Penguin Books UK is releasing a new, cohesive audiobook series of all 41 books in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series. The video here will show you who’s involved and how much work everyone is doing to pull this off.
I can’t quite tell what’s available yet, but the first book, The Colour of Magic, will be released at the end of July 2022. Look over all the books, including all print and digital editions, on Penguin’s website.
Today’s hymn published in 1880 by the composer himself, Will L. Thompson (1847-1909) of Ohio. A member of the Church of Christ, Thompson started his own business to sell his music and later pianos, instruments, and other sheet music.
This performance by the Altar of Praise Chorale skips the third verse, which may be darker than some ministers want.
Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
passing from you and from me;
shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,
coming for you and for me.
Come home, come home;
you who are weary come home;
earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
calling, O sinner, come home!
All the faults of Jane Eyre … magnified a thousand fold
from The North British Review, 1847
A reviewer for a Scottish magazine, The North British Review, used the words above to dismiss Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. He didn’t believe the work would find a broad audience, but as the Narrator says, “Little did he know.”
The Examiner called it “strange.”
We detest the affectation and effeminate frippery which is but too frequent in the modern novel, and willingly trust ourselves with an author who goes at once fearlessly into the moors and desolate places, for his heroes; but we must at the same time stipulate with him that he shall not drag into light all that he discovers, of coarse and loathsome, in his wanderings …
The Spectator seemed to think it a well-written but ugly story. “The success is not equal to the abilities of the writer; chiefly because the incidents are too coarse and disagreeable to be attractive, the very best being improbable, with a moral taint about them …”
And yet Brontë’s book endures. (I found these reviews on a site dedicated to the book.)
Book reviewing takes many forms today. A few weeks ago, an executive at Barnes and Noble noted upswings in sales according to the buzz on TikTok, which they call BookTok. Some authors have linked the success of a book to single BookTok videos.
On YouTube, reviewers call themselves Booktubers. Occasionally I think about recording videos or doing a podcast in order to boost this blog, but I have yet to justify the time. Anyone can jump into the video side of social media, and I think I have a good voice for it. But it takes a certain talent and good lighting to gain attention, not to mention all the visuals and actually having something to say.
Merphy Napier appears to be doing it right. Here she talks about books that live up to their hype, a follow-up to a video about hyped books she didn’t like.
Petrick Leo asked his network to nominate overrated fantasy series, talked over five of them, and shared his own list of five.
Elliot Brooks talks about good adult fantasy series with soft magic systems and hard magic systems.
Disney Nightmares: Speaking of fantasy, Helen Freeh talks about reasons parents should have been wary of Disney long before now.
J.R.R. Tolkien’s excellent essay, “On Fairy Stories,” addresses the very problem that Disney had from its inception: the notion that fairy stories are exclusively children’s stories. They are not. They are stories allowing adults to examine the world from a new perspective to find a better way to live. Tolkien asserts that people connect “the minds of children and fairy- stories,” but “this is an error; at best an error of false sentiment, and one that is therefore most often made by those who, for whatever private reason (such as childlessness), tend to think of children as a special kind of creature, almost a different race, rather than as normal, if immature, members of a particular family, and of the human family at large.”
Elsewhere in shared videos, a view of the side of Glastonbury Tor in Somerset.
Consumer warning: I’m about to do a think piece. The management assumes no responsibility for any mental damage that may be sustained by those who rashly read on…
Gene Edward Veith posted about “God as a poet” today on his Cranach blog (I’d link to it, but it’s behind a pay wall). I commented about my own theory, becoming a conviction (wisely or not), that God is a storyteller.
In my case, the idea goes back quite a long time, to when I was learning to tell stories (something I learned relatively late in life). How a story involves taking a (usually likeable) main character, giving him (or her. Or it) a problem, then having them try to solve it. Their attempt not only fails, but makes the problem worse. Repeat as needed, escalating at each stage, until they either a) succeed, or b) fail in a significant way.
And then I noticed that that is precisely how life works (something I haven’t actually learned yet, in practical terms). We face problems, we keep trying, learning what works and what doesn’t as we go, until we find something that works. Or else we die.
And I thought, “Hey, life is like a story. I’ll bet that’s why stories are such a universal human phenomenon.”
