The Master Ghost-Storyteller

Lored Eaton is lining up another round of scary ghost stories for the most wonderful time of the year. I plan to contribute one, which you’ll find here on December 19. I hope you enjoy it; feel free to say you don’t.

One of the masters of the ghost story is M.R. James (1862-1936). His tales have been adapted for the BBC many times, though not this year according to The Critic.

Many of his tales originated from being read to favoured students or pupils around his study fire in the winter, or from told as Christmas Eve entertainments for his friends. Although not all of them followed the same formula, there were several ingredients that can be regarded as quintessentially “Jamesian”, and which constitute the archetypal festive ghost story.

The protagonist of his tales is usually a learned man and a bachelor, as James himself was, who is not an especially clubbable or sociable figure, but makes up for his slight misanthropy with a great love of books and manuscripts. He often finds himself in an unusual setting, such as an abbey library or in a quiet seaside town, and stumbles upon some document or artefact that has the unforeseen effect of unleashing supernatural powers upon him.

(via Prufrock News)

Concerning garlands

I posted this video of Sissel singing “Det Lyser i Stille Grender” the other day. Watch it if you missed it before, or watch it again; it’s worth it.

There’s one detail I wanted to comment on. That concerns the Christmas tree standing behind the singer. Note what they did with the shiny garlands.

In America, it’s customary to wind the garlands around the tree, top to bottom (or bottom to top, if you prefer; I’m not dogmatic on the point). The effect is similar to what snow looks like as it lays on the branches of an evergreen after a snowfall. But in Norway it’s common (though not universal) to arrange the garlands as you see here – hanging straight down from the star (or angel; again, I’m not dogmatic) at the top. The idea here (I believe) is to suggest the rays of the star shining down from Heaven. If you set a Nativity creche underneath, that works even better. I did a search for pictures of Norwegian Christmas trees, and often they look very much like ours, but I’ve rarely seen the star-ray configuration on an American tree.

Another difference is in the use of flags. A popular decoration in Norway is a garland of little paper Norwegian flags on a string. You arrange them on the tree as you would any other holiday garland. That sort of thing’s pretty much unknown in America, even in Republican households. We try to separate Church and State – but in Norway they had a State Church up until fairly recently. And the flag, after all, does feature a cross.

It’s common to deride American conservatives as flag-worshippers, but really the Norwegians have us beat on that point. Through the periods of agitation for independence under Denmark and Sweden, the display of a “pure” Norwegian flag (one not quartered with the flag of the “parent” country) was subversive, but relatively safe. During the Nazi occupation, having the flag was less safe, but that made it all the more precious. To this day, old people get tears in their eyes when they remember the day it was finally safe to display the flag again.

No doubt, as that generation dies off, this passion for the flag will diminish.

Echo Island Is Filled with Roaring Silence

“Some things are meant to be calculated. Mystery isn’t among them.”

Jared C. Wilson, author of many books and articles we’ve discussed here, has a new young adult novel called Echo Island. When four diverse, high school friends return from a camping trip, they find everyone in their home town gone. All people, animals, and almost every sound are gone.

They don’t notice all of that at first. They notice their families missing; neighbors absent from public areas. Cars parked at churches and buildings without anyone inside. The power is out, even batteries are dead. And there isn’t a sound of any part of natural life, except the lapping of waves at the shore.

These aren’t necessarily church kids, but a couple of them think naturally of the rapture. Maybe the four boys were left behind: Bradley, the tough one; Archer, the smart one; Tim, the loyal one; and Jason (maybe he’s the one with common sense). But of the four, surely Jason would have been raptured with the others, and tons of other Echo Island residents would have remained. It wasn’t a Sunday School campground.

Over the next couple days, the boys wander the island, looking for other survivors and clues to what took everyone away. What they find is completely out of this world.

The story is great fun. It was a good follow-up to Koontz’s The Taking, because when the rain starts to fall, I initially thought of the devastating apocalypse that comes in Koontz’s downpour.

I suspected part of the solution right away, but I did not anticipate where Jared ran with it or his larger story scope. He has given it spiritual depth that many will enjoy and perhaps others will find a challenge to their assumptions. Surprises, laughs. No dogs though; that will probably cost it one out of thirty stars.

Photo by Rosie Fraser on Unsplash

‘The Jossing Affair,’ by J.L. Oakley

The title of this book probably requires a little explanation, and I’m just the man to do it (though I actually had to look it up in Norwegian Wikipedia).

