I had two memorable experiences over the weekend.

First of all, I went to a funeral. It was the funeral of a man I'm not sure I ever actually met, but his son was an old friend. The son asked me to read the scripture lesson for the service, and I was happy to do it. In all honesty, if I hadn't had that request I probably wouldn't have gone at all, because I have a hard time believing anybody really wants me anywhere, unless they state precisely what particular job they're looking for me to do. Jobs I understand. The concept that anyone would just want me around to talk to fails the test of willing suspension of disbelief.

It went well, and I saw some old friends.

On Sunday morning, after I'd come home from early church, I logged on to Facebook. I then got a chat message from a friend who's doing missionary work in Alaska. It seemed awfully early for him to be up.

The first warning bell went off when he told me he'd been mugged while vacationing in London. Vacations in London aren't the sort of thing this fellow takes a lot of.

So while he was explaining how he'd been robbed at gunpoint, and hit over the head (huh?), and robbed of cash, credit cards and cell phone, I checked his personal page. There another friend had posted a warning in all caps, saying that he'd gotten a similar chat message, and it was a scam.

I then asked my interlocutor a question only somebody who'd worked together with us at our church body headquarters would know. And he disappeared completely.

I've said it before—I hate con men. In the great balance of things, I'd prefer the kind of armed robber who didn't hold up my friend in London, over a con man. Because con men destroy trust. They turn society into a collection of strangers. They make human beings more frightened of one another, and less likely to give help where it's really needed. They are scum.

5 Hearty Winter Breakfasts to Fill Your Belly from The Art of Manliness

It would be pointless and overweening for me to “review” Sense and Sensibility, a book many of you probably read long ago, and one which has been well appreciated by far more discerning readers than me. So let's just call this a reader's report.

I read Pride and Prejudice quite a few years back, and promised myself I'd return to Jane Austen again. The delay of more than a decade is probably best explained by the fact that Austen is a fair amount of work. To take one example of words that have changed in meaning since the early 1800s, in Austen the word “address” means the way you present yourself when conversing with other people. The notation on the outside of a letter, telling the postman where to deliver it, is called the “direction.” I have a pretty good vocabulary and can work my way through, but I'll admit I had to go over a few of the sentences more than once, not only because of word choice, but because the diction could get pretty convoluted.

But the book rewarded the work. There were a number of very funny lines, delivered in a charming dry manner, scattered among the verbiage. I'd share one or two, but I returned the book to the library this afternoon when I'd finished it.

What particularly delighted me in Sense and Sensibility was the sweet reason of the whole thing. In utter contradiction to what a guy expects in a love story written by a woman, the most sympathetic character is the most circumspect one; a woman whose feelings are so well concealed that I wasn't sure until the end which male character to root for her to marry. The author, apparently, approves of this. Marriages should be well thought out, and entered into with a due consideration of prudential matters like social class, education, good taste and income. And love, of course, but don't get carried away.

I totally approve.

If a reader wonders why the second in the Auralia's Colors series is titled “Cyndere's Midnight,” Overstreet wastes no time answering him. Heiress to the Bel Amican throne, Cyndere, is grieving the loss of her father and brother, thinking she would not throw herself into the sea that day, when she hears of the death of her husband, Deuneroi. In time, she goes to an outpost named Tilianpurth to mourn, but many around her don't know how to help, and being royalty, she will not take difficult counsel easily.

Elsewhere, a band of four beastmen roam the wilderness, killing children and traders. The beastmen are monsters, men mixed with many other animal forms. They were cursed long ago by wicked strangers with unknown motives. One them, Jordam, has stumbled onto a supernatural, dragon-like monster called The Keeper, and in a way it has shocked him into new life. Jordam was physically and emotionally broken when he ran from The Keeper. Those wounds and Auralia's artwork began to heal him.

The hope of redemption is a major theme in this adventure. Cyndere and Deuneroi hope to overcome the curse of the beastmen. The ale boy has earned the name Rescue by the people he has given his life to save. Auralia, though only a background character in this story, continues her influence on many people with her infectious love of life and endurance of her artwork.

But it isn't as if Auralia is the one light of goodness in a dark world. Overstreet's fantastic setting teems with life as if created by a wild and loving god. Colors found everywhere and the pure water of the deep well depicted on the cover give an enchanted life to those who absorb them. It's part of the magical fiber threaded throughout. It's one of many things I love about this series, which I believe deserves a place on your bookself.

Susan Bauer talks about the trials of being a small press owner and a particular letter she received from an agent.

