No, We Can't: Radical Islam, Militant Secularism, and the Myth of Coexistence by Robert Stearns (Chosen, 2011)
I received this book for review under false pretenses, but it was my fault entirely. This was the blurb that caught my eye:
The world is shifting, and a war for world domination is raging between radical Islam, militant secularism and Judeo-Christianity. But what does it mean for you—and why should you care? With clarity and astonishing depth, Robert Stearns lays out the dire ramifications of this coming culture clash for Christians. Based on years of global outreach, he shows what believers can and must do. The tipping point in global culture is upon us. What role will you play?
Normally, words like "a war for world domination" wouldn't encourage me to pick up a book. But I thought this would be a word from the trenches, from one known for his care for the poor, the downtrodden, and the marginalized all over the world. I was eager to hear about "radical Islam" from one whose organization has experienced tragedy at the hands of the Taliban, yet continues to provide humanitarian aid to "all people, regardless of religion, race, ethnicity, or gender." I was expecting "he shows what believers can and must do" to focus on the need for more church involvement in fighting the causes of poverty and injustice worldwide. I was hoping to hear about World Vision International's experiences dealing with culture clashes, and was especially interested to hear the warnings of such a man about "dire ramifications of this coming culture clash." I wanted to know what led such a man, who claims we have the knowledge and ability to end most extreme poverty if only we had the will, to write a book entitled, "No, We Can't."
My mistake was in not checking up on the author. It turns out that the president of World Vision is Richard Stearns, while the author of this book is Robert Stearns. As far as I know, they are not related, and they certainly have different perspectives.
Having agreed to review the book, however mistakenly, I was obligated to read it. It's a pity that Robert Stearns' language is so strident and his logic sometimes shaky, because I think he has some good points; it's just too hard to sort the wheat from the chaff. (More)
Mark's Story by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins (Putnam Praise, 2007)
This, the second story in The Jesus Chronicles, is a bold, not to say brazen, attempt to show the events of Jesus' life and of the early church through the eyes of the author of the Gospel of Mark. I hadn't planned to read anything more by LaHaye and Jenkins, not after my disappointment with their Left Behind series, which had an interesting premise but could have used writers who were as serious about the story they were crafting as they were about the message they wanted to get across. As I've said before, great writers manage to convey many messages through their works, but people who start writing with a message in mind tend to write mediocre novels. But Mark's Story was recommended by a friend whom I respect, and she backed up the recommendation by lending me the book.
Tackling any part of the the Bible though the medium of historical fiction is risky, and I wondered how LaHaye and Jenkins—who so clearly reverence the Book as the written, infallable, word of God—would dare to add to what the Scriptures have to say. Well, they were smarter than me, and solved that problem—not to mention the need to get their word count up to book size—by quoting passages of the New Testament verbatim, and at length. Mark's "story" is merely the lubricant that allows the quotations to slide together into a coherent narrative.
I must say that the authors have done a credible job of piecing together the Gospels, the book of Acts, and the letters of Paul and Peter, along with what we know of early church history, while adding only enough new material to make the story flow, to show how Mark might have learned the stories he tells in his Gospel, and to get across their own biases and interpretations. The last should surprise no one who has read the Left Behind books.
Unfortunately, that much of the material is straight Scripture I actually found to be a detraction. I'd rather read the Bible itself, because—at least to someone very familiar with the facts—what is added did not give enough story to the narrative. I wasn't eager to turn the page to find out what was going to happen, and the book has none of the character development that makes me happy to re-read books I know almost by heart.
For someone less familiar with the New Testament, however, this might be a good introduction. As I said, the authors succeeded in weaving a chronological tapestry from writings that are anything but chronological. And despite my complaints, I may go ahead and read the rest of the series, just to see what they can do with the other Gospel writers. If I think of Mark's Story as one of those modern "specialty Bibles" with denominational commentary, it "works" better for me.
Wonderful Fool by Shusaku Endo, translated by Peter Owen (Tuttle Publishing, 1974; originally published in 1959)
I am currently on a schedule of reading one Shusaku Endo book per Swiss grandchild born. I'm definitely warming to his writing, so perhaps I should visit Switzerland more often.
