All posts by Lars Walker

48 hours, by J. Jackson Bentley

Is there a category called a popcorn novel? Because that’s what I’d call 48 Hours by J. Jackson Bentley. An interesting plot, engaging characters, and the occasional hint of conservatism. Can’t complain about that. If the technicalities aren’t always perfect, I can hardly grouse. I was satisfactorily entertained.

Josh Hammond is an insurance adjustor in the City of London. He’s not a magnate of any kind, but he’s managed to put away money almost no one knows about. So he’s surprised in more ways than one when he gets a text message from a blackmailer (the book keeps calling it blackmail, but in this case it looks more like extortion to me) telling him to pay up pretty close to all he’s worth, or he’ll be murdered.

Josh goes to his boss for advice, and his boss retains a security company to protect him. This involves a bodyguard, who turns out to be a beautiful woman named Dee, well-suited for Josh to fall in love with. The police are called in. The blackmailer is smarter than they are, and then they are smarter than the blackmailer, and it goes back in forth in a well-matched battle of wits with the occasional spice of a fist- or gunfight.

I was particularly pleased with the social attitudes of this book. Although sex outside of marriage is taken for granted, pretty much a given in our time, I guess, businessmen are treated sympathetically, and the villain is both a Labor politician and a former trade unionist.

There are weaknesses in the writing, but I’ve seen a lot worse. The author doesn’t know what “enormity” means (of course no one else does these days either), and messes up on the choice between “I” and “me” at one point. There’s the occasional redundancy (we don’t need to be informed twice of the heroine’s height). In an odd orthography choice, quotations are set in the American style (single quotation marks inside double quotation marks) but the marks are left off the beginnings of new paragraphs inside speeches.

But 48 Hours was fun. And it’s free for Kindle, at least at the time of this review. Recommended.

"Be less authentic, if you don't mind."

Today, as I was brewing the green tea I generally drink at lunch, my thoughts wandered to Sir Thomas Lipton the tea magnate (although I was drinking a different brand). I remembered something that irritated me long, long ago, and I still remember it well enough to vent about it now.

In the early 20th Century, Thomas Lipton was among the most famous people in the world. He was one of the original “self-made men,” a Scotsman who spent time in America and learned American business ideas, which he put into practice in building a grocery empire in Great Britain. Then he shifted to the tea business, with even more success.

He was a prominent philanthropist and sportsman, and it was as a sportsman that he became a true celebrity. He loved yacht racing, and made repeated, expensive attempts to win the America’s Cup, failing each time. But his sunny good sportsmanship won him the affection of the American public, which did his tea sales no harm at all.

I wish I could remember the book or article about Lipton that got my dander up. I was pretty young at the time. I have the idea it was a biographical book I read a review of, but I can’t find the book listed anywhere. Maybe it was an article in Smithsonian or something. Continue reading "Be less authentic, if you don't mind."

Tales out of school

This is a good place to share things I don’t dare say in class, isn’t it?

Sure.

Part of the process of studying for your master’s degree online is discussions in forums on the school’s site. I’ve already established my reputation as a contrarian there, asking questions where other students just agree on how wonderful the assigned reading was. But I don’t say all I think, because it soon became clear that there’s something like a religious element to the course. We’re being taught the doctrines of the Church of the Enlightenment, Library diocese, and my plan is to mostly keep my head low when we touch on matters of dogma.

Anyway, one of our recent readings was a study whose author questioned whether it’s factually true that we’ve entered into an Information Age, as everybody keeps saying. He analyzes the studies usually appealed to in arguing for this societal change, and finds in them a lot of mushiness and fuzzy categories. Fair enough. He makes some excellent points. But I posed the question, could any real-world evidence actually satisfy his criteria? It seemed to me we could all be assimilated by the Borg, and this guy would still insist there wasn’t enough hard evidence to prove there’d been significant change.

What I didn’t say (though I may say it yet, if pushed), is that some time ago I spoke to a young missionary who’s involved with a project to provide open-source educational materials to Third World people in various cultures. The project faces many challenges, but distribution is not one of them. He said to me, “We’d been in all kinds of cultures – with cattle herders in the veldt, and jungle villages, and we noticed that wherever we went, everybody [that was the word he used, as I recall] has a cell phone, and they access the internet through it.”

