Category Archives: Authors

Authors, Religion

Reasonable madmen

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Now and then, ideas converge for me, which is about the best fun I have in life. And then I feel compelled to write about them here, in the sight of my guardian angel and everybody, inviting public scorn and ignominy (I believe Ignominy is a town in Wisconsin. Good fishing, they tell me).

A while back I posted about what seemed like a breakthrough in my own mental life – by way of, of all things, a dream. I found a “place” in my brain where I could take shelter from intrusive memories. I even had an idea where that “place” was located – on the right side of the brain, just above the ear. The technique of resorting to this “place” has not proved the panacea I hoped at first, but it remains a useful trick for me in regulating my thoughts, and I still use it pretty much every day.

More recently, I discovered the psychiatrist Iaian McGilchrist, initially through the conversation with Eric Metaxas embedded above. I have not yet shelled out for any of his books, because they’re kind of pricey, but I’ve watched several more videos. So far as I can grasp his thesis, I understand it thus:

We all know that the normal human brain is bilateral. Most of my life I’ve been informed that the left brain (which controls the right side of the body) is the plodding, logical, workhorse of the mind. Meanwhile, the right brain is creative and spontaneous. Back in the sixties and seventies, the hippies were always trying to access their right brains.

McGilchrist’s thesis does not contradict these distinctions, but refines them. The left brain, he says, evolved for the purpose of concentration and task completion. It learns routines, devises systems, puts things in boxes and labels them. It’s what allows us to do things automatically. Its functions are necessary to our survival. But it considers itself very smart – smarter than it is. Its true purpose is to be the servant or “emissary” of the “master” – the right brain.

The right brain is where our real intelligence lies. The right brain makes imaginative leaps. It maintains a global awareness of its surroundings. It is creative and inventive. It’s meant to be in control.

All my life, the left brain has been associated with people like me – the orthodox, the conventional. Left brain people reduce everything to set formulas and are quick to judge. Which – I can’t deny – is not far from a description of my own nature.

But McGilchrist also directs his spotlight onto other kinds of idealogues – the leftists and fascists and communists and feminists and environmentalists, etc., etc. who’ve infested our politics and history for so many decades. They’re left-brain people too, he says, and we’re beginning to get tired of them (or so he hopes).

But here’s the point of tonight’s essay. In a recent McGilchrist video I watched, he made a comment that rang a little bell for me – he said, in so many words, “The left brain is, in fact, mad.”

I immediately recalled something G. K. Chesteron wrote in Orthodoxy:

If you argue with a madman, it is extremely probable that you will get the worst of it; for in many ways his mind moves all the quicker for not being delayed by things that go with good judgment. He is not hampered by a sense of humour or by clarity, or by the dumb certainties of experience. He is the more logical for losing certain sane affections. Indeed, the common phrase for insanity is in this respect a misleading one. The madman is not the man who has lost his reason. The madman is the man who has lost everything except his reason.

McGilchrist is not a Christian. By his own account, he values Christianity but is unable to believe in the miracle of the Resurrection.

Yet he has managed, after a century, to catch up to Chesterton, by the empirical rather than by the theological road.

Chesterton, I imagine, was thinking with his right brain.

Authors, Religion

C. S. Lewis on Charles Williams

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Here is a portion of a radio talk C. S. Lewis gave on Charles Williams, whose Descent Into Hell I reviewed last night.

I’ve heard the complete talk, which is very short in its own right. I don’t know why they cut it down, except that Lewis starts with an anecdote about the poets Leigh Hunt and Thomas Babington Macauley as an example of bad literary criticism. I suppose nowadays nobody knows who either of them is. (To be honest, I don’t know much about them myself.)

Below, an introduction to Williams by the scholar Jessica Hooten Wilson, for whom I recently did some translation work. I did not in fact know she was into such good stuff. Turns out that, counting David Llewellyn Dodds, who comments here from time to time, I know two important Inklings scholars.

