All posts by Phil

Word Games, Moscow, and the Secret Life of a Librarian

I may have just found a book I must read this year.

Joel Miller asks, “If you lived in a society that was strictly and officially materialist in which the state and its officers vetoed disagreement, what would you do if you still recognized the transcendent and dissented from the party line?”

One option would be to “write a surrealist satire that mocked the materialists and dropped the devil and his entourage in Moscow to bend the party line well past breaking.”

That’s what Soviet novelist Mikhail Bulgakov did in his posthumously published work The Master and Margarita (1970). Miller explains one of the author’s themes this way. “For all their anti-capitalistic propaganda, Muscovites were every bit as covetous and grasping as anyone, maybe worse. And as far as the Soviet insistence on strict atheism, Bulgakov replies: Fine, if you won’t have God, you can have the devil—and the devil will have you.”

Word Games: Merrium-Webster shelled out an undisclosed 7-figure amount to purchase Quordle, the word-guessing game that gives you four target words at once. I played many times last year and have gotten away from it for a while. Returning to it this week has not been easy. I want to blame Wordle’s hard mode. You can’t guess four words at once while using all your current hints. Maybe the dictionary has placed harder words.

Quordle is a different challenge than Daily Sectordle, which gives you 32 words at once.

Are word games actually good for your brain? If it’s a challenge, if you aren’t running through them on auto pilot, then yes.

Librarian: There’s a novelization of Belle da Costa Greene, the woman who built J. P. Morgan’s personal library, by Alexandra Lapierre. Gina Dalfonzo writes, “Lapierre is the kind of writer who can make a rare book auction into a thrilling action scene, and make a reader yearn to hold a copy of the bejeweled 8th-century Lindau Gospels. She gets you so caught up in Belle’s untiring passion for her work, it tears at your heart to think that Belle would have been barred from that work if her heritage had been known.”

Finding a Good Home for Books: Steve Donoghue says being a “book person” tends to attract orphan books. “I’m talking about squalling little orphans furtively deposited at the back door of the rectory by tearful (or grateful) parents who have decided that their babies will have a better chance for happiness if cast onto the mercy of a rude stream than if they stay neglected and underfed at home.”

Apocalypse Next Door: Russian sci-fi novelist Dmitry Glukhovsky says his apocalyptic novel set in the Moscow metro system is selling well after his government condemned him for opposing the war in Ukraine.

Coffee: At least among customers of Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts, iced coffee has overtaken hot coffee orders by three to one. Next month, Starbucks is changing its rewards program to make getting free hot coffee or tea 100 stars (not 50) and free iced coffee or tea 100 stars (not 150). Fans are upset, maybe because handcrafted drinks cost 50 stars more, maybe because change of any kind upsets people.

Photo by Erik Witsoe on Unsplash

Sunday Singing: Thy Mercy, My God

“Thy Mercy, My God” performed by Sandra McCracken

This hymn, “Thy mercy, my God,” was attributed to J.S. when it was published in 1776, and someone along the way connected those initials to Englishman John Stocker, but apparently there is no paper trail to say this is or isn’t an accurate attribute.

Musician Sandra McCracken, working with the hymn revivalists of Indelible Grace, wrote new music for it and performs her composition above. I copied the words from the 1792 American edition of A Selection of Hymns:  from the best authors, intended to be an appendix to Dr. Watt’s psalms and hymns.

1 Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song,
The joy of my heart, and the boast of my tongue
Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last
Hath won my affections and bound my soul fast.

2 Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here
Sin soon would reduce me to utter despair;
But, thro’ thy free goodness, my spirits revive,
And he that first made me, still keeps me alive.

3 Thy mercy is more than a match for my heart
Which wonders to feel its own hardness depart
Dissolv’d by thy goodness, I fall to the ground
And weep to the praise of the mercy I found.

