Category Archives: Reading

How not to write

Now and then Phil gets offers from publishers willing to send us books for review. When he thinks they might be of interest to me, he forwards them. I like this. I like anything that provides me free books.

I got one recently, from a publisher in England. As a gesture of gratitude for their trouble and generosity in sending the book, I’m not going to review it.

Because if I did review it, I’d have to give it the lowest grade I’ve ever given a book on this blog. It is amazingly, egregiously awful and amateurish.

Instead I’m going to write, in generalized terms, about some of the author’s failures. They might be helpful to those of you who are writers, or want to write. Continue reading How not to write

R.I.P., Joan Hunter Dunn

Finished another Koontz today—Hideaway. I’m not going to review it, because I’ve done so many Koontzes, but I’ll mention that I liked it a lot, yet found it hard to read. I liked the good characters so much that I didn’t want to see anything bad happen to them, so I actually resisted picking it up a few times, not wanting to know what happened next.



Joan Hunter Dunn
died last week. She was the subject of the English poet John Betjeman’s most famous poem, “A Subaltern’s Love Song.” Betjeman asked her permission to use her name, and apparently they were only friends, not lovers.

The poem (I’ll confess I’ve never read it) is a wartime elegy to normal life and love in pre-war times.

Betjeman was a pupil of C. S. Lewis’ at Oxford. He never took his degree, and always blamed Lewis for not supporting him when he got into academic trouble. They were reconciled in later years, but never became friends.

Folks Still Read

Writers on Britannica’s blog are still talking about newspapers, and Colette Bancroft says Internet readers aren’t as shallow as some make them out to be.

People use the Net for a lot of silly things, but they also make serious use of it (here you are reading an encyclopedia’s blog). Remember all the dire warnings back in the ‘90s that the Net meant the death of reading? So, what do people do online? Many things, but mostly, they read. And they write. Boy, do they write. In blogs and forums and chat rooms, they pour out the words.

She goes on to mention rising interest in books and declining book coverage in newspapers.

From the Corner of His Eye, by Dean Koontz

Be easy in your ceaseless care for me. I got my walk in tonight. It looks to be the only one I’ll get this week, but it’s something. The temperature was tolerable, if I bundled up, and enough sun filtered through the light clouds to give me a diaphanous shadow.

Tomorrow night it’s supposed to rain. In any case, I’ll be running to the airport to pick up Moloch and his wife, back from China.

Which means that it’s just possible, if I hear that traffic’s bad, that I’ll skip posting altogether.

Steel yourselves. I know you can survive it.

I promise I’m not going to review every Dean Koontz novel I read, as I go through them alphabetically.

But I’m going to review the really outstanding ones. And From the Corner of His Eye definitely qualifies.

I suppose it’s possible that Koontz could produce a better novel than this. I haven’t read them all yet. But at this point I can’t imagine a better one.

This is a big, sprawling book that covers a long period of time, kind of like those Victorian novels I’ve never read, by Thackeray and Trollope.

And it’s populated by a remarkable cast of quirky, fascinating characters worthy of Charles Dickens.

And it’s built on a Sci Fi/Supernatural premise, like… well, like a Dean Koontz book.

The blurb on the inside page of the paperback is misleading. It makes it sound as if this is the story of Bartholomew Lampion. Bartholomew is certainly a central character, but he’s a baby for half the book. The story is actually about a whole network of people, all bound together by the strange effects of a radio sermon called, “This Momentous Day.”

The story begins in January, 1965. First of all (though not first in the narrative), in Oregon, a narcissistic sociopath named Enoch Cain murders his beautiful, loving wife. The next day, in two places in California, two babies are born—a boy and a girl—in circumstances of extreme family tragedy. Nevertheless each child finds a loving home and shows early signs of being a prodigy.

But Enoch Cain is out there, and he has become aware that there’s a child who he believes is a danger to him. He grows obsessed with finding that child and killing him.

Cain is an interesting character. He’s evil and does horrible things that cause great pain to people the reader has come to care for. Nevertheless, Koontz treats him to a large degree as a comic figure (he explains his rationale for this through one of his characters in the course of the book). Cain thinks he’s a genius, a connoisseur, and God’s gift to women, but in fact he’s not particularly bright, likes only the things critics tell him to like, and most people who meet him find him rather creepy. He’s blissfully unaware of this. Also his suppressed conscience expresses itself forcefully in some painful and embarrassing physical reaction, every time he commits a murder.

As the plot works itself out, and all the characters come to know one another, we observe the working out of Koontz’ premise, that just as quantum physics and string theory tell us that every point in the universe is connected, so all people are connected, and all our actions have infinite consequences—and not only in our own universe.

I loved every page of this book. I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel this long (over 700 pages) before and wanted it to be longer. As the saying goes, I laughed; I cried.