My methodology may be sloppy, but that suggests to me that a major change has occurred in the world.

Citation sighted

Today in the library I was cataloging a set of books by a friend, Dr. John Eidsmoe – Historical and Theological Foundations of Law. Out of curiosity I checked the second volume to see what he’d written about Viking elements in our English tradition. And behold, he has good things to say. Even better, he mentions me in a footnote.

I’ve joked about being a scholarly citation before, since Prof. Torgrim Titlestad of the University of Stavanger has mentioned my Erling novels in a couple of his books on the Viking Age. But this is a genuine footnote. In a passage about Erling Skjalgsson he inserts the following note:

…Lars Walker, a friend of this author, has recently published an engrossing and well-researched novel that portrays Erling Skjalgson as a Christian ruler who desires his kingdom to be a free republic under God’s law. Lars Walker, West Oversea: A Norse Saga of Mystery, Adventure and Faith (Nordskog, 2009).

He makes a couple small errors, calling Erling a jarl (he seems to think jarl is a generic term like chieftain), and talking about Erling’s “kingdom,” which was the last thing Erling wanted. Nevertheless, it’s nice to be a citation.

I wonder if I can get credit for it in graduate school.

Something tells me the answer is no.

No coincidence

Our friend Greybeard sent me a link to a comic today, and I thought it was pretty funny. I’d post it here, but I’m not certain about copyright fair use, so I’ll just link to it and you can look for yourself.

It’s about “contrived coincidences” in story plots.

This, friends, is a very bad thing.

You read a story, and you’re following along with it, and suddenly something happens out of the blue, completely out of left field, purely so that the author can make the plot go in a direction he wants.

C. S. Lewis wrote about a similar issue, somewhere (I forget where, and I don’t have time to riffle through my library). In writing about miracles, he notes that it’s entirely against the rules for a novelist to include a miracle in a story, just to get his hero out of a tight place.

But, he notes, there is at least one legitimate use for a miracle in a story. You can start the story with a miracle. The occurrence of a miracle, followed by an examination of the way it affects the people who observe it, is a perfectly legitimate premise for a story.

In other words, a miracle can pose a problem in a story. But it can’t solve one.

Otherwise, you’ve wasted your reader’s time. You’ve dragged him through all the sturm und drang of plot development, rising action, rising tension, repeated frustrated attempts at resolution, and then you resolve the whole mess with a deus ex machina (a Latin term referring to a dramatist’s trick of sending an actor, dressed like a god, down by block and tackle to save somebody from a bad situation). The whole purpose of a story is to teach the main character something through suffering, and to teach the reader by proxy. The miraculous/coincidental resolution renders the whole exercise meaningless. The story itself becomes a redundant appendage to the climax. You might as well have written the climax on its own, and saved the reader the time.

I note that I have confused coincidence with deus ex machina in this post, but they’re closely related and undeserving of individual attention.

Orthodoxy, by G. K. Chesterton


The man who cannot believe his senses, and the man who cannot believe anything else, are both insane, but their insanity is proved not by any error in their argument, but by the manifest mistake of their whole lives…. It is amusing to notice that many of the moderns, whether sceptics or mystics, have taken as their sign a certain eastern symbol, which is the very symbol of this ultimate nullity. When they wish to represent eternity, they represent it by a serpent with his tail in his mouth. There is a startling sarcasm in the image of that very unsatisfactory meal….

Buddhism is centripetal, but Christianity is centrifugal; it breaks out. For the circle is perfect and infinite in its nature; but it is fixed for ever in its size; it can never be larger or smaller. But the cross, though it has as its heart a collision and a contradiction, can extend its four arms for ever without altering its shape. Because it has a paradox at its centre it can grow without changing. The circle returns upon itself and is bound. The cross opens its arms to the four winds; it is a signpost for free travellers.

One thing for which G. K. Chesterton can always be depended on is surprises. Orthodoxy was not the kind of book I expected it to be. I was looking for something along the lines of C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity, an excellent book in a different way. But Chesterton’s approach to apologetics was quintessentially Chestertonian.

