "bad things happen when he's around" starts to emerge. 

In the climax of the book, while the town faces a literal existential threat, Virgil and other townsfolk finally kill a giant sturgeon that's been terrorizing them. And suddenly both Adam and the threat disappear. It wasn't until I discussed the book with my book club that I even made that connection.

The book is a really enjoyable read. We definitely love getting to know the characters and the town itself. But if the connection is not made back to Adam and his family, the ending falls flat and feels very anti-climatic. Enger loves to introduce the supernatural and that's definitely woven in this book as in his other book, Peace Like a River. You just have to look for it.

 

Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

A friend in book club recommended that I read Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, despite my insistence that I didn't like Hemingway. She assured me I would like it. It's different, she said. 

I was right.

I didn't like it.

At all. 

I thought it would be similar to All Quiet on the Western Front which makes a damning case against World War I and probably all wars. This book does not do that. It makes a damning case against bad dialogue and a poor plot. 

I know I'm an outlier. It's Hemingway after all, and I suppose he's famous for a reason. But I'm not sure what that is.

The plot is thin: an American serves as an ambulance driver for the Italian forces in World War I before America enters the war. The unfamiliar terrain makes it even more difficult to perceive a plot. He gets hurt and spends a lot of time in a recovery hospital where he spends his evenings with a nurse. They say they love each other. She's feels married to him and he kinda/sorta agrees. We are never sure if they actually love each other or even know each other. It truly is all about the sex. For some reason, she's desperate to keep him. She is completely subsumed as an actual human to whatever he wants and says. Even if he doesn't know what he wants and says contradictory things. She's just there for it. He seems content to keep her around for as long as it lasts.

Once he returns to the war, things go south, and the army begins to retreat. Apparently that kind of failure leads to mock trials and summary executions of officers. Who knew? He and his now pregnant "wife" escape to Switzerland. Although the danger of being caught and executed is apparently a thing, we never see any real possibility of that. It's unclear if the army knows he's gone. 

When it comes time to deliver the baby, there are complications, and... spoiler... she and the baby die. He returns to the hotel. The end. (It comes with multiple endings in which the baby lives or dies. But in all the endings she dies. Each is just as abrupt and meaningless.)

No case against war. No growth as a human. No insight into the human psyche. Just a self-absorbed man. knocking up a horribly foolish and naive girl, and she dies. Oh yeah. At one point, he shoots a fellow soldier point blank in a field, and I could never figure out why. He neither struggles with that nor regrets it. It just happens, like most of his life.

It reminded me a lot of Catcher in the Rye and not in a good way. It's the internal musings of a narcissist. I'm not sure why I'm supposed to care what he thinks or thinks about. He mostly spends his time and money (where does all the money come from?) on alcohol. Even his pregnant girlfriend drinks because it keeps the baby "small"?!? 

Maybe the story is about two humans without a shred of humanity between them? Maybe it's about the ennui of war and the ever present sense of meaninglessness? Maybe it's about getting knocked up by an immature, self-absorbed, SOB?

One final note: the dialogue. Every character--male or female, young or old, American or not--spoke EXACTLY the same way. Boring drivel. (And interestingly all spoke like English was not their first language: halting, simple, non-reflexive.)

EXAMPLE conversation between Frederick (American, main character) and Catherine (British: the "wife"):

Catherine: "What are you thinking about now?"

Frederick: "Nothing."

"Yes you were. Tell me."

"I was wondering whether Rinaldi had the syphilis."

"Was that all?"

"Yes."

"Has he the syphilis?"

"I don't know."

"I'm glad you haven't. Did you ever have anything like that?"

"I had gonorrhea."

"I don't want to hear about it. Was it very painful, darling?"

"Very."

"I wish I'd had it."

"No you don't."

"I do. I wish I'd had it to be like you. I wish I'd stayed with all your girls so I could make fun of them to you."

"That's a pretty picture."

"It's not a pretty picture you having gonorrhea."

"I know it. Look at it snow now."

"I'd rather look at you. Darling, why don't you let your hair grow?"

"How grow?"

"Just grow a little longer."

"It's long enough now."

"No, let it grow a little longer and I could cut mine and we'd be just alike only one of us blonde and one of us dark."

"I wouldn't let you cut yours."

"It would be fun. I'm tired of it. It's an awful nuisance in the bed at night."

"I like it."

"Wouldn't you like it short?"

"I might. I like it the way it is."

"It might be nice short. Then we'd both be alike. Oh, darling, I want you so much I want to be you too."

