Solstice news

Tomorrow is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, known in the church calendar as St. Thomas’ Day. It was on St. Thomas’ Day in the year 1028 that Erling Skjalgsson, hero of my novels, The Year of the Warrior, West Oversea, and (soon) Hailstone Mountain, was killed at the battle of Soknasund. (Or Boknasund.)

By coincidence or divine appointment, I have today reached verbal agreement with Baen Books to re-release The Year of the Warrior in e-book form. Look for it soon.

Addendum: Thanks to Ori Pomerantz for facilitating the negotiations.

Ransomed

If you have an e-book reader, you can get C. S. Lewis’ classic space trilogy, Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength, for $1.99 each for a limited time.

The links are to Amazon for Kindle versions, because we get a cut of our linked Amazon sales. But if you’ve got a Nook or Kobo, you can buy the books through the Harper & Row site here.

This has been a service of your friends at Brandywine Books.

And Rupert Murdoch, I suppose.

This should bring in even more hits!

Photo credit: Musicaline

I’ll fess up. I check our blog statistics now and then. Mostly not just to check the total clicks (though visit totals have been gratifying, thank you) but to back-track visitors and find what posts brought in the most Googlers. And this time of year an odd pattern appears. By far the most common search to wash up on these shores involves the words “Christmas crib.” And the searches, oddly, generally come from places in the Middle East. If I’m reading it right (always a questionable thesis), they generally land on this post, which says nothing at all about Christmas cribs, causing me to figure that the draw must actually be the picture of the crèche I used to illustrate it.

The term “Christmas crib” sounds strange to me. It’s not an English idiom, as far as I know. Nobody in these parts talks about Nativity Scenes that way. We call them Nativity Scenes or manger scenes, or if we’re feeling pedantic (and heaven knows I often do) we say “crèche.” But perhaps Christians in the Middle East do call them Christmas cribs. No reason why they shouldn’t. It’s a perfectly good name.

I might note (to continue in my pedantic voice, now that I’ve got it warmed up) that the Norwegian word for “manger” is in fact “krybbe.” There must be a history there, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with manger scenes. But I don’t have any facts on that.

From what I’ve read, the traditional inverted A-frame wooden manger we see in Nativity Scenes is nothing at all like anything used in First Century Israel. Many scholars think Christ was born in one of the caves near Bethlehem, where sheep were stabled in those days. The mangers in those structures were made of stone masonry and were built into a corner of the wall. Which is bad for crèches, as it would badly mess up the composition.

However, another theory, which I’ve grown to favor, says that many Jewish houses of that day had an attached all-purpose room, which could be used for livestock when necessary, or could be cleaned out and turned into a guest room when the in-laws showed up. Such a room would have had a built-in manger as well, and that could explain the reference to the baby in the manger in Luke (where the word “stable” does not actually appear).

The problem with this theory is that it renders the traditional mean old innkeeper unnecessary. Which is OK with me, frankly, because he also appears nowhere in the text. And I’ve always identified with him.

Wild Horses, by Dick Francis

It was disastrously easy to make bad horseracing pictures and only possible to do it at bankable level, in my view, if racing became the framing background to human drama.

Although the sentiments above, expressed by Tom Lyon, narrator of Wild Horses, refer to the movie business, they clearly express author Dick Francis’ own approach to writing mysteries. Racing is always the background, but the heart of the story is… well, the human heart.

Thomas Lyon, film director, is a native of Newmarket, Suffolk, England, and he has chosen to come home from California to do his latest film, based on a successful novel inspired by an actual murder that occurred during Tom’s childhood. A horse trainer’s wife was found hanged in a stable, and whether it was homicide or suicide remains a mystery.

The story starts with Tom at the death bed of an old friend, a farrier, who is dying of bone cancer. His friend’s mind is confused, and he makes a confused confession to Tom, thinking him a priest. Throughout the story that follows, Tom feels a strange kind of obligation, as if he were in fact a priest with a duty to God.

Although it’s been decades since the murder the movie is based on happened, it turns out that someone doesn’t want old stones overturned. Tom receives death threats, the film’s star is attacked with a knife, an old lady is wounded, and then there is a murder. And step by step Tom comes to the realization that his friend’s dying confession has a direct bearing on the mystery.

