‘Ranching in Colorado,’ by J. L. Curtis

I enjoyed the first book in my friend J. L. Curtis’ The Bell Chronicles, Showdown on the River, so I picked up book number two, Ranching in Colorado. The title’s a little generic, but the story was excellent.

Rio Bell, gunslinging Texas rancher’s son, survived the dangers of a trail drive and a range war, and now he has his reward. He’s married and owner of a large spread in Colorado. He wasn’t entirely prepared for mountain life or for northern winters, and when his wife gets pregnant he really feels out of his depth.

But he has some his hands with him, along with the crew of old mountain men who helped so much in his earlier adventures. He’ll learn the business, survive a stampede, and face back-shooting rustlers before he’s done.

I don’t know why I don’t read more westerns. I have an infinite taste for cowboy stories. This book was a little less bombastic than the first one; not much gunplay until the last third of the book or so.

I have quibbles, of course. Wedding dresses were not, as a rule, white in the 1870s. A woman we’re told is Scandinavian uses German words like “mit” (with) and “danke,” rather than “med” and “takk.” Some of the English diction is distractingly modern, like, “this baby is an affirmation of our commitment.”

But those are small things. Enjoy the story. Recommended.

‘The Untold Story of the New Testament Church,’ by Frank Viola

In our degenerate times, claiming that you’ve read the Bible multiple times through sounds like bragging (it wouldn’t have been as much of a big deal when I was starting out). That said, I’ll make so bold as to say that I’ve read the Bible, Old and New Testaments, multiple times. I’m pretty familiar with the narrative.

But I was intrigued by the premise of Frank Viola’s The Untold Story of the New Testament Church. The idea is to straighten out the chronological problems. The Old Testament isn’t laid out in order of events, but the historical books are generally chronological, which is helpful to the reader. But the New Testament is arranged by genre and book length. I won’t say that causes confusion, but it makes the message less coherent than it might be.

What author Viola has done here is to tell the story on a timeline, explaining the historical context (this is very valuable) and then inserting the various books (or rather, descriptions plus reading prompts) in their proper order, based on critical opinion and (sometimes) the author’s personal choices.

It’s a little humbling to admit that the book helped me understand New Testament history better, but it did. Some of the author’s choices are subjective and could be disputed, but all in all I thought the thing as a whole very helpful.

And I learned stuff. I was not aware that Titus was (arguably) Luke’s brother. Or that Gallio, the governor of Corinth, was brother to the philosopher Seneca.

The prose was occasionally a little awkward, and there’s a lamentable tendency to employ exclamation marks. But still, I recommend The Untold Story of the New Testament Church. I think it would be a great project for a Bible study group to work through this book, reading the scriptural books as they come up.

‘Bowmen of England,’ by Donald Featherstone

These commanders who made such good use of archery as a national tactic had no real conception of the fact that in terminating the ascendency in war of the mailed horseman they were putting an end to the feudal regime and all that it entailed.

When you and I think of the medieval English bowman, we (unless you’re very weird) always think first of Robin Hood, in whatever cinematic or literary incarnation we know him. And there’s good reason for that. Robin Hood became an English national legend because he symbolized an important – and uniquely English – historical phenomenon. The English yeomanry enjoyed a very special status in Europe because they provided the manpower for English military archery, which made their country almost invincible on the battlefield for several centuries. Donald Featherstone’s Bowmen of England probably qualifies as a “classic” treatment of the subject, as it was first published 1968. No doubt some of the facts he cites represent scholarship that has since been revised or debunked. But as far as I can tell, the book remains a valuable introduction to the subject.

It opens with a fictional, dramatized scene of classic longbow tactics in battle. This part, I must admit, is rather badly written, and made me wonder what I was getting into as a reader. However, the author hits his stride when he moves on to plain exposition.

The longbow (traditionally, but not always, made of yew, usually imported) was first developed by the Welsh. But King Edward I (one can’t help thinking of Braveheart, but Edward is an admired figure here) recognized its value and adopted it for his own armies. He instituted universal archery practice for all common men, legislation that continued in force in various forms up into the Renaissance period.

Most of the book consists of a historical survey, especially of the Hundred Years’ War, in which the author describes the chief battles in which the longbow was decisive. The pattern is repetitive, and almost comic in a dark way. Again and again the English bowmen slaughtered massed French cavalry, at tremendous cost in lives, equipment and fighting expertise. And yet the French never learned. Every time they were certain that, given enough chivalry and valor, they’d whip the English this time.

Along the way we learn a fair amount about the construction of bows and the training of bowmen. We learn only a little about the military tactics of the time, but that’s only because they barely existed. There are also a lot of casualty figures, which are kind of depressing. It’s saddening to think how many lives were wasted in war in those days. (Sadder still to know that the situation hasn’t improved with time.)