"You are. We're the same one."

"I know it. At night we are."

"The nights are grand."

Insipid. Boring. Repetitive. Contradictory. Childish. Meaningless. Circular. It NEVER moves what little plot there is.

So how do I really feel?

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton is a sweet and captivating novel chosen by our book club this month.

The protagonist is Edie Burchill, a young editor, who uncovers her mother's secret wartime past when a 50-year-old letter arrives from Milderhurst Castle, home to the eccentric Blythe sisters.

Edie, a self-declared romantic, finds herself at Milderhurst one day and decides to take a tour, neglecting to mention her mother's connection to the home. Over the course of the novel, Edie comes to understand, not only her mother, from whom she has long felt estranged, but the mysterious Blythe sisters as well. 

The story weaves back and forth through time and perspective. This can make it a bit hard to follow at times. Each narrator is not omniscient, so it can be confusing to remember who knows what. But that shift keeps the reader engaged in a way that a much more straightforward tale would probably not. 

Edie is front and center. Yet we also experience the world through the eyes of the eldest Blythe, Persephone. Although the other two sisters have their own interesting stories to tell, the "lesser" twin Seraphina, and the dazzling, eccentric youngest, Juniper, by the end, it is Percy whose story is the richest. All are unreliable narrators for one reason or another, and the author almost leaves us without absolute knowledge of what actually happened. Thankfully, she introduces one last vignette, making the reader the only truly omniscient participant. 

Much of the mystery of the novel surrounds Juniper and the fiancée who abandoned her fifty years earlier. Edie's mom had been living at Milderhurst Castle during the war and so knew the central figures. Yet she had kept the entire episode to herself her whole life. Bit by bit, Edie uncovers the "real" story.

So many relationships are showcased in the novel. There is much love and sacrifice, even in the secrets. Bouncing about in time, as we do, we see characters literally grow up before our eyes. Edie, however, is stuck in her own time and can have trouble seeing each person for their totality. It helps that she is "romantic" and can imagine what she never experienced. 

This sweet book makes me want to read more of Morton's books. She has real insight into the human character and relationships. 

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.

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. 

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.

The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman

Our bookclub read The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman, the tale of four women who interacted during the time of Jewish resistance to the Romans on Masada. Loosely based on a true story, it describes the strengths and weaknesses of each of the women.

It begins with the journey of "The Assassin's Daughter," Yael, who is forced to flee Jerusalem with her father and another family, into the desert. When she finally arrives at the desert refuge of Masada, she is pregnant and hardened to the reality of the harsh life of a refugee. 

There she meets Shirah, an Egyptian and her daughter, Aziza, as well as Revka, a baker's widow. All of the women have their own story of love and loss and betrayal. All have made it to Masada with a deep desire to survive and all are strong in their own ways. Shirah is a mystic, full of magic and spells, despite their forbidden nature; Aziza harbors her own secret identity, disguising herself as a her brother and receiving acclaim for her heroics; Revka has proven she will kill, if the situation calls for it, to protect her family. 

Hoffman tells the story in sections, with each portion told in the voice of one of the four women. This necessitates a non-linear style as the story shifts back and forth in time. It's told in a lovely and haunting manner, full of beautiful imagery and language. The story is one I'm only vaguely familiar with and to have it dramatized was a delight.

Yet, I can't say I loved the book. 

All of the women are mystics of one sort or another, despite professing a Jewish faith. While they claim to serve the one true God, Adonai, a little reliance on the magic of spells and talisman seems to be the better option, especially when faced with particularly treacherous circumstances. In fact, the God they claim to serve never actually comes through for them. It is only magic that serves their purposes. And even that is not always to be relied upon. 

I guess, I wanted to see their faith in God manifest, but it never is. They live their lives reliant on themselves and whatever incantations and spells available. I actually didn't like any of the characters and could not see them as real people. They were too... much. All of them were very intense. Their thoughts, actions, and interactions were unlike those of anyone I've ever met. That made them seem wholly unreal and contrived. They are the version of women that this author wants women to be. But I didn't recognize them at all.

I can see why the book has great reviews. It's beautifully written and apparently deeply researched, but it wasn't for me.

The Bletchley Riddle Hardcover by Ruta Sepetys and Steve Sheinkin

Our book club chose The Bletchley Riddle Hardcover by Ruta Sepetys and Steve Sheinkin. Apparently Ruta Sepetys writes historical fiction for adults and joined with Steve Sheinkin to write a YA novel.