This is Dick Francis at his best. Tom Lyon is a very satisfying hero, ethical, brave, and not overconfident. A particular pleasure of the story is the joke Francis tells on himself (since he’d seen several of his own stories adapted, at least for TV), in making the script writer, also the author of the novel it’s based on, an arrogant, inflexible prima donna who is not as smart as he thinks he is and does nothing but make difficulties.

Only mild cautions for language and subject matter. Highly recommended. Good holiday reading, for instance.

How to Roast a Goose

Maybe in your Christmas reading, you have wondered about cooking a goose. You’ve read about the Cratchit’s Christmas dinner: “There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last. Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows.” Here, Isabella Beeton writes on how to choose and prepare this bird.

Don’t forget the Smoking Bishop drink, which is not the same as the cheese Stinking Bishop. Honestly, I don’t think I would like either of them.

In the wake of evil

Horrible news out of Connecticut today. Horrible; unimaginable. Our prayers go out to everyone affected.

I’ll probably be sorry I said this, but people keep coming up with gun ban ideas. Which is perfectly understandable, but in all honesty I don’t think it’s well reasoned.

Unlike a lot of people, I’m old enough to remember when events like this were unheard-of. I think there may have been one school shooting during my childhood, but I never heard about it at the time. It wasn’t something that kids had to think about. It was less likely than getting hit by a falling airplane.

So clearly something has changed since that time.

And what has changed has not been the availability of guns. Hunting was much more popular then than it is now, and handgun laws were only in force in a few cities.

So what has changed is not that.

Something else must have changed.

Hmm… can you think what that might be?

W.H. Auden, Tolkien Fan

“[W.H.] Auden became a close friend of Tolkien’s and an ardent champion of his work, defending him in public and in print against a host of early skeptics; he was one of the first serious writers (along with C. S. Lewis) to ask whether Tolkien’s narratives of heroic quests and imaginary worlds could be considered something more than simply escapist reading,” writes Erin Overbey at The New Yorker

Auden praises Tolkien for succeeding where Milton failed, that is in showing an absolutely powerful God who has allowed us to reject him.

They love Lucy

This is St. Lucy’s Day, known as Luciadagen in Norway. Through the vagaries of history, St. Lucy came to have special significance in Scandinavia, based on a legend that she appeared one night during a famine, in a shining ship loaded with food for the people. It’s originally a Swedish custom, but widely observed in other Scandinavian countries too, for one girl of the family to get up early and prepare special rolls for breakfast, which she serves while wearing the Lucia costume, a white gown and a garland in her hair with lighted candles in it. She leads a procession of other girls, singing the traditional Italian song as performed in the video above.

More information about the day’s customs below the fold, courtesy of Sverre Østen’s book, Hva Dagene Vet, ©1988 by Ernst G. Mortensen’s Forlag (my translation): Continue reading They love Lucy

The Shoulders of Giants, by Jim Cliff

Any author who offers a fresh take on an old genre and carries it off successfully, deserves praise. So all in all I praise Jim Cliff for The Shoulders of Giants, the first volume in a projected new private eye series.

Cliff’s hero and narrator is Jake Abraham, a young private eye just starting out in his own office in Chicago. He says he grew up on Jim Rockford and Spenser, and he’s a little starry-eyed – and aware of it. The novelty of his character is that instead of the expected cynical, hard-boiled sleuth we’ve seen so often, Jake is young and optimistic and not entirely sure of himself – but nevertheless good at his job.

In this story he’s hired by a disgraced former police captain to find his daughter, who has disappeared. Before long her murdered body is found, and then there are more bodies, and soon the police are looking for a serial killer. Because one of the detectives is a friend of his, Jake is allowed to hang around, and even to help (he’s unique among fictional private detectives in actually standing aside and shutting up when the police tell him to), and his inquiries lead him at last into a deadly showdown with a murderer.

Jake is a likeable character, and I generally enjoyed the story. I do have quibbles. Author Cliff seems to have done a fair amount of research on guns, but he doesn’t seem to have much hands on experience – he thinks you’re supposed to shut one eye when aiming, which most instructors will tell you not to do, and he has Jake, in a gunfight in a dark room, waiting for his opponent to talk in order to aim at the voice, when he would have been able to aim at the muzzle flashes. And there are a couple language problems. He doesn’t know what “enormity” means, and he confuses the word “illicit” with “elicit.” He also suggests a murder method to the forensic scientists which I’m pretty sure they would have been familiar with.

Still and all, a good start generally. I like Jake Abraham, and am positively inclined toward the next book. Cautions for the usual language, sex (including a gay bar), and mature themes.