Thursday on the Michael Medved radio show is Disagreement Day. On Thursdays, he sets an hour aside specifically for people to tell him he's wrong about homosexuality, tax policy, and George Bush's culpability in blowing up the World Trade Center.

Today, he had a call from a young man who wanted to disagree with him on the legalization of drugs. This caller said he smoked pot every day, and it wasn't doing him any harm. He mentioned, as an aside, that he was a “born-again Christian.” Medved, who is Jewish but who knows quite a lot about our beliefs, questioned him more closely on that point. It turned out that he did not go to church at all, and had recently moved into his first house “with my girlfriend.”

I suppose there's an element of Pharisaism in my response to that call. Certainly I fail to live up to the standards of Christianity in many areas of my life, not least in my cowardly flight from almost all personal interaction with other humans. But I think I can claim (at a minimum) that I know I'm doing wrong, and that I acknowledge that I ought to do better. I've been given grace to feel some guilt. I'm afraid that Michael Medved's young caller is representative of many people who claim Christian faith in our country today. He didn't seem to be aware that a Christian is called to live in any way that's at all different from his neighbors.

I don't know for a fact that this is true of the caller, but I think a lot of people claim Christianity purely as a nostrum for their own spiritual aches and pains. “Try Jesus! Now in Extra Strength! He'll have you feeling better in no time!”

In point of fact, genuine Christianity often makes a person much less comfortable in life. We have been promised persecutions and tribulations, and to be reviled for Jesus' sake. The joys and consolations of Christian faith have absolutely no necessary connection with comfort.

Lutherans like me have a complicated relationship with the book of James, where it says, “Faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.” (James 2:17) We don't interpret that to mean that faith and works are equal partners in the operation of grace. We reject absolutely the idea that any effort of our own can contribute to our salvation.

But, as we read it, works are the sign and byproduct of grace. You can tell a genuine faith from a false faith by looking at its fruits. If someone is living no differently than he did before his “conversion,” it's probably not a genuine one. Someone has paraphrased Luther as saying, “We are not saved by faith and works, but by faith that works.”

Not much from me tonight (fortunately, Phil's served up plenty--and good stuff, too. Well done, Phil!). I got a surprise invitation from a friend to go out to dinner tonight, and afterward he needed me to help him figure out this crazy Facebook thing. So I found myself in the unaccustomed position of cybergeek. In a relative sense, of course, like the one-eyed man in the land of the three-eyed women, or something. (COMING SOON: From Roger Corman--Island of the Three-Eyed Women!)

Somebody at Threedonia, in a comment thread today, mentioned that the skull of Hitler, which the Russians produced to great fanfare a few years back, has now been determined to be a woman's skull. This led me to speculate that maybe the Soviets took Hitler alive, and tortured him for a while before he died.

One can only hope.

It led me to imagine a short story, where Hitler ends up sharing a gulag cell with Raoul Wallenberg, the Swedish philanthropist. It would be an interesting study in contrasting attitudes toward tragedy and despair.

But I won't write it. Not only would it call for an author with the wisdom of the writer of Job, but I generally avoid writing about Nazis. The subject has the odd distinction of being both done to death and an insuperable challenge, all at once.

The Cleveland Plain Dealer has an interview the cartoonist and comic genius Bill Watterson, the first interview since 1989. He says:

"Ah, the life of a newspaper cartoonist -- how I miss the groupies, drugs and trashed hotel rooms! . . .

An artwork can stay frozen in time, but I stumble through the years like everyone else. I think the deeper fans understand that, and are willing to give me some room to go on with my life."

Film critic and author Jeffrey Overstreet has written three fantasy novels in the last few years, two of which I've read. They are fantastic (perhaps that goes without saying). He writes this series, Auralia's Colors, not to depict any historic people or setting, but "to capture the questions that keep me up at night." The third one, Raven's Ladder, is shown on the left and is being released this month.

I have found that wonderfully hopeful, powerfully redemptive, and gorgeous. His new world has an appealing natural magic which is hard to describe, like the difficulty Tolkien's elves in Lothlórien describing their handiwork to the hobbits. It wasn't magic to them, but the hobbits it was.

I asked Jeffrey some questions about writing and publishing these books.

1. You’ve been a critical writer for many years now.  Do you think you’ve always had the writing spirit/muse/curse?

I’m hard-wired to tell stories. When I was five years old, I already felt compelled to make books. I’d take fairy-tale storybooks and painstakingly copy the text onto piles of scrap paper. Then I’d illustrate those pages with crayon or watercolors.