4 The door of thy mercy stands open all day
To th’ poor and the needy, who knock by the way;
No sinner shall ever be empty sent back,
Who comes seeking mercy for Jesus’s sake.

5 Thy mercy is endless, most tender and free;
No sinner need doubt, since ’tis given to me;
No merit will buy it, nor fears stop its course;
Good works are the fruits of its freeness and force.

6 Thy mercy in Jesus exempts me from hell;
Its glories I’ll sing: and its wonders I’ll tell:
‘Twas Jesus my friend when he hung on the tree
That open’d the channel of mercy for me.

7 Great Father of mercies, thy goodness I own,
And covenant love of thy crucify’d son:
All praise to the spirit whose whisper divine
Seals mercy and pardon and righteousness mine.

The Halifax Diasaster of 1917

The city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, settled by Britons in 1749, has always held an important role in maritime trade. The video above describes the remarkable story of the horrific disaster that destroyed one square mile of the port city and damaged other communities miles away. Thousands were killed and injured by the results of the largest man-made explosion prior to December 6, 1917, when the Mont-Blanc destroyed Halifax.

Sunday Singing: O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus

“O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus” sung by the congregation of Grace Community Church in Sun Valley, California

This moving hymn feels like watching an ocean roll, as the metaphor goes. Its slow statement Christ’s profound love can be happy and ecstatic, but it’s in daily living, in common struggle, and in grief that we can feel the soul-stirring depth of his unchanging love for us.

Samuel Trevor Francis (1834-1925), a London businessman, wrote the words. Welshman Thomas John Williams (1869-1944) wrote the melody. Williams was an insurance salesman, so this popular hymn comes to us from the business sect of Christendom.

1 O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,
rolling as a mighty ocean
in its fullness over me.
Underneath me, all around me,
is the current of thy love;
leading onward, leading homeward,
to thy glorious rest above.

2 O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Spread his praise from shore to shore;
how he loveth, ever loveth,
changeth never, nevermore;
how he watches o’er his loved ones,
died to call them all his own;
how for them he intercedeth,
watcheth o’er them from the throne.

3 O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
Love of ev’ry love the best:
’tis an ocean vast of blessing,
’tis a haven sweet of rest.
O the deep, deep love of Jesus!
‘Tis a heav’n of heav’ns to me;
and it lifts me up to glory,
for it lifts me up to thee.

Renting Books to Impress Visitors, Terry Teachout, and Sigrid Undset

Last week, an independent bookstore in Chicago splashed up attention for many Twitter users with a tweet complaining about a customer who wanted to rent rather than buy some expensive books. Rebecca George, a co-owner of Volumes Bookcafe in Chicago’s Wicker Park, wrote in Jan 9 tweet: “Turns out one of our biggest sales last month was for the person to stage their home for the holidays and now they want to return them all. Please don’t do this to a small business, people. That one sale was a third of our rent.”

The books were eye-catching art and cook book, no doubt published to show off the reader’s good taste. The most modest book in the set was entitled Authenticity: The Vain Attempt at Finding the Real You. (I’m sorry. I made that up.)

The tweet has been seen almost seven million times and picked up by news outlets, making January a very good month for sales by good-hearted book-buyers showing their sympathy.

What else is online?

Reading Good Books: An essential freedom that builds character more than we know. “American kids, more than ever, are stratified into those who read—those who have regular access to books—and those who don’t. I’m not talking here about basic literacy, but being open to the human good that is the enjoyment of literature.”

Kristin Lavransdatter at 100. Sigrid Undset wrote a “medieval romance in the twentieth century (published between 1920 and 1922), [and] she somehow reverses a thousand years of morbidity, bringing a long dead genre back to life. . . . Kristin Lavransdatter is really just a love story—but one of the most savagely honest love stories ever written.”

Mystery: All About Agatha is a podcast that has read all of Agatha Christie’s novels, discussed them, and ranked them against each other. I look forward to looking up All Hallow’s Eve to see if they place it within the worst five.