This thoughtful exploration of what might happen when innocence and love meet everyday society, though less depressing than most of the stories in Stained Glass Elegies, is hardly the "light, humorous novel" promised in the Introduction. It is, however, uplifting and redemptive. It is also well written, for which credit no doubt goes to both the author and the translator. I especially enjoy the vision of Japan through Japanese eyes, and the small advantage our brief visit to that country has given me. The one part of the translation that strikes me as odd when I read it is the persistent use of the appellation "foreigner" in a way it would not be used in English. Yet when I imagine the speakers saying "gaijin" instead, the language flows and the usage makes sense.
The summary on the back cover is excellent, so rather than reinvent an inferior wheel, here it is:
Wonderful Fool is Shusaku Endo's gentle and humorous narrative of "mudswamp Japan"—his phrase for the Japanese inner world of moral apathy and insensitivity to God and sin. A young Frenchman, Gaston Bonaparte, comes to Japan for the first time, and we see Japan afresh through his eyes. At first he seems to be the utter fool both in his ugly horseface appearance and slow-witted thought, but he gradually charms those around him as he bumbles through Japanese society, making mistake after mistake. In spite of his mistakes, those around him start to see some endearing qualities in his pure love of both people and animals. Gaston's wanderings take him to the seamier places in Japan, as he spends time in Sanya with day laborers, in Shibuya with fortune tellers, in Shinjuku with prostitutes, and eventually hooks up with a professional killer. His two young hosts, Takamori and his sister Tomoe, are drawn into Gaston's world and forced to take a deeper look at their own lives and values. Both a provocative tale of clashing culture and new-found morals, Wonderful Fool also serves as a kind of guidebook to a hidden Tokyo and Japan that few foreigners may have a chance to experience.
The Stories of Emmy: A Girl Like Heidi by Doris Smith Naundorf (Xulon Press, 2010)
Doris Smith Naundorf is known in upstate New York as The Story Lady. The Stories of Emmy are taken from her one-woman play, Interweaving the Generations. Emmy, Doris's mother, grew up partly in her Swiss village of Muttenz, and partly in Paterson, New Jersey, where her family moved when she was ten years old. Her stories give a delightful glimpse into Swiss, American, and immigrant life in the early 1900's. (Grandchild warning: There is one sad incident requiring parental discretion; the stories are meant to be appropriate for chidren, but reality is sometimes harsh.)
Muttenz is near Basel (four minutes by train, a century later), and the stories are sprinkled with Baseldeutsch, the delightful Swiss-German dialect spoken there. A glossary is provided for each chapter.
Driving the several blocks to the train station, Emmy excitedly chattered to her father. "Will we get there in time, Vatti? she asked. "Mutti says we must be there early, so we will not miss the train."
"Jo, jo," replied her father. "In a country that makes such fine watches and clocks, of course the Zúúg runs on time. It is up to the passengers to be there early so the conductors can keep their schedule."
"The Zúúg, the train, is never late?"
"Of course not! We Swiss cannot even imagine such a thing!" her father assured Emmy.
I couldn't resist finding Emmy, age 20, and her family in the 1920 census. (Click on the image to view a version large enough to read. Their name, Lüscher, appears without its umlaut.)
JoAnn Falletta, conductor
Elmar Oliveira, violin
John Callahan: Pulsar (World Premiere)
Saint-Saëns: Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor, op.61
Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5
Last night's Orlando Phil concert, the final for the season in our series (Classics), was certainly enjoyable, but through no fault of the excellent conductor, soloists, and orchestra, it came across, for me, as a little bland. Listening to music performed cannot compare with making music oneself, and no mere concert can hope to compete with the experience of being part of a grand event, like the afternoon's Consecration of the Rev. Gregory O. Brewer as Fourth Bishop of Central Florida. About that I will write much more, but I'm waiting for the complete service to be uploaded to YouTube. (Part 1 available now, if you want a preview, but most if not all of my readers will appreciate the effort I'm making to provide a guide to the very long service.)
A post about the OPO concert is in order, however, in order to say this: Remember the name, John Callahan. He's a piano student at Florida State University, and won the OPO's Young Composers Challenge in 2008 and 2009. Pulsar was commissioned for the OPO by local musician and philanthropist Stephen Goldman, founder of the Young Composers Challenge. I can't say that Pulsar made my heart sing the way the music of John Dupuis does, but even I can tell that Callahan is extremely talented and composes at another level altogether.