Soon after I read The Hobbit – around age seven – I stopped copying stories and started writing my own. And sure, those first stories sounded a lot like The Hobbit. But they became more unusual and distinct as the years went on. My first “series” was a four-story epic set in a world that resembles Pixar’s A Bug’s Life. In fact, when I saw that movie decades later, I laughed at the incredible similarities. (Where Pixar had nasty grasshoppers, I had wicked wasps.) Read the rest of this entry . . .

Joshua Weigel has directed a beautiful short film called The Butterfly Circus. Take the time to watch it. It's one of those timeless stories which can become a cliche when told poorly yet remains wonderfully familiar when told well.

Had to blow snow out of the driveway again tonight. My neighbor, who also has a blower and used to do it himself, tells me his is out of commission right now.

I think I made a good investment.

One of our readers sent me a link to the trailer for an animated movie called How to Train Your Dragon, scheduled to come out next month. He asked me what I thought of it. I'm glad he did, because I'd seen it before, and meant to do a rant, but somehow it slipped my mind.


First, the obvious things. It's supposed to be a movie about Vikings, and they wear horned helmets. If you've been reading this blog for any time at all, you surely know that the Vikings didn't do that. The horned helmets come from Wagnerian opera.

But I can forgive that. It's a cartoon. Read the rest of this entry . . .

Interesting that Phil should link to an article about the structure of story today, because I want to talk about the same thing. Only I'd like to concentrate on just one element. I've blogged before on how the basic elements of plot mirror the essential truths of human life, and even of theology. Today I want to examine an aspect of human nature that makes classic story form, I think, inevitable and necessary. This is my thesis—that our emotions are like animals. More particularly, like dogs.

This idea was prompted by a discussion I've been involved in, in a Facebook group. I wanted to explain my own thinking on the question, “Why is it so hard to change habitual responses, even when we know they're wrongheaded and counterproductive?” I responded that we have reason, and we have feelings. Reason is, well, reasonable. It can be argued with, and sometimes convinced.

Feelings, on the other hand, aren't reasonable. They don't listen to argument. Feelings are trained like dogs, and like dogs you can't appeal to their good sense. Read the rest of this entry . . .

User Experience and Storytelling - En del ett: Common mythic elements and reader or viewer appeals.

Here's a snicker for you, photos of unhappy people in very nice modern living areas (I can't say houses, because some may be flats, apartments, or such as that). I can't decide on a favorite. It could be this poor child trying to escape a life like Eustace Clarence Scrubb's. Or this one which is thankful for the silence. Or this one: "Even in your company, I feel so alone."

The storySouth Million Writers Award for good writing published online is now open for nominations.

The Culture Alliance's (subscribers' only) Friday Fiction e-newsletter focused on me today—very flatteringly, and I'm grateful. You can read most of it yourself here at S. T. Karnick's The American Culture blog.

With all due regard to the passing of J. D. Salinger, my own reading universe has been far more powerfully impacted today by the death of Ralph McInerny, who passed away this morning. (Thanks to Southern Appeal for the heads up.)

McInerny was a noted Catholic religious scholar and University of Notre Dame institution, as well as being a highly successful mystery writer. His Father Dowling mysteries (not—I repeat, not—to be confused with the awful television series starring Tom Bosley which purported to be based on them), along with his Roger and Philip Knight books, set at Notre Dame, formed only the tip of his fictional iceberg, much of which consisted of books written under pseudonyms.

Although I am far from being a Catholic, I always found McInerny an author whose faith and principles I could identify with. I don't think anyone would call his books sentimental or naïve in their depiction of the real world, but they breathed out an atmosphere of spiritual peace and rationality that must have been generated by a rare spirit. I wish I'd had the chance to meet him.

It's snowy in Chattanooga, the perfect excuse for some of us to stay inside and do what we normally do. I drove home carefully a couple hours ago. I'm glad I did not pass any cars in the ditch, though I did see some parked at the entrance to hilly neighborhoods.

If you are looking for a way to pass your time today, you might try these Shakespeare Games from Bantam. If you want to prepare for future snow days or family nights or the Bar's Out of Beer nights, you might try one of these games, including the Shakespeare’s Quips, Cusses, and Curses Quiz Deck, hours of fun for you and anyone within the sound of your voice.

About two years ago, author and critic Jeffrey Overstreet wrote about how his very good fantasy novel Auralia's Colors was accepted for publication. "In short: Somebody dropped out of the sky and gave me a golden ticket." It was an answer to prayer.

(Not from the movie)

It probably won't surprise you much when I inform you that I passed up the opportunity to listen to my president's State of the Union address last night.

