Category Archives: Fiction

‘True Grit,’ by Charles Portis

The bandit chieftain made no reply. He brushed snow and dirt from my face and said, “Your life depends on their actions. I have never busted a cap on a woman or anybody much under sixteen years but I will do what I have to do.”

I said, “There is some mix-up here. I am Mattie Ross of near Dardanelle, Arkansas. My family has property and I don’t know why I am being treated like this.”

I was appalled to read, in Donna Tartt’s excellent Afterword to this edition of Charles Portis’ True Grit, that the book was out of print for a while. That was, apparently, due to the fact that its association with a John Wayne movie drove it beyond the pale for the kind of intellectuals who got a drubbing in last night’s election. Fortunately, that injustice was remedied in 2010.

True Grit, which I first read back in the 1970s, is – I almost need not say – a really wonderful book. It’s the kind of work that can be read on several levels – as a sheer, headlong adventure tale, or as a commentary on Victorian American culture, the Western genre, female empowerment, or even Christianity. There’s something for almost everybody here.

The story – for those few who haven’t at least seen one of the movies – involves Mattie Ross, a feisty, precociously hard-nosed 14-year-old Arkansas girl who hires US Deputy Marshal Rooster Cogburn to hunt for Tom Chaney, the man who murdered her father, in the Indian Territories in the 1870s. She insists on going along with him, to make sure she’s getting her money’s worth.

Surprisingly, I find the contrast between the two True Grit movies (John Wayne in 1969 and Jeff Bridges in 2010) illuminating in discussing the book as a literary work. It’s common to assert that the more recent movie is truer to the book. I would say that’s only right in a sense.

As stated above, the book can be taken on many levels. On the surface, it’s almost a perfect John Wayne vehicle, and I was unable to decouple his voice from Rooster’s character as I read. They softened the ending for the 1969 version, but that’s generally how a John Wayne movie works. By and large, it was quite a faithful adaptation.

The 2010 version has many excellent qualities. It has a more authentic look than its predecessor. The use of gospel music is especially evocative, and Mattie’s age is correct.

However, the Coen brothers made some alterations of their own. The sequence where Mattie and Rooster are separated from LaBoeuf, and they cut a hanged man down from a tall tree, does not appear in the book anywhere, and I’m not sure what purpose it serves.

But that version delves deeper into the subtext, into the layers of social commentary and religion. It’s a more profound movie.

They’re each True Grit in their own way, it seems to me.

Whichever approach you prefer, you’ll find it in the book. If you haven’t read it, read it. It’s not long. It’s just perfect.

Highly recommended.

(I might mention, as a footnote, that I believe that True Grit marked a watershed in the writing of Western movie dialogue. The somewhat stilted diction Portis uses in the book, meant to emulate the writing of a middle-aged woman in the early 20th Century, was lifted verbatim for the movie characters. It worked so well in evoking the period that writers have been copying it ever since.)

Dale Nelson, part 2

The Fellowship & Fairydust blog has posted the second part of its interview with our friend Dale Nelson. This portion concentrates on his work on Inklings scholarship:

So, much that keeps me interested in the Inklings is not just academic curiosity or opportunism but a concern for the moral imagination incarnated in our lives and homes; and these books are delightful to read. At the moment I’m reading The Lord of the Rings for the 14th time.

Read the whole thing here.

A friend interviewed

Dale Nelson, retired professor of English at Mayville State University, North Dakota, is a good friend of mine and one of the more frequent commenters on this blog. He is also a presence in the world of Inklings and fantastic fiction scholarship.

Linked here is a recent interview he gave to the Fellowship & Fairydust web site. The interview actually comes in two parts. This is the first, and deals mainly with horror literature.

A second segment, more about the Inklings, is coming soon. I’ll post that too.

Paperback woes on a rainy day

The Norwegian word for “busy” is “travelt,” which always makes me thing of a crowded road. Which is pretty much what I feel like right now. I have a) my “novel writing” work, which currently means formatting books for paperback, b), the magazine I’m editing for the Valdres Samband, the ethnic organization that hired me for this purpose, c) my translation work on the Sigrid Undset biography, and d) the monthly newsletter for my Sons of Norway lodge (which won’t take long but should have been finished by now).