The Bone House by Stephen Lawhead (Thomas Nelson, 2011)
The second book in Stephen Lawhead's Bright Empires series took me a lot less time to read than the first, and not just because it's almost 50 pages shorter. I took both the book and the audio version out of the library, and supplemented listening on my daily walks with reading in bits and snatches at home. Despite a full schedule, I devoured the book in four days. It turns out I read a whole lot faster than a read-aloud pace. Much, much faster. However, I read for content, not beauty, not the first time through. For really good books, like The Lord of the Rings, I soak in the beauty through multiple re-readings.
The audiobook forces me to pay attention to the descriptions as well as the story, and I enjoy a much more vivid picture of the setting, characters, and events. It's almost, but not quite, enough to make me want to listen to the entire book, since I imbibed most of this book via the printed page. I think I spent more actual time listening, but covered many more pages by reading.
The Bone House is if anything more unbelievable than its predecessor, The Skin Map. The world—multiverse—of Lawhead's imagination just gets stranger and stranger. But it's also getting more beautiful (yes, I managed to pick up some of the beauty on the fly) and more interesting. There's also less of the "testosterone factor" that annoyed me in the first book: more attention to brains and character than to brawn and beauty.
The only problem with having finished The Bone House so quickly is that the next book in the series, The Spirit Well, isn't scheduled to be released until September.
The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney (Workman, 2002)
This book was recommended by a friend, and while it did not suffer from "obligation + time pressure = irrational barrier syndrome," I did have to struggle through the first third of the book, which didn't say much that I found useful. Perhaps if it had been my introduction to the introvert/extrovert distinction, I'd have felt differently. But I found the author's approach overly psychotherapeutic—no doubt because she is, herself, a psychotherapist. I also felt that her description of an introvert didn't fit me as well as others I have read, and I had a hard time getting over her use of the terms "innie" and "outie," as if introverts and extroverts were belly buttons.
However, the rest of the book is bristling with sticky note markers. There's a section on parenting introverted/extroverted children that in itself makes borrowing the book from a library worthwhile. My primary complaint is that I'd be afraid to let any of my extroverted friends read it. Valuable as are some of its insights, I fear an extrovert would take from it the attitude, "See, I knew introverts were crazy, weak, inferior creatures." Despite the title, there's not a lot about why it's great to be/live with/work with an introvert; I was hoping for fewer tips on how to overcome my weaknesses and more on how to play to my strengths. Nonetheless, there's a lot worth reading, especially if you're willing to skim over what doesn't apply.
My best take-away? There are measurable, physical differences in the brain pathways used by introverts and extroverts. While we can, and often should, train ourselves to function in our areas of weakness, it's important to realize that something an extrovert takes for granted—as easy, requiring no thought, something "every civilized person" does—may be counter-intuitive and extremely difficult for an introvert. And vice versa.
Here's a taste—or maybe a full meal—of The Introvert Advantage. (More)
Life Is So Good by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman (Penguin, 2001)
George Dawson was born in 1898, and died in 2001. The 20th century was his in a way very few others can claim, and to read his story is to see the history of that momentous century from the inside, and to realize how much more important character and attitude are than any external circumstances.
George Dawson grew up hearing first-hand stories of slavery from his grandmother and great-grandmother. As a ten-year-old, he watched his older friend, Pete, be lynched for a crime George knew he did not commit.
"I will never work for or talk to a white person again," I said with anger.
My father, who had seemed lost in his own thoughts, jerked his head and looked at me.
"That was wrong what they did," I said. "Those white folks are mean and nasty people."
Papa swallowed hard and pulled up on the reins so that the wagon stopped.
He turned toward me. "No. You will work for white folks. You will talk to them."
"But, Papa, what about Pete? He didn't do nothing and they killed him."
"Yeah, I know they had no cause for that, but-"
I cut my father off short, something I had never done.
"But they made Pete suffer so."
"His suffering is over, son. It's all over for Pete. You don't need to worry for him."