There’s been a fashion in recent decades for publishing books about “The [fill in the blank] that changed the world.” If it had been written later, that title could have been applied to Bowmen of England. The longbow killed chivalry, altered the social order, and laid the groundwork for tactics in the Age of Gunpowder.

The book shows its age through its unabashed patriotism, but that’s just refreshing nowadays.

Recommended.

What Has the Universe Done for You Lately?

A few years ago, someone wanted to buy Anthony Sacramone’s old bookcases and gave praise to the universe for the opportunity. He bit his tongue in order to avoid saying something like:

“You put it out to the universe? The universe is concerned that your shelving needs are met? Do Neptune and Pluto fret over your interior design? Does Alpha Centauri pine for our pine? Does some kamikaze comet threaten cosmic doom if a couple of 84” bookcases do not materialize with relative alacrity?

… Does the Universe ever feel iffy? Does it ever sit on the fence? Ever put a request out there and get a big fat maybe?”

We can read what Anthony might have said in First Things.

Sunday Singing: With Grateful Heart My Thanks I Bring

“With Grateful Heart My Thanks I Bring” piano accompaniment by Andrew Remillard

This adaptation of Psalm 138 appears to have been written for a Presbyterian Psalter published in 1912. The tune is one of the two most commonly used for this hymn. Entitled “St. Petersburg,” it was written by influential Ukrainian composer Dimitri Stepanovitch Bortniansky (1751-1825).

1 With grateful heart my thanks I bring,
before the great thy praise I sing:
I worship in thy holy place
and praise thee for thy truth and grace;
for truth and grace together shine
in thy most holy word divine.

2 I cried to thee and thou didst save,
thy word of grace new courage gave;
the kings of earth shall thank thee, Lord,
for they have heard thy wondrous word;
yea, they shall come with songs of praise,
for great and glorious are thy ways.

3 O Lord, enthroned in glory bright,
thou reignest in the heav’nly height;
the proud in vain thy favor seek,
but thou hast mercy for the meek;
through trouble though my pathway be,
thou wilt revive and strengthen me.

4 Thou wilt stretch forth thy mighty arm
to save me when my foes alarm;
the work thou hast for me begun
shall by thy grace be fully done;
Forever mercy dwells with thee;
O Lord, my Maker, think on me.

Don’t Call It a Culture War. Call It Being Salt.

Last week, I wrote about an English teacher encouraging her students to read challenged books. Yesterday, World’s Doubletake podcast released a story on diversity libraries in schools and parents and teachers pushing back against school boards who advocate immoral reading. They mention a book “about a 17-year-old alcoholic girl in a sexual relationship with a 38-year-old man. . . . Other books describe teenagers in homosexual activity with adults. Others depict incest.

“Some parents, teachers, three school board members, and a librarian defended the material at that 2020 board meeting. They said young kids should be able to see themselves ‘reflected’ in the books. They said it was important to read about pedophilia because it was, quote, ‘culturally enriching.'”

This may be what school-choice supporters need to fuel their fire.

However, some have reacted negatively to this and any aspect that smells of a culture war. They would much rather Christians keep to themselves: “For all the voices calling our attention and energy to school-board politics right now, discipling our kids in a holistic and faithful way is a more constant, difficult, and worthwhile task.” Influencing your school board or, I guess, being a voice in your community is not within the scope of discipling your children. Maybe if we thought it as being the salt of the earth?

The World and Everything in It, another excellent podcast, has a segment reacting to the above article.

Discipline: “Religious discipline confounds the modern sensibility because it upends our ideas about the value of discipline and sacrifice. To a person steeped in modern heroics, religious discipline looks solely like abstention, with none of the benefits of lifestyle discipline. It is giving up pleasurable things just to make your life less enjoyable; it is overcoming, ignoring, or dismissing your own desires solely from masochism, or because of communal expectations, which is the worst possible sin these days, to do something because someone or some group expects you to.”

Faith: “O Timothy, guard the deposit entrusted to you. Avoid the irreverent babble and contradictions of what is falsely called ‘knowledge,’ for by professing it some have swerved from the faith.” (1 Tim. 6:20 ESV)

Poetry: A cottage in which John Milton resided for a short spell survives and is open to the public for half a year. A couple weeks ago, a group met there to read Paradise Lost.

Used Bookstores: Carl Lavigne writes about his time at The Dawn Treader Book Shop in Ann Arbor, MI. “Is there a German word for being surrounded by stacks of once-feted, now forgotten novels piled in a deeply haunted basement wondering, ‘What if this is where my book ends up?’

“A customer demands a book recommendation. ‘Something good.’
‘Sorry,’ I joke. ‘Fresh out.'”

Poetry: Speaking of Ogden Nash (see post earlier this week), his last surviving daughter, Linell Chenault Smith, “an extremely classy woman,” died last month at age 90.