I know a bit about Bletchley Park and the Enigma machine and Britains battle to break the German's code during World War II. That was the most interesting part. It was also the part that wasn't really the focus. 

Most of the novel deals with Lizzie desperate to find out the truth about her mother, Willa, who disappeared in Poland at the time of the German invasion. She and her brother, Jacob, work to uncover the clues left behind while holding down jobs at Bletchley Park.

For a book directed at tweenagers, it was very cute and readable. I wouldn't necessarily recommend it to an adult. There are much better books on the topic for that. 

But it was an enjoyable, quick read.

Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

Our book club chose Peace Like a River by Leif Enger for our "Western" themed book. I'm glad they did. It's a sweet story that takes faith seriously while not being didactic. 

Raised on tales of cowboys and pirates, eleven-year-old Reuben Land has little doubt that miracles happen all around us, and that it’s up to us to “make of it what we will.” Reuben was born with no air in his lungs, and it was only when his father, Jeremiah, picked him up and commanded him to breathe that his lungs filled. Reuben struggles with debilitating asthma from then on, making him a boy who knows firsthand that life is a gift, and also one who suspects that his father is touched by God and can overturn the laws of nature.

The quiet Midwestern life of the Lands is upended when Davy, the oldest son, kills two marauders who have come to harm the family; unlike his father, he is not content to leave all matters of justice in God’s hands. The morning of his sentencing, Davy–a hero to some, a cold-blooded murderer to others–escapes from his cell, and the Lands set out in search of him. Their journey is touched by serendipity and the kindness of strangers–among them a free spirit named Roxanna, who offers them a place to stay during a blizzard and winds up providing them with something far more permanent. Meanwhile, a federal agent is trailing the Lands, convinced they know of Davy’s whereabouts.

With Jeremiah at the helm, the family covers territory far more extraordinary than even the Badlands where they search for Davy from their Airstream trailer. Sprinkled with playful nods to biblical tales, beloved classics such as Huckleberry Finn, the adventure stories of Robert Louis Stevenson, and the westerns of Zane Grey, Peace Like a River unfolds like a revelation. (Amazon)

Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl

It was my time to choose a book for Book Club and I picked a book that had long been on my list: Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. Dennis Prager says it's his favorite book and it changed his life.

So my expectations were high.

Plus I've read A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, The Gulag Archipelago, and Darkness at Noon. All in the same genre. 

I think because of my prior exposure to those books, this one did not seem as impactful. If anything, I'd say The Gulag Archipelago was the one that most made an impression on me.

Frankl writes as do the others, disjointed and out of chronological order. It's more thematic. It makes me wonder if having that kind of state-sponsored trauma impacts one's ability to tell the story. Or perhaps for them, it's not about the day-to-day events, but the larger meaning behind it all. 

Certainly Frankl wants to get at why he and his fellow prisoners suffered the way they did at the hands of the Nazis. Even before being detained, Frankl was spreading interested in the question of meaning and purpose in life. He was convinced that if a man did not have a sense of meaning or purpose he would die either mentally or even physically. So he looked on his fellow prisoners as a kind of science experiment. He clearly saw that those who gave up hope always died. It was those, like himself, who felt that their unjust suffering had a purpose of some sort that survived. 

I suppose the most remarkable thing about the book (and the others of the same genre) is how disconnected they were from their own tortures. They can discuss it dispassionately and disconnect from the personal experience of it. I suppose that necessary for survival. In Solzhenitsyn's case, he writes in a sarcastic manner, further removing himself from the horror. 

Frankl is also remarkable for the fact that he could forgive and move on once released from the prison. He recognized the humanity of each person, whether guard or prisoner. All had the ability to be cruel or kind. He famously states, "The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart — and through all human hearts."

The second half of his book discusses his theory of "Logotherapy." In a nutshell, after the war, he started his psychiatric practice helping people discover meaning in their lives. He was convinced that lack of meaning and purpose was the root of all mental suffering. He worked to reframe and redirect his patients towards discovering meaning in their circumstances, whatever they be.

One disappointment is that he never directs the reader to faith. I think he had faith in God as a result of his Judaism, but he never recommends that faith as a source of meaning and purpose. I suppose that's because he wants everyone, believer or not, to be able to access a life filled with meaning. That's a fair point. Obviously for me, a life whose meaning is found outside of God is just a temporary fill, but for Frankl that's enough. 

The book is worth reading because it's such a cultural touchstone. I'm sorry to say it did not impact me the way it impacted some. I wish it had. 

Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

Our book club decided to choose a "re-read a book you loved as a child." Our pick was Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. I've never read it, so it was fun to dive into. 

The story centers around the Tuck family, who have drunk a magic elixir and now are fated to live forever, and a little girl named Winnie, who discovers their secret.

The book details the lengths to which the Tucks will go to keep word from getting out. Although it's a child's book, some of the adventures could give a child nightmares. 

Although it's set in the late 1800s, it soon became clear to me that the book had a more modern origin. Sure enough, it was written in 1975. That made sense. That's a time when books were full of children with voices sounding very much like adults. Winnie is precocious and thinks and speaks and reasons in a way her adult author imagines a child might. But she actually reveals an adult's ruminations on deep questions. 

The book was an easy read. Not exactly satisfying. It's not supposed to "end well" according to the author. Some questions and simply beyond our purview and offer no easy answers. Tuck raises questions but doesn't answer them in a way that feels satisfactory.

The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan

I'm developing a new-found respect for the theological seriousness of the Puritans. So when our book club proposed The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan, I was excited to re-read it. (I think I read it as a kid.)

Although an allegory with names specifically designed to inform the reader of its allegorical qualities (Mr. Worldly-Wise, Ignorance, Christian), the story elucidates real, deep theological discussions. 

Christian has come to realize that his city is set for destruction and only by traveling to the Celestial City can he hope to be saved. Evangelist tells him the way to the path. In the end, it is a path he must travel alone, although he has companions at times. On the journey he meets all the classical temptations a Christian faces: Despair, Pleasure, Sloth.

Just when all seems lost, Christian is reminded of his journey and the good that awaits him. Ironically, just as he crosses the river into the Celestial City he experiences such deep doubt that he almost sinks. 

Bunyan is writing the story from prison. I suspect much of Christian's story is autobiographical. Perhaps Bunyan, close to death at times, experienced his own sinking doubt. 

The story is not an easy read, but well-worth reading. It can cause common obstacles in the life of a Christian to come alive.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Serman Alexie

Our book club read The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Serman Alexie as part of our "Novel with a Native American as a main character" genre. My proposal was Last of the Mohicans. 

The short take on the book was that it was a YA novel about a boy growing up on an Indian reservation who makes the decision to go to the nearby "white" school. I had to sigh when I read that. I mean, the book writes itself: Boy feels like an outsider in both places. He's bullied. He's stereotyped. He aims for a girl way out of his league. He finally settles into some kind of stasis in which he comes to believe he is who he is. Others will not define him. 

And that's the book. Literally. I wasn't exactly disappointed. I just got exactly what I expected. Junior is too smart for the rez, so a teacher urges him to attend the closest public school outside the reservation. Upon discovering his plan, his best friend beats him up. The white students at his new school, where strangely enough a beautiful girl sits in front of him and after a brief introduction ignores him, make fun of him and seem to threaten violence. Plot twist, he eventually kinda gets the girl when he discovers her secret: She, too, feels pressure to perform and conform. Junior eventually develops a level of respect from both communities and realizes he will have to live permanently in both worlds.

Junior's running commentary about the reservation is interesting and had the book sought to dive deeper into those seemingly intractable issues, it would have been more interesting. If Junior would have had to examine himself more deeply for his own blind spots and vices, it would have made for better literature. Instead it's another one of countless, "I never really felt like I belonged" navel-gazing novels. It's Catcher in the Rye for Native Americans. The difference is no one likes Holden Caulfield, while Junior is certainly lovable. I just want to hug him. It's a "let me tell you my story of the particular way in which I discovered that, although I didn't fit in, I had to learn to love myself the way I am." It's actually everyone's story and interesting in its specifics. 

We are so far from literature exposing us to real human foibles and the concomitant search for virtue. My classical teacher self is on full display in that sentence. 

The book is fun. It's dessert. It isn't something you will read twice. 
 

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

Our book club suggested Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie for the "mystery" genre.

Although I have read it before, of course I don't remember the ending. It was a great way to jump back into the Christie books and the mystery genre in general. Obviously she's the best. 

In classic Christie fashion, no one is who they seem, the murder takes place in a room locked from the inside, and Poirot needs nothing but his little gray cells to solve the case. 

In this story, Poirot is on a train, full of people in a typically low travel time. He barely finds a room on-board. A snow storm stops the train in its tracks and the scene is set for a murder. The list of suspects is confined to the passengers. The clues lead to everyone and no one. Confusion abounds and the snow is melting. Poirot must think fast.