Jøssing” was a common word used in Norway during World War II to describe patriots, those who opposed the Quisling collaborationist government. It arose after an incident in 1940, when British commandos attacked a German ship in the Jøssingfjord, rescuing 300 British POWs. The incident was one of the incitements for the German invasion, and the Nazis themselves originated the term as an insult against anti-Nazis. Like the name “Christian” in Roman times, the people who were being laughed at adopted it and wore it with pride.

The hero of J. L. Oakley’s The Jøssing Affair is Tore Haugland, a Resistance agent. He lives in the Norwegian town of Fjellstad, working as a fisherman’s helper. He poses as a deaf-mute. In fact he’s a University graduate and a former athlete, trained as an agent in England. He operates a secret radio transmitter and organizes “imports” and “exports” through the Shetland Bus – which at this point in the war (late 1943) no longer consists of Norwegian fishing boats, but of English submarine chasers.

Anna Fromme is the widow of a Resistance hero, a man who was tortured to death by the Gestapo. He was also a close friend of Tore’s, though Tore keeps that a secret. In spite of her husband’s heroism, single mother Anna is a pariah in Fjellstad – because she’s German. No one is sure of her loyalties, and no one trusts her.

Tentatively and almost involuntarily, the two of them slip into friendship, and then love. But that love – and much else – will be threatened when Tore is betrayed into the hands of the Gestapo, and the Nazis, aware they’re losing the war, crack down harder than ever on the Resistance, exploiting love, friendship, loyalty and trust to crush all opposition.

Author J. L. Oakley is – based on my reading of this book – a good storyteller, but a less good writer. The story had lots of dramatic tension, and I cared about the characters. It illuminated splendidly a part of World War II history that most people don’t know, and I myself wasn’t entirely aware of – the time at the end of the war when German armies were surrendering all over Europe, and the free world rejoiced – but in Norway the Nazis held on fiercely, declaring their determination to defend Fortress Norway or die in a Götterdämmerung, taking the Norwegian people down to hell with them.

What I liked less about the book (and I’ve been complaining about this in my reading reports here) was the sheer length of the thing. I thought the story could have been told faster and more simply. I had trouble keeping the characters straight (even the hero – he uses multiple aliases). Also, there were a number of word mistakes and typos in the text.

Some sexual content, but it was fairly mild. All in all, The Jøssing Affair was a good book and I’m glad I read it. (Some of the action takes place on the island of Hitra, where one of my great-grandmothers was born. I also liked the absence of pro-Communist cant, which you often find in such stories.) But it sure took a while to read. (There was a strange sense of déjà vu as I read about a population suffering deprivation, looking for liberation by Christmas, but having to wait until spring for relief. Hmm, what does that remind me of?)

‘Det Lyser i Stille Grender’

I’m pretty sure I’ve posted this number by Sissel here before (though not this performance, which conveniently includes subtitles). But it’s high on my list of Norwegian Christmas songs that deserve to be known outside the neighborhood.

According to this Norwegian account, the lyrics come from a poem by Jakob Sande. It was first published in 1931, but the author didn’t think much of it. When Lars Soraas, who was putting a Christmas songbook together in 1948, asked him for permission to use it, Sande had forgotten about it completely. Since then it’s become his best-known work.

Expository weight

Photo credit: Sergey Zolkin @szolkin, Unsplash

Once again tonight, I have nothing to review for you. This book I’m reading, which I mentioned yesterday, continues a slow read. I’ve figured out the reason – it’s longer than a federal regulation. I bought it assuming it was an ordinary World War II thriller, but it turns out to be more than 500 pages long – an epic. And although I remain interested in the events, I don’t think there’s enough story here to support that much expository weight.

It’s also a reproach to me as a writer. Because as I continue working on the new Erling book (still haven’t come up with a title), my word count is lower than I think it should be – like butter spread over not enough bread, as Bilbo would say. People expect epic fantasy books to run at least 80,000 words or so nowadays, and I’m not sure I can make it that long. I don’t want to just pad the story, but I’d rather not disappoint the reader either.

I have the idea my prose used to take up more space. Maybe I’m a victim of my own efficiency.

Finding Yourself: You Alone Are the Way

It’s the season for believing. The magic of Christmas is all around us, if we will believe in it. Friends, punks, readers of all ages, what we need more than anything is to believe in ourselves.