Writing: Backstory brings characters to life, making them appear as real people, except when it floods the reader with irrelevant details. So it’s a very good, except when it isn’t.

Terry Teachout: The New York art critic died last year on Jan. 13. Patrick Kurp calls that fact “comparably difficult to believe. It’s like saying France no longer exists. Seldom in my experience was so prominent and successful a writer so generous with his success.”

And Titus Techera talks about the conversations he had with Terry about film noir and its relation to men in post-war America.

Photo by Hatice Yardım on Unsplash

Sunday Singing: Jesus Paid It All

“Jesus Paid It All” arranged for acoustic instruments and performed by Craig Duncan

Here’s an excellent hymn to begin a new year. Elvina M. Hall (1820-1889) wrote “Jesus Paid It All” on a fly leaf of the hymnal of her Methodist Episcopal Church in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1865. Perhaps that means it was written in response to a sermon or Scripture reading during the service. It reads like such a response.

1 I hear the Savior say,
“Thy strength indeed is small,
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in Me thine all in all.”

Refrain:
Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.

2 Lord, now indeed I find
Thy pow’r and Thine alone,
Can change the leper’s spots
And melt the heart of stone. [Refrain]

3 For nothing good have I
Where-by Thy grace to claim;
I’ll wash my garments white
In the blood of Calv’ry’s Lamb. [Refrain]

4 And when, before the throne,
I stand in Him complete,
“Jesus died my soul to save,”
My lips shall still repeat. [Refrain]

Reading for Fun or Bragging Rights, Language Usage, and More

I intend to read more books this year, but since I didn’t quite track how many I read last year, I don’t have an actual number to aim for this year. Goodreads has 23 on last year’s list, which includes several manga. Not sure those count, and a number of books isn’t my goal anyway. A number of pages would be more accurate.

I bought a few Christmas gifts for this purpose, and Tom Holland’s Dominion is 542 dense pages. That will take me a while to get through and in no way diminishes my enjoyment or education for being only one book. (I should take notes too.)

Writer Max Liu read a poetry anthology over two years, “each morning in the four minutes it took my coffee to brew. It was a wonderful reminder that reading is never about quantity and always about the quality of time you spend with a text.” He encourages all of us to read well and for fun, not to meet some goal. (via Joel Miller)

Christian Poetry: How would you define Christian poetry? What about a poem would make it Christian? In a new anthology, Christian Poetry in America (which I bought last month), part of that definition is placing “imitation and tradition over originality and self-expression.”

War in Ukraine: “Someone said it’s essential for Ukraine to win as it would give Russia a chance to rethink its values and undergo cleansing and much-needed change. We pray for it.”

Self-Absorbed Much? A new book is coming on the dangers of social media. The Wolf in Their Pockets is written to pastors to help them minister to “those whose online influences have filled them with cynicism and contempt.”

What’s in Icelandic? An Icelandic archaeologist and journalist is arguing that the Icelandic language was seeded with a lot of Celtic and Gaelic words from Irish and Scottish settlers. (via ArtsJournal)

Photo: Santa’s #1 reindeer, Magic Forest, Lake George, New York. 1996. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

Thrilling, Folklore-based Fantasy, “The Song of the Sirin”

“You do realize that by limiting yourself thus you are depriving your family of comfort and riches?”

“Oh, you third-reachers!” laughed Siloán. “You have so much that your hearts have become small. You can live very well with very little. Sometimes, it is better this way.”

It isn’t immediately apparent that Nicholas Kotar’s The Song of the Sirin is not typical English-oriented fantasy. Somewhere after the hunt of the white stag, the interaction with the otherworldly wolf, and everything the Pilgrim says, I began to think I didn’t know the terms the writer used. Not knowing anything about Russian folklore, I had no knowledge base to foresee the possibilities in a name or type.