"They took his life. Pete was still young. He should of grown to be a man."
"That's so," Papa said. "It was Pete's time, though. His time had come and that's that."
My anger still had some hold on me and I swallowed hard.
Papa looked at me and said, "Some of those white folks was mean and nasty. Some were just scared. It doesn't matter. You have no right to judge another human being. Don't you ever forget."
My father had spoken.
There was nothing to say. I didn't know it then, but his words set the direction my life would take even till this day.
Dawson's work life began when he was four, combing cotton for his family. By eight, he was working for other farmers, and doing "a man's work" by ten. He retired at 79, and finally learned to read at 98. In the meantime, his hard work, his determination to do the right thing—at which he mostly, though not entirely, succeeded—and his positive attitude took him far from his native Texas. Those were the days when a strong body and a good work ethic could get you a job and a place to sleep, and "homeless" was not a diagnosis. But he always returned home to Texas, even after a stint in Mexico where he discovered the pleasures of being considered a man, rather than a "colored boy."
There were a couple of cafes that I stopped in, not so much 'cause I was hungry but because they would serve me. I knew I was in another country when I could walk through the front door and where I sat could be my own choice. I liked that. Life was good, but I was too used to working, and after a week I caught the train back to Texas.
Like hardship and injustice themselves, it's easy for books about hardship and injustice to wallow in darkness and lead only to depression. Life Is So Good is remarkable, and well worth reading, for being able to report the darkness faithfully while infusing it with light.
Life is so good. I do believe it's getting better. — George Dawson
Note: There are a few places where the book is not appropriate for an eight-year-old, but Jonathan is not far from being able to learn much from reading it, and given that he liked God's Smuggler, it's clearly not beyond him.
The Skin Map by Stephen Lawhead (Thomas Nelson, 2009) (audiobook, read by Simon Bubb)
I review books for the publisher, Thomas Nelson. I've never before reviewed their fiction, because, frankly, it usually doesn't sound all that interesting. However, this offer made me sit up and take notice, because I've enjoyed Stephen Lawhead's work before. Add the fact that what was offered was the audiobook version, and I was hooked: I figured it would be just the thing for my upcoming long flight across the Atlantic.
I was wrong about that part. Over and over I repeated the pattern: Listen, doze off, awaken in a different part of the story, doze off, etc. Not because the story wasn't interesting, but because I needed sleep more than I needed entertainment.
Home again, I started the story anew, and found it a wonderfully inspiring accompaniment to my daily exercise walk. The prospect of hearing a few more chapters of the book was just the incentive I needed to get out and get going. Plus, it's really hard to fall asleep while walking.
Lawhead takes the concept of ley lines as his jumping off point (literally) in this tangled adventure of multiple realities. Or perhaps one reality that is infinitely more complex than we have supposed. Ley lines were new to me—I was as ignorant as his long-dead great-grandfather found protagonist Kit Livingstone to be. In The Skin Map, the power of ley lines is discovered to be, not legend, but cold, scientific fact, and a wrong turn one day in London takes Kit from his directionless, boring existence into adventure, danger, and more directions than he fears his mental health—and his stomach—can handle.
Without doubt, it was easy to be caught up in the adventure, and the mystery. But my favorite parts of the book were its well-researched intersections with everyday life: in modern England, 17th century England, 17th century Prague, Macao during China's Qing dynasty, 18th dynasty Egypt, and more. My least favorite were the drawn-out descriptions of the physical appearance of every female character encountered, and the even more interminable battle scenes, both of which were obviously included for the more testosterone-laden among us.
Therein lies the weakness, and the strength, of the audio version. Were I reading, instead of listening, I'd have quickly skimmed over those parts I found dull; instead, I was forced to wait, impatient, through them. On the other hand, I would probably also have given short shrift to the many highly descriptive scene-setting passages, and this format forced me to listen, to enjoy, and to appreciate a much more vivid picture of each setting than I would have envisioned on my own. Narrator Simon Bubb also does a fantastic job of bringing the characters to life through their voices, making this audio version an enhancement, rather than merely a slower and more laborious—albeit hands-free—way of reading the book.