Authors, Fiction, Reading, Religion

The doctrine of exchange

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Charles William.

I’m re-reading Charles Williams’ Descent Into Hell. It’s my favorite of his novels, and (I was pleased to learn) often considered his best by critics. If you haven’t read it, it centers on two characters – a young woman who repeatedly meets her doppelganger walking up the street, and a middle-aged historian who becomes obsessed with a young woman and is offered a soulless simulacrum of her. One of them is drawn into the community of God’s grace, while the other “descends into Hell” through self-indulgence. I have an idea I can write an article about this book that might illuminate some current issues.

Because I have my finger, you know, on the pulse of societal change.

Silly, I admit, but I think I may actually be in a unique position to comment, due not to my wisdom but to my failures and sins.

Anyway, it’s also in this novel that Williams demonstrates most clearly his doctrine of exchange, the idea that the Christian teaching that we should bear one another’s burdens is more than a metaphor. He believed that we can pray to literally take on our brothers’ and sisters’ fears, difficulties, and pains, suffering them for them – because it’s lighter to bear when it’s someone else’s. And they in turn can bear ours.

Williiams’ friend C. S. Lewis reported that he attempted this exercise with his wife Joy, when the pain of her cancer was most difficult. He felt some pain, he said, and she told him her own was diminished.

That’s all very subjective, of course. Not nearly as dramatic as what happens in the novel. I made the experiment myself at least once. As I recall, the sick friend I prayed for did report he was feeling better soon. But again, it’s subjective. Not the sort of dramatic outcome we would like to see.

Of course we can always spiritualize it. Regard it in terms of the mystery of Christian community, the fellowship of the saints.

But that wasn’t what Williams believed. He took it literally.

Have you ever tried it? Know anyone who has?

Authors, Non-fiction, Reviews

‘P.G. Wodehouse In His Own Words,’ by Barry Day and Tony Ring

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I took to American food from the start like a starving Eskimo flinging himself on a portion of blubber. The poet Keats, describing his emotions on first reading Chapman’s Homer, speaks of himself as feeling like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken. Precisely so did I feel … when the waiter brought me my first slab of strawberry shortcake … ‘No matter if it puts an inch on my waistline,’ I said to myself, ‘I must be in on this.’

There are biographies of P.G. Wodehouse out there; I haven’t gotten around to reading any of them. But a deal showed up on P.G. Wodehouse In His Own Words, and I figured I’d give it a try. It’s neither a long nor greatly illuminating work, but it is an opportunity to revisit a lot of Wodehouse’s best stuff, which can’t help being entertaining.

The scheme here is to go through the facts of the author’s biography, relating them to various quotations from his works. This book’s authors, Barry Day and Tony Ring, admit that we don’t know for sure how Wodehouse’s thinking worked, and we can’t always rely on his own statements on the subject – he considered himself rather a dull fellow, and embroidered his statements accordingly.  But overall I think I learned a little reading it.

There isn’t a lot of drama in the story, except of course for the lamentable account of Wodehouse and his wife being detained by the Germans during World War II, and his grievous error in making recordings that the Germans used for propaganda. This mistake resulted in his never returning to England (though he could have gone back after a time, and the queen knighted him in absentia), but becoming a US citizen. The authors take what I consider the correct view – that Wodehouse dropped a brick but merely through thoughtlessness. And regretted it.

I did notice one error in the book. The authors believe (no doubt deceived by Jeeves’s glamor) that valets stand higher in the social order “Downstairs” than butlers. This is wrong. The butler was king of the servants in an aristocratic household. If Bertie had married and set up a stately home, I expect Jeeves would have been promoted to that lofty office.

But otherwise, I had a good time with P.G. Wodehouse In His Own Words. Recommended.

Authors, Bookselling

According to Hoyt

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Sarah A. Hoyt, who blogs at According to Hoyt and who frequents the juggernaut that is Instapundit, was kind enough to include my novel The Year of the Warrior in her final post in her Liberty Book Promo, promoting authors who support freedom. Here’s the link. There are other books there that might interest you too.