And then I got all metaphysical. “Maybe stories reflect reality because God is Himself a storyteller. Scripture certainly presents the history of salvation as a narrative. A narrative with a Hero and a plot.”
And then I thought, “Maybe that answers the ancient question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” If God has shaped all creation as a story, then bad things would have to happen to good people. Because that’s how stories work (see paragraph 3 above). Every writer knows the struggle of creating a character you like, and then subjecting them to torture – for the sake of the story.
Another commenter at Cranach suggested that this trivializes suffering. I can see how they might think that. I seem to be saying that God lets children die of cancer, or live in abuse, just to tell a story.
But that objection depends on two assumptions:
One is that stories are trivial things. If, as I am coming to believe, the creation itself is a story, then it’s the farthest thing from trivial. I’m not deprecating reality – I’m exalting Story.
Secondly, it all depends on what you think of the Storyteller. Whether He’s going to tie all the loose ends up in the end. Whether He created His characters in love, or just to amuse Himself.
I believe that the Storyteller began His story – “Let there be light” – with loving purpose. And He’ll wrap it up by fulfilling His loving promise: “Yes, I am coming quickly!” And then comes the Wedding Feast, and they live happily ever after.
He has a long, double-barreled English name, but is generally known as “Squigs.” He is very tall and thin, has big feet, and is extremely awkward with girls. He studied Alchemy at an English university, which led him, through complex circumstances, to find himself on a watery planet called Zoar, where he’s completely out of his element – and he was never all that at home even on earth. Also, his right hand is missing. He finds himself rescued by a beautiful young girl in a boat, with whom he falls immediately in love. She finds him beneath contempt. Now, Crum the Barbarian, big, blond, dumb and handsome – that’s a guy she could go for.
The girl’s big, pugnacious father is looking for help hunting poachers. Zoar is inhabited by dragons, and dragon teeth are a coveted natural resource. But unfamiliar, interstellar vehicles have been showing up recently and killing dragons way over the hunting limits. Eager to impress the girl, Squigs volunteers to help pursue the poachers. He doesn’t seem well equipped for the quest, but he has qualities nobody has ever appreciated, and he acquires a faithful friend in a fearless dwarf. And the new hand he acquires – black, with eight serpentine fingers, turns out to be useful in surprising ways.
Save the Dragons is by Dave Freer, and showcases his punning, likeable, and satirical style. Lots of fun.
I wasn’t impressed enough by the first Rafferty novel, by W. Glenn Duncan, that I read, to plan on reading more. But somehow I am doing so. And I’m enjoying the books, originally published in the 1980s. I actually read the first book, Rafferty’s Rules, and failed to review it recently. But it won me over, especially with a pleasant plot twist at the end.
Wrong Place, Wrong Time is the fourth book in the series. Rafferty (no first name, like Spenser) is a Dallas private eye whose business is somewhat marginal. He’s in no position to turn down fast, honest money, so when a guy comes in identifying himself as a bounty hunter, wanting backup for a quick apprehension job, he agrees. Not long later he sees his client blowing the target away with a shotgun, and then Rafferty is driving for his life as the guy pursues him, to tie up loose ends.
After extricating himself from that problem, Rafferty gets a request for help from a woman in the next office, with whom he’s been carrying on a pleasant flirtation for years through a window. Her grandfather needs protection, she explains. Local kids have been harassing him. She’s afraid they’ll hurt him, but she’s also afraid he’ll hurt them – he’s a tough old guy who’s been around the block.
As Rafferty gets to know old “Thorney,” he comes to respect and admire the guy, who’s not exactly enthusiastic about having a “nursemaid.” And when things escalate to shots fired, Rafferty can’t be sure whether the target is Thorney or himself – could his murderous client be back for another shot at him?
Wrong Place, Wrong Time was good, hard-boiled fun. What intrigues me most – and makes me a bit uncomfortable – is how male-female interactions are handled. Author Duncan gives Rafferty a raffish, flirty attitude, and women generally respond in good humor. The assumption is that, in spite of feminist rhetoric, men and women still like each other.
I’m not sure that’s true anymore in the 2020s. I don’t think you could write that way nowadays.
In any case, Wrong Place, Wrong Time was fun to read, and not very demanding. Mild cautions for language and adult themes.
Left to his own devices, it seems quite likely that Tolkien would never have finished a single book in his life. What he needed were publishers’ deadlines and a keen audience.