Instead I popped my DVD of Groundhog Day into the player, and watched it for the eleventy-second time. It was almost shorter than the president's speech, and definitely less repetitious, from what I've read.

And it's the right time of year.

I think Groundhog Day is my It's a Wonderful Life. As I've mentioned before, IaWL just depresses me. The only message I get from it is “George Bailey has a wonderful life, BUT YOU'RE NOT GEORGE BAILEY!”

Groundhog Day, on the other hand, presents a lesson I can agree with—“If I had the chance to do my life over about a million times, I might eventually figure something out.”

I understand the original script was written by a Buddhist, and that the filmmakers cut out some of the more explicitly Buddhist elements. I suppose, to be consistent with myself, I ought to reject the film for the merest taint of Buddhism.

But what kind of theology does It's a Wonderful Life present? Salvation by good works and self-esteem. “You may think you're a miserable sinner, George Bailey, but they think very highly of you in heaven!” Not exactly Christian law and gospel.

What I like about Groundhog Day is the non-theological material—the simple moral journey of a man who does actually come to realize that he's a sinner, and then works to become somebody whose life contributes. It's not a saving knowledge, but it's a good thing for the people who have to live with him.

To a large degree, it's about humility. I could name some prominent people who seem to think that humility is for their country, but not for them as individuals. Such people need to wake up and see their own shadows.

(Crossposted at Mere Comments)

The author of The Catcher in the Rye is dead. Obit Magazine has yet to post their take, but the journalist Hillel Italie gives us a bit of nastiness in his AP story.

Salinger's alleged adoration of children apparently did not extend to his own. In 2000, daughter Margaret Salinger's "Dreamcatcher" portrayed the writer as an unpleasant recluse who drank his own urine and spoke in tongues.

Ms. Salinger said she wrote the book because she was "absolutely determined not to repeat with my son what had been done with me."

Have mercy.

The Kingdom of God by Martyn Lloyd-Jones is up for a give-away from Crossway.

(Artist's conception)

Congratulations are due to our friend Roy Jacobsen, of Writing Clear and Simple, who got a place on Universitiesandcolleges.org's "Top 100 Blogs to Improve Your Writing" list.

The rest of the list is worth checking out, too.

Today Andrew Klavan reports his response to the movie Inglorious Basterds. It would be a misstatement to say he wasn't impressed. He was impressed, in the sense that repulsion is an impression.

But for Tarantino, no matter how talented, to address the issues inherent in the event as pure fodder for storytelling, to think his squirrelly man-on-man torture fantasies or his video geek understanding of life provide an adequate moral response to that level of history – I don’t know, man – it just felt to me like he was molding toy soldiers out of the ashes of the dead.  Even real Jews torturing real German soldiers would not provide a profound or even interesting resolution, but this stuff?

I can't think offhand of any Tarantino movie I've watched, so I'm speculating when I wonder if the director would even be able to comprehend the words Klavan is using. As I understand it, Tarantino makes meta-movies, movies about movies, movies that mirror not the real world, but the kind of world you'd have come to know if you'd spent your life tied to a seat in a movie theater. I suppose that makes him kin to all the contemporary fantasy writers whose inspiration comes, not from myth or history, but from reading a lot of Tolkien and Rowling. The work may be brilliant in its way. It may be scintillating in its dialogue and groundbreaking in its technique, but it's also hollow and weightless. It's pure refined sugar—food without nutritional content.

I'm not saying there's no place for such work. But it's a different thing; a new thing in the world. It should be kept on a separate shelf from material that rises out of human experience and the wisdom our fathers.

The editor, writer, and I'm sure very delightful Jennifer Schuessler writes how book reviewers don't label books boring very often.

Boring people can, paradoxically, prove interesting. As they prattle on, you step back mentally and start to catalog the irritating timbre of the offending voice, the reliance on cliché, the almost comic repetitiousness — in short, you begin constructing a story. But a boring book, especially a boring novel, is just boring. A library is an enormous repository of information, entertainment, the best that has been thought and said. It is also probably the densest concentration of potential boredom on earth.

Or is the real president positioned next to the speakers on either side of the podium? Just asking. So, have you heard about this photo of Mr. Obama in a school classroom using teleprompters?



Big Journalism has the story on what's going on here. In short, he isn't talking to the kids; he's talking to the press corps, who are off-camera on the floor, wrapped their snuggies, sketching pictures of the commander in chief with crayons they took from the students.