Trust yourself. Work to know yourself.

To know the you that is the real you.

Not what others tell you about you, but only what you tell yourself.

Because you are the way.

When Jesus said, “I am the way,” he was roleplaying with his disciples to show them what they should believe about themselves. Each one of us is the way, the truth, and the life. Each of us can repeat Jesus’s words for ourselves.

No one can choose your path for you. You are the way.

Look at yourself in the mirror and say, believe, speak into existence, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but through me.”

No one can choose your path for you, especially not your parents, friends, experienced leaders, school people, therapists, or well-meaning uncles.

They don’t know the real you or your way. You are your own way.

You may ask why I bring up Jesus’s words if all you need to know is yourself. For those who find comfort in Christian things, wise and self-satisfied thought-and-feeling leaders, like myself, need to find ways to make Jesus’s words say what we want.

Plus, it’s Christmas. The babe of Bethlehem did not speak at the time, but the sentimentalism we feel in Christmas can inspire us to believe anything. Don’t you agree?

(Between you and me, a quick read of the gospels will show you the primary message is that you’ve got this. Jesus knew, like so many of us do today, that you are all you need to be you.)

Banish the hesitation you may have about what you are able to do, and do that thing you long to do. Believe you can, and you can.

Do you believe in Santa Claus? He will be real for you.

Do you believe in mansions? Minecraft awaits.

Do you believe you’re a fish? Man, yeah!

You brought yourself into existence by your own mighty will and now you’re the awesome fill-in-the-blank you are today.

But who am I to tell you anything? You don’t need my words. You have your own.

Your way. Your truth. Your life.

Until it’s over and you return to the dust from which you came and your words waft away like a fume of stink.

‘Mitt Hjerte Altid Vanker’

Wrote a sizeable chunk of text for the next Erling book last night, and today I’ve been working on what I think might be a clever piece for The American Spectator Online. Which left me little mental capacity for fresh ideas for posts. You know me well enough to guess what that means, especially during Advent: Sissel with a Christmas song:

This is one of Sissel’s most popular Christmas numbers, original a Danish song, done here in a concert in Iceland. The title means, “My heart always lingers,” and if you’re interested in an English translation, a kind soul in Norway has provided us with one here.

I note that the translator, judging by the coat of arms on his profile, seems to come from the island of Karmoy, my ancestral home.

Reject History or Embrace It Blindly?

Alan Jacobs’s new book, Breaking Bread with the Dead, looks like a good read for the winter months ahead. Kevin Holtsberry reviews the book that’s subtitled, “A Reader’s Guide to a More Tranquil Mind,” calling it “sorely needed.”

Our polarized culture seems to offer two competing visions of engaging with the past. The defilement perspective views history as “at best a sewer of racism, sexism, homophobia, and general social injustice, at worst an abattoir which no reasonable person would even want to peak at.” Its vision is limited to the now. What matters in this moment is all that matters, and it judges the past accordingly, throwing most in the ash heap.

Another perspective approaches the past as a unifying, idealized, almost sanitized, source of universal values and character traits. This produces a reverence for the past that is also locked into the present: “To say ‘This text offends me, I will read no further’ may be shortsighted; but to read a ‘great book’ from the past with such reverence that you can’t see where its views are wrong, or even where they differ from your own, is no better. Indeed, in foreclosing the possibility of real challenge it is worse.”

Rather than either of these views, we should read history expecting to be challenged. Heroes, leaders, and all manner of influential people were no less human than we are. Their sins may have been egregious, but would we have made the same ones had we lived in their day?

‘And Some Seed Fell’

I’m making slow progress on the book I’m reading, so no review today. I’m not sure if the book is long, or if I’m just reading it slowly (a disorientation sometimes found in reading e-books). There’s this strange sense that, though I’m interested in the story, I’m not making very rapid progress with it.

I wrote a poem. As I’ve said before, I don’t consider myself a very good poet (and this one was written off the cuff). But I think it’s obscure enough to challenge the reader.

And some seed fell
On a gloomy place.
O’ershadowed by 
The cliff’s hard face.
The roots reached down,
The ground was dry,
And looming rock
Warped out the sky. 
That plant no flower
Would ever know
And on the breeze
No seed-stuff blow.
A little drink
The dew might give,
And sunlight blink
Enough to live.