This morning it rained. The first rain we’ve had around here in months. It’s been raining all day, except for when it snowed (alas for the trick-or-treaters!). When I was done with my novel writing this morning, I happened to look outside and found that the first four of my cartons of orphaned books had arrived from Nordskog (see last night’s story). I have an idea the mail carrier was unhappy about being made to carry those heavy cartons, because he left them on the very outside edge of the porch, where the drip from the awning would pour straight down on them.

Some of the cartons were soaking wet; all were damp. I brought them in immediately and freed the books from the cartons. They’re air drying in my living room now, as are the cartons.

Most of the books are fine. A few have covers curled. But I’m getting these things for pennies on the dollar, and don’t expect to outlive the supply anyway.

Ten more cartons arrived this afternoon (perfectly dry, I’m happy to say). Also I finally got my paperback copies of The Elder King from Amazon. I’d been looking forward to that – photo above.

And… I got a surprise. Some moron – and there’s no moron but me on this job – accidentally put the wrong title in the page headers. All the right-hand pages in this edition say at the top that the book is Hailstone Mountain, which it is not.

I wouldn’t have this problem if I’d done the prudent thing and ordered a review copy for myself before releasing it. But I lack the patience. Now I have this.

It’s easily fixed. I’ll republish it tomorrow. Which means the book will be briefly unavailable. The few copies already sold will go down in history as errata, no doubt to become sought-after collectors’ items.

Start the presses! ‘King of Rogaland’ in paper!

The hits just keep on coming – as many people must have said in the radio business, but I don’t think I ever did, back when I was in the game.

I am forging my way through my Viking books, and can herewith announce that the paperback version of King of Rogaland is now obtainable from Amazon.com. This completes the whole set (sort of, details below), except for the final book, The Baldur Game, which still awaits its cover art.

And then there are the first two books, which present complications of their own.

West Oversea, Book 3 of the series, is in an odd limbo at this juncture. Nordskog, its publisher, is – sadly – going out of business. They have kindly returned all rights to me, and are selling me their entire stock of paperbacks at a steep discount. That’s about 20 cartons at last count. I’ll have my little house packed with them, I guess, which is (I think) the final stage of deterioration in a self-published author’s life cycle. I’m working now at formatting the book for an Amazon version of my own. I think selling this stock of Nordskog paperbacks through Amazon would create a distribution challenge for which I’m not equipped. So I’ll just create a fresh one, and sell my Nordskog volumes at Viking events. I expect they should last me another 40 years or so.

And then there’s The Year of the Warrior. I’m currently getting the paper version printed by a private printer, but I’m going to try to get that one out through Amazon too. I think it’ll be cheaper, but the juxtaposition of Baen’s electronic version with my paperback will, I have no doubt, raise unanticipated problems.

We suffer for our art in many ways. This is not one of the worst. Yet.

‘The Green Ripper,’ by John D. MacDonald

Death comes while you are struggling with your application or lack of application of the Judeo-Christian ethic. While you work out the equation which says, If I don’t kill him, he will kill me, so even if I have been taught not to kill, this is an exception—while you are working that out, he is blowing chunks of bone out of your skull. The quick and the dead is an ancient allusion. They were quick and I was quick and lucky.

I always knew it was coming. Even when this book first came out (and I read it back then) I had to expect that when John D. MacDonald gave his hero Travis McGee the girl of his dreams, a big, healthy, well-balanced woman who seemed to be made for him, he would have to kill her off in the next book. (The author is the true villain of every story.) And so it was. The Green Ripper is the darkest and saddest of the Travis McGee series, and incidentally a harbinger of what future detective fiction would be.

Gretel Tuckerman, Trav’s new woman, has taken a job at a property development and health spa near Fort Lauderdale. One day she notices a stranger on the grounds, and recognizes him from a brief encounter years ago in California. A couple days later she is dead, apparently the victim of a rare disease carried by an insect bite.

But before long, a stricken McGee and his friend Meyer get a visit from some government agents with questions. Thanks to Meyer’s security clearance, they get to ask a few questions of their own. It appears there’s a terrorist network within the US, connected to a secretive religious cult in California. It was Gretel’s misfortune to recognize one of its members, and apparently they murdered her by clandestine means.

This is where McGee goes underground. He assumes a new identity, that of a working fisherman with a drinking problem, headed to California to find his daughter, whom he believes joined the cult. He will find the cult. He will join them. Get to know them. Make friends.

And he will get terrible revenge.