On my own personal scale, The Skin Map is not nearly as good as The Lord of the Rings (one of my favorite stories of all time), and a whole lot better than Harry Potter (which I enjoyed, though less and less, I'll admit, after the third book). It's an interesting concept, a riveting story, and well-written to boot. True, there were times when I sighed, "Oh, come on, that's not plausible"—but that tends to happen to me even with nonfiction books. Astonishingly, for this age, Lawhead manages to craft a complex and engaging tale without ever being offensive, edgy, or over-the-top. I can't say for certain that there are no "grandchild warnings"—I'm pretty sure "bloody" occurs a few times, not related to battle scenes—but any potentially offensive language is rare, minor, and appropriate to the context.
The book is not short—448 pages in printed form—but the end came long before I was ready. Really, it seemed the story had just gotten started! That was when I discovered the sad, and happy, truth: the book was over, but the story had only begun. The Skin Map turns out to be the first of what is intended to be a five-book series. Fortunately, the second is available at the library, and this morning I reserved it. The third, however, has yet to be published....
The Skin Map is not a movie—though I think it would make a good one—but it has a "trailer" anyway. Who knew?
Everybody's Normal Till You Get to Know Them by John Ortberg (Zondervan, 2003)
This book started off with two strikes against it, but survived.
First, it was recommended as a “must read” from someone I care about, and coupled with a feeling of time pressure, which in my oddball psyche immediately sets up a cycle of resistance followed by guilt leading to more resistance, etc. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve been like that as long as I can remember. It was decades before I discovered that most of the books recommended to me, as a child, by my parents were really good stories. I was out of school before conceding that some (not all) of the books I was forced by my teachers to read were actually interesting. And I still haven’t finished Colossians Remixed, which I started in 2005…. Stupid, I know. It's not that I don't ever take other people's reading recommendations; many of my favorite books I learned about from someone else. But for whatever reason, obligation + time pressure = irrational barrier.
Second, I realized immediately that it is written in a style I cannot stand, which I call “modern American evangelical pop culture,” though I suspect it’s much more widespread than that. It’s annoying enough that magazine articles use pull quotes and sidebars, which make sustained reading difficult by distracting from the main text, but I find it inexcusable in book format. Ditto the dumbed-down writing, and the highly informal style, more appropriate for blogs than for books.
Despite these annoyances, I finished the book and am glad I read it. The first hurdle was easy to overcome because I was reading a borrowed book with a fixed return deadline. My breakthrough with the second was a stunning realization that I hope will aid me in appreciating more books written in this (all too common) style. (More)
Brave Companions: Portraits in History by David McCullough (Simon & Schuster, 1992)
I need to remember to read more from David McCullough. The man can write.
Brave Companions deserves a long, thoughtful review. I could write a blog post on any and all of these fourteen portraits (thirteen of people, one of a city) and three additional essays. McCullough draws stunning pictures of people—famous and unknown, artists and aviators, writers and scientists—whose actions and personalities made (and are making) history.
But I barely had time to read the book, let alone write about it, and I must now return it to its rightful owner. If you, however, find yourself with sufficient time to enjoy a short book (232 pages) that's easy to read in short bursts (except that you won't want to put it down), you can't go wrong with Brave Companions.
I'd read it for the writing alone; the history, personality, and adventures are a bonus.
Several months ago, Porter signed us up for a pre-anniversary present of tickets to the Orlando performance of The Screwtape Letters. I tucked them carefully away in my Tickler file, and last week they popped up. I'm very grateful for the Tickler and for Google Calendar—when you book things so far in advance it's all too easy to forget, especially in a season of other big events. It was a delightful post-Christmas outing.
The location, the Plaza Live theater, was initially disappointing, as it looks—and smells—like the converted movie theater it is. But that was easy to forget once the show started.
Not so easy to ignore was the excessive volume of the music and sound effects. I did not want to resort to my earplugs, because the speaking part was of a reasonable volume, but after several assaults I gave up, and was still able to hear the monologue. Yes, it's a monologue, though not a one-man show. But the other character, Screwtape's secretary, Toadpipe, is a mime. And played by a woman, so maybe it is a one-man show after all.