Running late tonight. Things to do, and I'm way behind. I did my snow blowing thing when I got home. We didn't get a lot of snow, but enough so I felt guilty leaving it where it lay. And no, I wasn't just anxious to use my new toy. I was actually pretty tired, and I'd (uncharacteristically) stopped at Perkins for dinner. I had a craving for a square meal, and was pretty sure nobody'd cook me one at my place.

I saw the clip below over at Mitch Berg's Shot in the Dark blog today. He actually channeled it from another local blog, but let's not make this too complicated. The idea is that this is how English sounds to foreigners. Some Italian entertainer put this routine together using pure American-sounding gibberish. What amuses me is that I like it. It's got a good beat; you can dance to it, and it's no more incomprehensible to me than the average pop number.


(By the way, in spite of its Italian origin, this performance is suitable for work. Assuming your boss considers comic videos an appropriate use of company time.)

The Culture Alliance can be found here.

The Culture Alliance is based on the awareness that social reform and cultural renewal cannot be achieved through politics alone. Politics rules, but culture shapes politics. People's basic assumptions come from cultural institutions—the education system, entertainment outlets, the art world, and media—currently dominated by those on the ideological Left. People who embrace classical liberal ideas have largely abdicated these institutions, thus those ideas cannot penetrate the public's basic assumptions.

TCA has been founded to address this crucial need. Certainly, there are numerous fine organizations attempting to influence culture, but they are a separate and dispersed lot. Our objective is bring people who understand and appreciate the nation’s founding values into the cultural influence professions and create a grand narrative of cultural renewal, to make a case for the development of a Culture of Liberty in the United States today. The Culture Alliance is designed to build synergy and connection among groups and individuals, resulting in an impact, through cooperation and outreach, which is greater than the sum of its parts.

You can sign up for their Weekly Update, which includes what they call Fiction Friday. Rumor has it that a certain good-looking author of Viking fantasies will be featured this week.

Pastor Jared Wilson has heart-warming advice for talking about abortion, adoption, and the value of unborn children.

DIRECTED BY JAMES CAMERON

The scene is a desolate, rock-strewn mountainside. In the foreground stands a tall, thin, finger-like rock. Chained to this rock is the PRINCESS. She is dressed in a torn white gown, and sobbing softly. Behind her, in the face of the mountain, we see the mouth of a cave. A red glow is visible in the cave's darkness, as if a fire is burning there.

The camera pulls back to a wider view. Along a narrow road, a horseman, all in white armor, can be seen approaching. This is ST. GEORGE.

CLOSEUP of ST. GEORGE. His expression reveals that he has seen the princess, and a look of noble determination comes over his face. [Note to casting: Try to find an actor who isn't using Botox yet. There must be somebody.]

ST. GEORGE rides up to the rock where the PRINCESS is bound. He dismounts and approaches her.

ST. GEORGE: Don't be afraid, Princess. I am St. George, and I've come to set you free. I'll cut these chains with my sword, and we'll be away in a moment.

PRINCESS: I fear that can't be done, good sir. These chains are dragon-tempered steel. No sword can cut them. Nothing can free me but the key the dragon keeps in a casket in his cave.

ST. GEORGE: Then I shall kill the dragon. For I am pure of heart, and I bear a magic shield, forged by elves, proof against all fire.

He sets out toward the cave mouth.

PRINCESS: God bless you, good saint!

As ST. GEORGE nears the entrance, the CGI DRAGON (Voice of Morgan Freeman) appears before him. The DRAGON is huge, and strangely beautiful, with a long, graceful neck and soulful brown eyes.

DRAGON: Halt! Who dares invade the dragon's domain?

ST. GEORGE: It is I, St. George, here to slay you and free yonder innocent princess!

DRAGON: Innocent! Innocent, you say? Do you not realize how her civilization has destroyed the natural environment, cutting down forests, draining marshes, hunting animal species to oblivion? Have you not seen how the smoke of their fires fouls the atmosphere, warming the earth and causing the polar bears to drown? As a representative of a threatened species, I claim the right to reparations, in the form of a virgin or two now and then. Don't you agree? Or are you some kind of speciesist?

ST. GEORGE: You have convinced me, good dragon. I shall leave you in peace to live out your personal lifestyle in harmony with the natural order. I only ask one thing of you.

DRAGON: And what is that?

ST. GEORGE: Devour her off camera, please. We don't want to spoil the inspiring closing shot.

THE END

Here's a shout out to Meg Moseley, a writer, blogger, and reader of Brandywine Books. Thanks for stopping by, Meg. I need to read more of those great books too.