Instead of making a purely logical argument for the Christian religion (and Protestants will be pleased to know that he touches fairly lightly on distinctively Catholic matters), Chesterton outlines the rational and the emotional process by which he came to faith. It’s a little like Lewis’ Surprised by Joy in that way, but less autobiographical in terms of life events.

The narrative, delivered in this way, becomes more than an argument. Chesterton gives a demonstration of his orthodoxy by describing the Word becoming flesh in his own experience. We are not saved in our spirits alone; our bodies and our personalities must also come along. Only a salvation that offers something for all aspects of our natures will meet our needs, and Chesterton describes how he spent his life looking for the things his soul hungered for, only to discover that all of them were waiting already assembled in one place – the church.

Highly recommended.

"Skin"

Allan Sherman was an entertainer from the days of my youth, who had no particular talent except for his ability to write clever parodies of popular songs. I was a great fan of his, and even tried to write parodies of my own. But I was never as good at it. The clip above is perhaps my favorite of his works, a take-off on the song, “You Gotta Have Heart,” from the musical D*mn Yankees (fifty years after the show opened on Broadway, I still can’t bring myself to spell out the title). It came to my mind today, heaven knows why.

The bearable lightness of being orthodox

I’ve been reading Chesterton’s Orthodoxy. I’ll review it later, as if its reputation depended on me to any extent. But here’s a quote:

It is one of the hundred answers to the fugitive perversion of modern “force” that the promptest and boldest agencies are also the most fragile and full of sensibility. The swiftest things are the softest things. A bird is active, because a bird is soft. A stone is helpless, because a stone is hard. The stone must by its own nature go downwards, because hardness is weakness. The bird can of its nature go upwards, because fragility is force. In perfect force there is a kind of frivolity, an airiness that can maintain itself in the air. Modern investigators of miraculous history have solemnly admitted that a characteristic of the great saints is their power of “levitation.” They might go further; a characteristic of the great saints is their power of levity. Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly.

Mountainous Praise

Pastor and writer Frank Luke gives my Hailstone Mountain a very nice review today:

The strongest theme I saw was honor and duty in a person’s life. Duty means doing what needs to be done whether you like it or not. Especially if you like it not. The book revolves around honor. Men go to great lengths to gain or keep honor. Things they will not do for themselves, they do to help others. Men they would otherwise befriend they may not because of differences in spirit or blood. When people do their duty to God, the right things happen. When they forget, they and all those who serve under them suffer.

Sock it to me

I mentioned that I’d be doing a Nordic Music Festival this past Saturday. This I did, along with other members of the Viking Age Club & Society. The day was perversely hot for September, perhaps to make up for the perversely cold days we had in spring. We ended up doing two, rather than three, fight shows, and I didn’t wear my armor. They tell me I won a couple fights, but I actually have no memory of it. I remember the losses, of course. At one point I grew concerned that I’d dehydrated myself, in spite of drinking water pretty steadily all day. I went and got some french fries from a vendor, just for the salt.

But what I remember most of all is a gift I was given, a delayed birthday present. It (or they) came from Kelsey Patton, proprietress of Spindle, Shuttle, & Needle, your best source for historical costumes of any era (You think free gifts don’t buy a plug from me? Try me. I’m for sale).

The gift was the pair of socks shown above. These are no common socks, not in our century. They’re made by an ancient process called nålebinding, which goes back to the misty dawn of antiquity. It’s a method of knitting that uses only one needle, and it was how the Vikings made their socks.

I’ve yearned for a pair of nålebinding socks for years now. They’re an important part of a really authentic Viking costume, but not the sort of thing I was in a position to spend money on (they don’t come cheap, and let’s face it, they’re socks. I can sneak by with dark ankle socks, if no one looks too close). So this gift delighted me beyond all decent proportion. My Viking costume would now be almost entirely passable in a fairly tolerant reenactors’ encampment, except for my underwear, which I tend to keep to myself anyway.

So thanks, Kelsey (and Philip, her husband). You have the blessing of an ancient sage.