Authors, Religion

Meetings are too long, and life is too short

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Deathhbed of Hans Christian Anderson, artist unknown.

Today was Sverdrup Forum Day. Our annual Georg Sverdrup Society meeting for students of our seminary, and others interested, in which papers are read and discussion encouraged.

I usually read an extract from one of my translations of Sverdrup’s works, but this year somebody else did that duty, and I was asked to do opening devotions instead.

I’ve written before about my phobia concerning praying in public. But I wrote it all out ahead of time, and read it from my printed text. That was not a problem.

I ran short, time-wise, but not by accident. I knew, from experience, that these shebangs tend to run long. Nobody complained about my brevity, and the forum, as it happened, ended almost precisely on schedule.

[Insert here labored metaphor about the concept of brevity and its application to life.]

As I’ve told you, I just finished translating a literary biography.

A question occurred to me – “Is there such a thing as a genuinely good biography that isn’t sad?”

I once read (I think) a quotation by Oscar Wilde (can’t find it online, so maybe it’s one of those made-up things. Still good): “Tragedy is comedy plus time.”

In other words, you can make any comedy a tragedy by just leaving the curtain up. In the end, everybody dies, just like in Hamlet.

You’ve got two choices in a death. It can be too soon, or too late. There never seems to be a perfect time.

Most of us look forward to a long life. But that often means a slow decline as health problems increase, and friends die, and the world gradually turns alien and dangerous around us.

I just wrote a novel where two main characters die Viking deaths.

There’s something to be said for that.

Does this mean I’m ready to go now, while I’m still ambulatory and not wearing a diaper?

Are you kidding? No way.

Authors

Neil Gaiman and me

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The best novel about Odin in the modern world.

The author Neil Gaiman has been in the news in recent months, though I myself, incisive social observer that I am, was unaware until recently, and learned about it through Facebook. It appears there are a number of plausible accusations against him of inappropriate and coercive sexual acts with women.

Of course he’s legally entitled to the assumption of innocence. I have nothing to say about that. He is not a Christian, so my criticism wouldn’t mean much.

But I personally have been against Gaiman a long time, for purely private and petty reasons.

Goes back to 2001, when the man published a book called American Gods (I won’t link to it, because I’m small-minded) which dealt with the Norse god Odin appearing in the modern world. It was a huge bestseller.

I, on the other hand, had had a book published by Baen Books, Wolf Time, in 1999. It dealt with the Norse god Odin in the modern world too. This book was highly spoken of by my friends.

I have ever since held the bitter opinion that American Gods smothered Wolf Time. That there was only room on the market for one book about Odin in the modern world, and Gaiman had opportunistically grabbed that spot.

This argument is weakened by the fact that my book actually came out two years earlier and had had plenty of time to get traction, if traction was to be had.

But in my perception, the books came out in the same time window. My perception, as is so often the case, was wrong.

Still, I held a grudge against Neil Gaiman.

This may be a major reason why I turned down the opportunity to meet him when I had a chance.

I have a friend, retired now, who was a limo driver in Minneapolis. He used to regale me with stories of the celebrities he’d driven (Garrison Keillor was reserved but thoughtful enough to buy him lunch. Prince was positively standoffish, and a bad tipper as well. Cheryl Teigs was sweet). One day he called me and asked if I’d ever heard of Neil Gaiman. He was driving Gaiman around that day (the author was living in Wisconsin at the time) and could introduce me.

Part of my reluctance was just not wishing to be a fan boy, especially since I’d only read American Gods of his works and hadn’t loved it. I figured it would involve just a quick handshake and hello during a signing.

Later I learned that my friend had actually gotten quite close to Gaiman, and watched his kid while he was doing his signing. I probably could have had a real conversation with the guy. Shmoozed with a genuine industry player. Networked.