Here, I believe, we see the genesis of the detective thriller as we know it today – the Jack Reacher and Gray Man books and others in the same vein, some better, some not so good. Most Travis McGee books are about the mystery, the problem, with a generous helping of violence thrown in. Today, most detective series are primarily about the violence, with just enough of a mystery to hold the plot together.

As an old fogy, I generally find the older way more enjoyable. And as far as I recall, MacDonald never again went as far into ultra-violence as he did in this story. It’s not that I judge The Green Ripper a bad novel, it’s just that the combination of grief and vengeance makes it a downer.

Also, Meyer, supposedly a genius, makes a lot of economic predictions in this book that haven’t played out well in the real world. On the other hand, we have here an object lesson about avoiding religious groups run by women.

So, not my favorite Travis McGee. But it’s a great series.

‘The Sentence is Death,’ by Anthony Horowitz

I like and respect the English author Anthony Horowitz, but I’m less than in love with his Hawthorne and Horowitz books. The premise seems to be an interesting twist on the old Holmes & Watson formula – Hawthorne is a former police detective who has persuaded Horowitz, as an author, to accompany him on private investigations and write about them, with the profits divided. Horowitz shoehorns the stories (apparently) into his actual life circumstances. The Sentence is Death takes place, ostensibly, during the period when Horowitz was a writer for the Foyle’s War TV series.

In this story, the police have asked Hawthorne to consult on a murder investigation. A celebrity divorce lawyer has been murdered in his kitchen, bludgeoned with an expensive bottle of wine. Of course, the victim does not lack for enemies who might have wanted him dead, but there is also a broader range of suspects, some related to a caving accident he was involved in years back. Oddly enough, one of the other survivors of that accident died under mysterious circumstances within a few days of the murder. Also, why did somebody paint a number on the kitchen wall?

There’s nothing wrong with the writing The Sentence Is Death, nor with the characters or the plotting. It’s just that author Horowitz has labored to create a Sherlock Holmes-style character who seems to embody most of Holmes’ annoying characteristics and none of his charm. Hawthorne is surly, secretive, and thoughtless. He himself becomes part of the ongoing mystery, as Horowitz tries to figure out who this guy is and where he came from – a project with which Hawthorne cooperates not at all. Frankly, I do not like Hawthorne, and find him bad company.

Also, I must admit I figured out whodunnit this time. This is not because of my genius as a detective, but because I’ve gotten to where I can (sometimes) recognize the tricks authors use to divert our attention from serious suspects.

Still, The Sentence is Death is a well-done book. My reservations are all personal. So you should discount for that.

Conclave: Misunderstanding the Stated Theme

The new movie Conclave has a lot going for it — story tension, performances, a natural gravitas of habit and habitat — but it doesn’t take its theme deep enough to stir the soul.

Acton’s Joseph Holmes writes, “The film is visually mesmerizing and the acting is superb. . . Every liturgical and ritual observance is infused with weight and drama, from the prayers to the manner in which ballots for the new pope are submitted.”

But the leader of the conclave, Cardinal Lawrence, is burdened by doubt, at least, that’s what we’re told. He speaks of doubting God and the church but never doubts its politics.

“This lets the air out of much of the story’s drama. Because the film never shows the ‘conservative’ side, those struggling to retain the old ways, as being sympathetic in any way, we never get to see Lawrence struggle with the rightness of his own position. Ironically, he never doubts himself.”

World‘s Colin Garbarino notes another kind of shallowness. “These churchmen have surprisingly little to say about the Bible’s teachings or church tradition during their debates. Even the conservatives seem more concerned with cultural tradition than doctrinal conviction.”

Photo by Ran Berkovich on Unsplash

The Diary of a Country Priest by Georges Bernanos

How hard it is to avoid offending somebody! And however hard you try, people seem less inclined to use goodwill to their advantage, than unconsciously eager to set one goodwill against another. Inconceivable sterility of souls — what is the cause of it? Truly, man is always at immunity with himself — a secret sly kind of hostility. Tares, scattered no matter where, will almost certainly take root. Whereas the smallest seed of good needs more than ordinary good fortune, prodigious luck, not to be stifled.

Parisian author Georges Bernanos published Journal d’un Cure de Campagne (The Diary of a Country Priest) in 1936. It’s a quiet, at times devotional, novel about a young priest eager to serve his parish while his superiors on all sides tell him to calm down. The scant story consists mainly of a few lengthy conversations and a few more brief scenes, the climax of all of them coming in chapter 5 of 8.  