…C. S. Lewis stepped into the breach….
I’d heard of John Garth’s book, Tolkien and the Great War, before, and when it came up at a bargain price on Kindle I snapped it up. It kept me engrossed all through.
If you’ve read any biographies of Tolkien, like Humphrey Carpenter’s or Tom Shippey’s, you’re already familiar with the author’s war years, and the fact that they affected his creative work. What John Garth does in this book is to look at the story in detail, collating the biographical facts with the progress of Tolkien’s composition of his poetry and The Book of Lost Tales. A certain amount of guessing and supposition is inevitable, but author Garth avoids over-certainty.
As a student at Oxford, Tolkien bonded with a group of like-minded students with literary aspirations who called themselves the TCBS, the Tea Club and Barrovian Society. Together they worked out literary theories (rejecting modernism) and dreamed of future days when they’d storm the critical barricades and change the world.
The First World War ended all that. On the battlefields of France, in the midst of the mud and the blood and the poison gas, two of them died, and Tolkien and the other surviving TCBSian were never as close again. (We often say that the poor are “cannon fodder,” but that wasn’t true among the English in World War I. “Of every eight men mobilized in Britain during the First World War,” Garth writes, “one was killed. The losses from Tolkien’s team were more than double that… among former public schoolboys across Great Britain – about one in five.”)
As Garth indicates, the very nature of Tolkien’s vision and work was altered by his war experience. What had begun as a scholarly hobby – the creation of a “Gnomish” language – developed into a cycle of stories (The Book of Lost Tales) meant to re-imagine the forgotten myths of ancient England. It was while he was recovering from the Trench Fever that sent him home that Tolkien began to re-cast the story as an epic of an ancient, imagined Middle Earth.
For anyone fascinated with Tolkien’s books, Tolkien and the Great War is a fascinating and engaging read. John Garth is an excellent writer with a real flair for words (he speaks, for instance, of an early parodic poem by Tolkien featuring “boys charging around in names that are much too big for them”). I highly recommend this book.
It was shortly after I started reading David J. Gatward’s latest Inspector Grimm book, One Bad Turn, that I recalled my earlier decision to stop reading the series. The writing’s good, and I like Grimm and his team. But the author’s insistence on bringing God (or spirituality) into the books by way of a lesbian vicar just doesn’t work for me.
Having started the book, though, I figured I might as well carry on. Maybe my perception has been altered by my religious intolerance, but I wasn’t entirely happy with this one.
Harry Grimm, you may recall, is a former paratrooper, facially scarred by an IED. Then he became a policeman in Bristol, but now he has been transferred to bucolic Wensleydale in Yorkshire. In the great tradition of English small-town copper stories, though, the troubles of the big city follow him.
In One Bad Turn, Harry is recalled from holiday when a body is found in a house in a nearby town. Though terribly decomposed, the body shows clear signs of having been subjected to torture. And then a claymore mine concealed with the body explodes, killing two crime scene technicians. The dead woman herself is something of a mystery – beautiful, but not well known to her neighbors. Her identity, it turns out, is a false one, and her means of support unknown. Not long after, another torture murder will be discovered, and another mine will explode.
I felt, personally, that One Bad Turn was kind of predictable. It’s a story we’ve run into before, and is objectively a little far-fetched. It’s not a bad book, but I’m going to try to remember not to buy the next Harry Grimm adventure.
The American Spectator was kind enough to publish my essay, “The Northman and the Truth,” on Sunday.
I’ve been waiting all my life for a good Viking movie. One with a plot that’s not laughable, with historically authentic costumes and sets. The Northman is that movie at last. I could nitpick about this and that, but by and large they did a good job of delivering a reasonably authentic film that commands respect as a work of art.
Still, it’s not the movie I wanted.
Read it all here.
The song today was written in 2014 by modern hymn writers Keith and Kristyn Getty along with Graham Kendrick. If you aren’t familiar with it, it’s one to know with other classics.
I’ll repeat the first two verses here. The rest are on the Getty’s YouTube page.
My worth is not in what I own
Not in the strength of flesh and bone
But in the costly wounds of love
At the cross
My worth is not in skill or name
In win or lose, in pride or shame
But in the blood of Christ that flowed
At the cross