The kingdom of Vasyllia is in decline with an elderly monarch, called the Dar. Three castes of people stir up plenty of political tension, having little more to do than look out for themselves. The young man Voran and his teenaged sister Lebía are orphans of a wealthy family, but their opportunities are limited by the suspicious circumstances of their parents’ deaths; their father, Otchigen, may have betrayed the king to save himself when the people in a distant embassy were slaughtered.

Voran draws more suspicion to himself when he brings a Pilgrim into the city and professes to believe everything he says. The old stories about the divine Covenant and mythical beasts like sirin (an eagle with feathers like gems and the head and torso of a woman) were just a nice cultural basis. There was no living water dripping from a weeping tree. No Raven monster seeking that water along with the destruction of all mankind.

But, of course, the old stories are true, and Voran will be accused by the ignorant and deceived by wily spirits before he begins a long trial of endurance to set the kingdom right again.

Some dark moments in the story are handled carefully, which I appreciate. My main quibble with the writing is the sentences that push toward colorful language where sparse prose would fit the scene better.

The Song of the Sirin is book one of the five-book Raven Son series. While it ends satisfactorily, there’s still a lot of ongoing conflict. I don’t know what to expect in book two, which I picked up with the first one.

This book is currently free for Kindle.

Cheer for a New Year from Milton

Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Illustration of running nymph with Jest
Verses from John Milton’s “L’Allegro”

What Is the Story in ‘Paranoia Agent’? 

“I feel sorry for her.”
“Well, she’s much, much too young to die. We’ll come back as ghosts later and apologize to her.” 

The 2004 anime series Paranoia Agent, by Satoshi Kon, is a good example of a story that can’t be told with words alone. It’s essentially a visual story. As such, viewers are led to believe things that may not be true and explanations are not always spoken. 

The thirteen-episode series begins like a crime story. The young designer Tsukiko Sagi is under pressure to create a new character for toys and shows that’s just as cute and bound to be more famous than her current creation, Maromi, a pink, floppy eared dog. Walking home at night, Tsukiko begins to feel the shadows turn over on her. She runs, stumbles, and then a young boy in a baseball cap and inline street skates zips up out of nowhere and strikes her with a bent metal bat. At least, that’s what we see. 

In the next few episodes, news of this “li’l slugger,” reportedly an elementary school-aged boy, is everywhere. The public and the two detectives looking into it are shocked something like this could happen. Several more people, who are being driven to the end of the wits by various dark circumstances, fall victim to this mysterious kid. A boy who fits the description perfectly is apprehended by the traffic cop he strikes with his bat. This kid tells the detectives he is a righteous warrior who can see the glow of a demon, who wants to overthrow the city, on select people has a skates up behind them. He strikes them with his bat, a spiritual sword in disguise, to wound the demon. He must continue to hunt this thing down until it can no longer hide. 

Is this kid the source of the crime spree? No, because he dies in police custody and the officers believe they see the li’l slugger skating away through the halls. 

Then the story shifts in tone. We get an episode of women sharing ridiculous rumors about li’l slugger assaults and murders. Another one is of an animation studio working on a Maromi cartoon and the li’l slugger cracking their skulls one by one. Another one is a comical tale of three people with Maromi backpacks who try to work out their death pact (the primary wrench in the works is that a little girl wants to kill herself too). 

All of this works together to deliver a principle spelled out in the final episodes, one that doesn’t explain everything we see because we believe too much of what we see is real (within the story). That principle is the latest rave is killing us all. It’s even twisting our perceptions. The Next Hot Thing everyone must have creates fear and sucks our life away. We don’t need it, if it demands so much of us. Consider a quiet life that fulfills some useful service that puts food on your table, respects yourself and your family, and doesn’t feed the machine.

I’m not recommending watching this show. Half of it is dark and ugly, and the whole may be too trippy for most people. I’m sure someone could make a decent list of truths or propositions found in the show, but I think those would be minor principles to the main one I’ve given here.