Photo: YMCA, Geneva, New York. 1995. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

‘The Key to Justice,’ by Dennis Carstens

I’ve been reading the later books in the Marc Kadella series of legal thrillers (set in Minneapolis), and enjoying them with some reservations. So when I got a deal on a package of the first three books, I bought it. Not sure what I was getting. I had the idea the first books might be a little clumsy. Instead I found that The Key to Justice, the opening novel, was remarkably good and wickedly entertaining.

The book opens with Jake Waschke, an honest, respected Minneapolis police detective. He’s half-brother to the governor’s chief aide, a troubled young man whom he has protected all his life. Now he faces a horrific problem. A knife-wielding serial killer is raping and murdering young women in the Twin Cities (including the governor’s daughter), and Jake knows his brother is doing it. So he selects Carl Fornich, a scumbag with a past rape conviction, and fakes evidence to get him prosecuted.

Carl’s brother comes to Marc Kadella for a defense. Marc is a struggling, small-time lawyer. He needs all the business he can get, especially because he’s involved in countersuing the US government in a tax case and it’s taking forever. Though the prospects of collecting a lot from Carl’s family seem small. But when Marc meets Carl, he’s convinced he’s innocent. If he is, that means the police are framing him. Which makes Marc mad.

In his Introduction, author Dennis Carstens informs us that one of his main motivations for writing the story was to dramatize the un-glamorous side of the practice of law. The long hours, the tedium, the difficulties in getting paid, the official arrogance that has to be swallowed. And that element was in fact one of the things I’ve liked about the books all along.

But to be frank, the later books have gotten a little formulaic. This first one is genuinely original. Lots of surprises and twists, and very dark irony. Carstens isn’t a great prose stylist (and he has a real problem with punctuation), but he can tell a heck of a story.

Also, thanks to his stinginess with character description, I’ve never known what the beautiful Maddy (Marc’s investigator, later his girlfriend) looks like . Now I know she’s tall, brunette, and blue-eyed. Good to know.

Recommended, with the usual cautions.

‘Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man’

One of the shifting and inchoate goals I pursue in this blog, when I think of it, is promoting Ogden Nash as a great American light poet. Above, he reads his poem, “Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man.” It’s about sin, and not doctrinally correct. But perceptive nonetheless.

‘A Man of Affairs,’ by John D. MacDonald

I had the uncomfortable feeling that you could be marooned on an island with this fellow for seven years and never get a clue as to what he was thinking. He would be inevitably and interminably polite and charming, and were he forced to kill you and eat you, he would be deft and slightly apologetic and quite noble about it. And he would know exactly which leaves and berries to boil with you to give you the right flavor.

John D. MacDonald wrote paperback novels for Fawcett Gold Medal, whose stock in trade was cowboys, private eyes and soldiers of fortune. It’s a tribute to his skill that he could write a saleable (and engaging) story for that market about business. (He had a business degree from Harvard.) A Man of Affairs isn’t one of his top novels, I think, but it’s a pretty good read.

Sam Glidden is a top manager for a small manufacturing  company, the Harrison Corporation, in a fictional town. He rose from the work floor partly with the assistance of the company’s late owner, who was energetic but improvident. Since his death, Sam and the other managers have been trying to rebuild an out-of-date operation, which has prevented them from paying dividends to stockholders. This results in discontent, particularly with the late owner’s two adult children, one of whom, Louise, Sam has carried a torch for since high school.

Then Harrison Corporation comes into the sights of Mike Dean, a famous investor who’d be described as a “corporate raider” today. Dean talks a good talk about rebuilding the company, but Sam knows how this guy operates. He’ll pump the stock up, unload it, and leave the other shareholders in possession of the smoking ruins of a gutted operation. When Dean invites Louise and her brother and their spouses to his compound in the Bahamas, Sam manages to get himself invited too, in hopes he can counter Mike Dean’s persuasions.

What he finds is a house party with a creepy but seductive vibe. Millionaires, publicity people, entertainment people, hangers-on. Greedy, bored, kinky. Sam finds that Mike Dean’s charm and psychological strategy have him on the point of selling out. Then people start dying…

It’s a tribute to MacDonald’s narrative skill that he could transform a story about business into a life-and-death thriller and make it work. There’s sex in A Man of Affairs – fairly shocking by the standards of the time though tame nowadays (it’s all straight sex). The violence is a little far-fetched, but that goes with the territory.

The heart of the story, however, is a pretty solid examination of personal and business integrity. I think it holds up well on that level.

Recommended for adults.

A Grand and Splendid Feast from History

And now for something completely different, “grand and splendid entertainment in two courses” from a 200-year-old cookbook.

Food scientist Anne Reardon worked through the recipes recommended a couple centuries ago for an entertaining meal and shares her family’s opinions on them. It’s impressive, historical, and sometimes gross.

Reardon’s YouTube channel is excellent for exposing silly or dangerous food hacks in other videos and explaining how to bake things well.