How do you adapt a book, consisting entirely of a series of letters, to the stage? With difficulty, but they did a commendable job. The stage setting is in Hell, where Screwtape is dictating his letters. Toadpipe's acrobatics and the sound effects provide enough action to keep the show moving. For what it is, the show is very well done, and should have large audience appeal. It received a very positive review from the Orlando Sentinel. Even I enjoyed it, no doubt because the script was so faithful to the original. I know the book well enough to recognize that large sections were performed verbatim. Much was, of necessity, left out—I had wondered how they would handle the part where Screwtape turns into a cockroach; they didn't—and there were one or two places where I thought there might have been just a little modernization. But it's hard to beat C.S. Lewis for writing, so I'm glad they didn't try. Best of all, the show stays true to the character of the book.
No show could replace the book itself. But for an introduction to the book, it's a good performance. If only they had turned the volume down!
A Boy's War by David Michell (OMF International, 1988)
In 2010, revelations of unspeakable abuse of missionary children at not one but two West African boarding schools only confirmed my intense belief that missions organizations sinned greatly against the very families that gave everything to serve with them, by expecting—often requiring—parents to send their children away to boarding school at a very young age. After all, isn't one of the (multiple) lessons of the Old Testament story of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac, the counter-cultural message that God does not ask parents to sacrifice their children, but himself provides the sacrifice? How did the organizations dare preach Jesus Christ while demanding sacrifices to Moloch? I'm not talking about high school-aged children who chose to go to boarding school for the sake of a better education and preparation for college, but little ones, as young as six, whose education would have been better accomplished at home with their parents. I daresay the parents' missionary work would have benefitted as well, as the native peoples would have more easily accepted them as fellow human beings as they watched them interacting as families.
Granted, there are many excellent boarding schools. My quarrel is not with families who choose this as the best educational option for their children, but with the missions that mandated the practice. Why did the organizations rip children away from their parents in the name of God, and why did their parents put up with it? It was a long time before I came up with a theory: it may be because so many missions organizations have their roots in England, and other countries where sending small children off to boarding school was standard practice, a historical and cultural given. (More)
The Zen of Fish: The Story of Sushi, from Samurai to Supermarket by Trevor Corson (HarperCollins, 2007)
Eating sushi is like rearing children: there's always someone happy to point out that you're doing it all wrong.
Not that I care much. So what if many of the rolls I love are American inventions? If the Japanese consider them to be inside-out rolls? If adding more seasoning to your roll is an insult to the chef? (Well, I suppose I care a bit more about the last. I don't like insulting people, especially not those who are providing my dinner. Then again, I'm the one eating it.) I like Japanese sushi; I like American sushi; and I don't mind being too unsophisticated to enjoy the sea urchin and raw quail egg combo that Porter ordered in Boston.
However, I was happy to learn that sushi is meant to be eaten with the fingers, not chopsticks. And eaten in one bite—though I'm not sure how. Do the Japanese have larger mouths than Americans? Seems unlikely.
The Zen of Fish weaves the history, science, and culture of America's unexpected food craze together with the adventures of students at the California Sushi Academy. It's well-written, highly informative, fun to read, and will make you very hungry—when it's not causing you to rethink consuming fish in any form. My only complaint is that the author apparently considered his target audience to be largely made up of adolescent boys. I could have done without most of the sexual references and innuendo—although it was quite cool to learn about the shrimp that start out male, then after a few years become female. The timing of the change assures a gender-balanced population, suggesting perhaps that shrimp are smarter than people.
Okay, even writing about sushi makes me hungry.
The Corpse Walker: Real Life Stories, China from the Bottom Up by Liao Yiwu, translated by Wen Huang (Pantheon, 2008)
With a title like The Corpse Walker, you might expect this to be a frightening book. And you would be correct. But there's not a zombie in sight.
We are so Euro-centric. We repeatedly hold up Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany as the epitome of evil. If pressed, we might acknowledge Joseph Stalin, but Russia is more distant, foreign, and unknown than Germany. Compared with Mao Zedong's China, however ... well, you can read more about that in this article on democide.
The Lord of the Flies meets 1984. Liao Yiwu's book is must reading for anyone who still hangs on to the idea that unfettered human nature is basically good, or that the acquisition of power is not one of the most deadly, corrupting circumstances ever. (More)