So much fun, I read the other two novels in this beautiful edition!

Beartown by Fredrik Backman

Our latest book club genre is "Books in translation." My pick was The Count of Monte Cristo. We voted on Beartown by Fredrik Backman instead.

It's staccato prose and subject, a dying, desolate, and desperately cold hockey town, proved an initial obstacle to me. But once I got over that, the story really began to suck me in. I don't think I've had a book grab ahold of me like this in a while. All the characters were multi-dimensional. They all had their flaws and virtues. Just when I was ready to write off a character as unredeemable, he would surprise me. But the actual plot a bit to get going. 

But once the central action took place, it was non-stop.

Except that what appeared to be the central action was not. The author keeps us up-to-date on the happenings of a secondary character, Benji, who appears to move "off-screen" as the plot really takes shape. In those glimpses, we see hints that this boy is a closeted gay student. But that is a distraction to the gripping story the town is facing. 

Somehow the author manages to pull out a somewhat satisfying end. No one gets everything they want, but all get some satisfaction. That's the point we shift the focus back to Benji and his coach's discovery of the young man's sexual attraction to males. Suddenly the story becomes about acceptance and the appalling lack of sympathy the coach and players have displayed when it comes to same-sex attraction. The big takeaway seems to be, "Don't be a bigot to gay people." 

This "moral of the story" left a bad taste in my mouth. Obviously, as Christians, we are called to love all people and treat all with dignity and respect. Acceptance of that bent is another story. But just as a matter of story-telling, the ending felt jarring. While one really big and intractable story is seemingly the focus, Backman pulls a bait-and-switch and seems to say, "And by the way, while I got you hooked on one compelling story, I'm going to use this time to shame the anti-gay bigots." 

Anyways, I wouldn't recommend it. And I'm leery of reading his other novels. I don't need to be that invested to have the rug pulled out from under me. 

It's really a shame.

"The Reluctant Debutante" by Samuel French

For the genre "play" our book club chose, "The Reluctant Debutante" by Samuel French. The picture is from the movie version. The actual "book" is a script with a red nondescript cover. 

The play centers around a young woman, Jane, whose mother is desperate for her to find a suitable husband. A friend of the mother's also has a daughter "coming out" and in a similar search. Two very different men, both named David, provide the potential love interests. That each is initially made to understand that one particular David is the right one, and that it ultimately proves incorrect is basically the entire plot. Hijinks ensue. The reluctant debutante's parents, Jimmy and Sheila, provide a bit of a Mr. and Mrs. Bennet-style characters.

The play claims to be hilarious and warns against introducing over-the-top staging to enhanced its humor. At most, I found it slightly amusing. However, when our book club met to discuss it, someone suggested reading a scene out loud. We assigned ourselves parts and proceeded to do a read aloud. The results were actually very funny. I finally understood the initial note. Exaggerating for effect was unnecessary. 

Sweep the Story of a Girl and her Monster by Jonathan Auxier

Our book club decided to read the delightful book, Sweep the Story of a Girl and her Monster by Jonathan Auxier.

The tale describes the life of a little girl chimney sweep, Nan, in late 19th century London. She has lost her friend and mentor, Sweep, and now works for a horrid abusive boss. 

But Sweep left her a small lump of coal. 

This coal turns out to be a Jewish goyim, a monster that is tasked with one thing and then disappears. 

Nan and her friends work to free themselves from the grip of their evil boss. Meanwhile they learn to love a monster and live bravely. 

This review from "Happily Ever Elephants" on Amazon captures my thoughts exactly:

"I love stories that teach without being didactic, ones that encourage you to make new discoveries every time you open their pages. Sweep is that and so much more - a book that tackles tough topics and follows Nan as she puts one foot in front of the other after facing so many unspeakable losses. Sweep is separated into two sections, appropriately called Innocence and Experience, and they so beautifully illuminate Nan’s journey from a guileless young child to a tween fraught with complicated questions and even more troubling realizations about society and her place within it. Why are children forced to work dangerous jobs? Why are kids losing their lives due to nothing but their unfortunate lot in life, and what on earth can she do to change it?

Simply put, Sweep is a feat. It is an adventure of the greatest kind, an ode to friendship, a discovery of self, and a testament to the power of one voice to create change. But my favorite part? Sweep excels in its exploration of “monsters,” finds tenderness in the terrifying, and combats all of our preconceived notions about the frightening things that keep us up at night. Exquisite - this masterpiece will stay with me for a long, long time."