There are strong Christian elements (along with some speculation which could serve as fodder for late night discussions).

From the Corner of His Eye gets my highest recommendation.

Update: Scratch tomorrow’s rain. We’re going to get snow.

If Nature is our Mother, our family is dysfunctional.

Some Books Take Too Long to Read

Guest blogger Fiona Maazel says she’s in the middle of about 400 novels at the moment. “Currently, I am still going at War and Peace, the Bible, Grant’s memoirs, Watership Down, Infinite Jest, American Gothic, Auto-da-Fe. I keep meaning to go back and finish these books, but I get sidetracked. Or I was getting sidetracked until one of my book shelves collapsed a few months ago.”

So What Does This Mean to You?

Michael Patton says, “What does it mean to you? This, I believe, is the most destructive question that one can ask of the Scriptures. The implication is that the Scriptures can mean something to one person that it does not to another.”

He has a good point, but I don’t think starting with this question or the subjective angle is bad for some groups. Starting with what a passage means to each of us gets us involved and thinking more than we were before. If you leave it at that, you won’t teach any truth, but starting there just puts ideas on the table.

Starting with this kind of question also respects the words of the Bible and intelligence of the readers. If someone suggests a ridiculous meaning for a verse, the group should naturally see it as ridiculous. The leader may need to help that understanding, but it can be done naturally without directly contradicting the one who suggested it. This is the idea behind a John study or a group discussion of the Gospel of John. The group gathers to discuss what Bible says about Jesus.

(via Kingdom People)

The Incarnation and Film Noir

I’ve got to note that it got up to about 55° (13° C.) today, and it was just lovely.

Considering the way I’ve been griping, I felt I ought to mention that.



More today on the “Body and Soul” topic.
I wanted to say more yesterday, but I thoughtfully chose not to throw a huge post at you all at once.

When I said that the doctrine of the Incarnation is the center of my theology, I felt awkward. I don’t think there’s actually any competition for “The Number One Christian Doctrine,” because Christian doctrine is like a Chinese puzzle—it all fits together in a particular way, and if you miss one piece, the whole thing doesn’t work.

But it seems to me that the doctrine of the Incarnation occupies a special place. When the Apostle John wrote, “This is how you recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God” (1 John 4:2-3), he gave us a puzzle that’s troubled many of us. “Aren’t there heresies that say that Jesus came in the flesh?” we ask. Well, yes, but I think I glimpse John’s point afar off.

In general, historically, the great heresies have gotten this particular doctrine wrong. They either overspiritualize or underspiritualize the nature of Christ. They either say He wasn’t fully human, or they call Him just a great prophet. The doctrine of the Incarnation seems to be (to mix metaphors) the fulcrum on which Christian doctrine balances, the touchstone that tells you whether the gold is pure or not.

And the human heart testifies to this by responding to the concept of incarnation on a profound level.

What is it that moves us when we look at that beautiful new car in the showroom? That wonderful new house we want? It’s more than just, “This car will get me from place to place really fast,” or “This house will be a comfortable place for my family to live.” It’s a feeling that in this car or this house we’ll find something new, something fresh, something that will satisfy us on an profoundly existential level. Something that will make our lives more joyous and meaningful.

We’re looking for a physical thing that satisfies a spiritual hunger.

This is especially true in the arenas of sex and love. I’ve been watching several Noir films recently, and I’ve come to the conclusion that (with certain exceptions) I don’t like them much. The classic Noir (this isn’t always true) tells the story of a fairly ordinary mug who gets the opportunity to make a big financial score and win a beautiful dame’s love. All that’s demanded of him is his soul. He has to make a little moral compromise. Usually just a small one at the start. But it leads him down the road to murder and his own death.

Well, what’s this mug doing? He’s trying to find his spiritual aspirations incarnate in the dame.

This, as any theologian could tell him, is an attempt to get the benefits of the Incarnation without submitting to the true Incarnate One. (That’s why most Noir films are essentially moral. I may not like them much, but I’ll admit they’re generally moralistic stories.)

And the reason the stories are almost always tragic is because all people, even movie people, understand that real happiness can’t be found where we think it’s found.

This is the tragedy of human life, and one of those places where human tragedy can be an opening for the gospel. In the words of Augustine, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.”

How Can You Read That?

Harrison Scott Key writes about relationships with people who read books you can’t stand. He says, “In a pluralist culture, I suppose your Amazon Wish List is as much a cultural signifier as anything else. I somehow managed to marry a woman who not only reads books that I loathe, but who reads books that I find hard categorizing as ‘books.'”

I’m fairly easy-going about this, but then I haven’t been tested on this much. I don’t really read books anyway. I just read about them. . . .