Learning that, I figured I’d missed an opportunity.

Now I guess it was just as well.

Authors

Lewis on Williams

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I’m having an attack of obsession with my translation work tonight — coming up on a milestone and eager to get to it. So you’ll have to settle for a message from better writer than me — C. S. Lewis talking about the books of his friend, Charles Williams.

It does not hurt that he’s defending the precise kind of fiction I write. I think it’s fair to say that posterity has justified Lewis’ position.

Authors, Writing

Thinking about Tolkien

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I was thinking, based on something I saw on Facebook, that today is J. R. R. Tolkien’s birthday. Then I took the unwonted precaution of checking it, and found that it’s actually tomorrow.

Which means I can actually post this in time for you to see it soon enough to do something about it.

So if you want to prepare for the traditional Tolkien toast, that will be tomorrow. Friday.

Tolkien is (he said, in a low voice as if he was expressing something not entirely predictable) a great inspiration to me.

For years, the man toiled away at this huge project, shoehorning it into his rare free moments. With no realistic prospect of publication, ever. He had no reason in the world to believe that anyone would be interested in reading it. When his friend C. S. Lewis said he liked it, “Tollers” was delighted.

Think of the cultural phenomenon The Lord of the Rings has become since that time. The millions of copies sold in a multitude of languages. The biographies and commentaries and scholarship. The film adaptations. The fandom. The games and memorabilia and merchandising. Whole careers have been built on the back of this fantasy, which has proven a very solid, load-bearing structure indeed, for a work of the imagination.

It’s hard to believe that there was a time when the story had one (1) fan in the world, outside of Tolkien’s own family.

It’s this kind of fact that keeps delusions alive in lesser writers. I could name one in particular, but let’s not talk about … him.

All together now: “The Professor!”

Authors, Fiction, Writing

What Christian Art Is All About

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A Christian professor of fiction published a piece “To the Christian Writer” in which he recommends good art as a thing separate from Christian faith.

He begins by saying, “there’s no such thing as Christian art.” If someone wants to be a Christian, he should pursue it wholeheartedly, but “bad art comes out when you compromise art-making with some other intent.” Some other intent like Christian morals.

“If your fiction feels like it’s veering toward a moral conclusion, stop.”

I want to understand this professor’s argument and view it charitably, and I agree moralistic fiction is often shallow and ugly. I’m sure if I ever gain the courage to pick up Sheldon’s In His Steps, the novel that gave us the question “What Would Jesus Do?” I’ll regret it. I couldn’t make it past chapter one of The Shack. But separating Christian devotion from art sounds post-modern to me in all the wrong ways. What is art if it cannot be pursued as an expression of Christian truth?

I’m not sure he’s actually saying that, because he also says, “As a Christian person, would you not say it’s a joy to follow God? So follow him through your work. Quit telling him where to stand and how to speak.” That’s good. It calls back to moralistic work which may sound Christian while being far from it. That’s not good art.

“Preconceived moralizing jacketed in fiction aims for the head and the heart. If you want to be a good writer, aim elsewhere.” What does that mean? Aim for the spleen? What is good art if it doesn’t move the heart or elevate the affections (thinking of Jonathan Edwards’s language)? What makes the work of Margaret Atwood, Jack Kerouac, Barbara Kingsolver, Haruki Murakami, Annie Proulx, or Salman Rushdie objectively good that he recommends them over Lewis, Chesterton, and O’Connor?

Could it be we’re actually wrestling over cultural respectability — that our work would find approval in the New York Times Review of Books or Harper’s Magazine?

I think art is its own virtue, like planting and tending a tree, and artistic choices are also moral choices. Some choices are going to be more accessible to the public than others. Some will require greater levels of skill to succeed. In all of these choices, the best ones (though maybe not the most popular) will be true, real, and good. Isn’t that what Christian art is all about?

Photo by Peter Ivey-Hansen on Unsplash