A fictional diary has a natural dramatic resistance to overcome. It’s a secondhand account from a first-person narrator, so you know it isn’t happening as you are reading and the narrator makes it through to write it down. I found it helpful that the priest acknowledged this by confessing he couldn’t record his conversations exactly as they occurred, which was good because it meant he could write more of what he intended to say than what he spat out at the time. 

The book begins with the unnamed priest describing his parish “like all the rest” and “bored stiff.” In almost every character, we can see a spiritual apathy, which he describes as a “cancerous growth” and “like the fermentation of a Christianity in decay.”  Even his superior preach hope only “by force of habit.” Few of his congregation faithfully attend mass, and some have lifestyles that violate God’s moral laws, but they all believe they are Christians in good standing and should be treated as such. As one holy man put it, the priest of our book shouldn’t disturb them by spurring them to greater faithfulness. If they are bitter, conniving, or perverted, what of it? Why risk a scandal by calling them out? 

But our priest does risk a scandal. As he spurs himself into visiting every house in the parish over a period of one-to-three months, he cannot refrain from saying what needs to be said. At least, I think that’s what we’re told he does. We don’t see much of that, and what he says in the larger recorded conversations doesn’t touch on the gospel (at least not clearly enough). Many good lines about our need for the Divine and the uselessness of life without the Father, but nothing about Christ’s atonement. As a soldier in the book says, the church has defined a secular space for the world and stepped away from it, leaving most people to wait on a curb and wonder what to do. 

Our priest does record his desire to uphold church doctrine through catechizing children and pressing adults in matter of the faith. When someone from the community dies of suspected suicide, he’s the one who raises the question with an elder priest. The response he gets is that God is the only judge and what’s the use of saints if just men can die without some grace to justify them. 

One of the best threads in this book is the priest’s wrestling with prayer, feeling completely worthless half of the time, and coming out of it after arguing about it with someone else. Have monks who spend most of their days in prayer confessed it was a waste of time? No. That communion has sustained them, because the Lord’s grace is tangible sustenance.  

There are a few pages of distinctly Catholic flavor, which I imagine helps push this book into the favorite category for many readers.  

There are no time markings in the narrative, so it’s hard to tell whether even a year passes between these covers. Whatever the amount of time, our priest suffers with a restricted diet for most of it, subsisting on bread and sour wine and painting a bold parallel to Christ. But in the final chapter, he appears to learn a profound lesson in grace from an unlikely source. 

Photo by Free Nomad on Unsplash

New Indie Thriller: The Edge of Sleep

Night watchman Dave and Matteo leave work early to catch a party and find three friends dead, apparently overdoses. They take to them to a nearly vacant hospital and find more people who have died the overnight. The trigger in every case is simply sleep. Within a couple hours, they find two more people who are still awake and begin to wrestle with how to survive a threat that may have killed the whole world.

I learned of this indie suspense thriller over the weekend. The Edge of Sleep started as a podcast with the same principal actor, Mark Fischbach, a popular YouTuber. Actors Franz Drameh, Lio Tipton, and Eve Harlow round out the main characters, and they all turned in good performances. Writers Willie Block and Jake Emanuel created both video and audio productions.

I didn’t intend to the watch the whole thing Saturday afternoon, but with each episode being 20-25 minutes, I couldn’t put it off. I’m sure a limited budget is the main reason for the short run-time. The core concept is strong enough to stretch it out to 30 minutes each. I’m curious what material they wanted to shoot (or maybe did shoot) that couldn’t make it into the show.

The Edge of Sleep has good tone, good intensity and pacing. I don’t want to say it’s a bit like Stranger Things, but a couple scenes could fit easily in that series. The characters and actors were natural, even though some of the dialogue grated on me. I mean, if you believed you were the only people alive in your city and perhaps the nation–maybe the world–taking a few minutes to stare on the window would be natural. Crying or panicking would fair game. So, why would the characters constantly ask each other, “Hey, you good? You gonna be okay?” I think we would be past that at that point.

Also, let me say episode one opens with something of a spoiler scene. I recognized it afterward, but while watching the series, that scene raised an unnecessary question for me and took the bite out of some later drama.

I enjoyed The Edge of Sleep and hope it gets funding for a second season, if not more. Season one raised good questions, so let’s have some answers by producing more episodes.