"And suddenly that name will never be the same to me"



“The Annunciation,” by Fra Angelico

My recent Norwegian visitor gifted me with a book called Hva Er et Navn? (What’s In a Name? more or less), about customs and fashions of name-giving through Norwegian history.

In the section on biblical names, the author (Ivar Utne) discusses the origins of the name “Mary” (Maria in Norwegian). I hadn’t been aware there’s so much uncertainty about its meaning. Here’s the relevant section, as translated by me.

No one knows for certain where the name Maria originated. For that reason, several interpretations exist. We know for certain that the name had different forms in Palestine around the time of Jesus’ birth. It was Mariam in Aramaic and Miriam in Hebrew, which were the two languages the Jews used. The New Testament was written in Greek. There the name became Maria, because the Greeks thought “m” an ending that did not go with Mariam.

The trail leads further back. In the Old Testament, written in Hebrew, we find many women named Miriam. The first was the sister of Moses and Aaron, of whom we read in the story of the Hebrews’ exodus from Egypt to Palestine. The names of all three may be Egyptian, as they came from Egypt. The Egyptian meaning of Miriam is “beloved.”

Other scholars contend that Miriam comes from Hebrew and means either “rebel” or “a drop in the sea.” This is because there are Hebrew words with those meanings which sound like Miriam. The “drop” explanation has more recently become “star of the sea” in some naming books, but that explanation is accepted by few scholars.

There are numerous other explanations. In comprehensive naming lists, Maria, for example, is translated “sturdy and strong,” which might be rendered “big and strong.” “Visionary” and “wife” are also to be found among the interpretations.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke


To young men of a studious turn of mind, who did not desire to go into the Church or the Law, magic was very appealing, particularly since Strange had triumphed on the battlefields of Europe. It is, after all, many centuries since clergymen distinguished themselves on the field of war, and lawyers never have.

It is my settled custom to delay discovering great novels until everybody else has already praised the life out of them. And so it is with Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. A marvelous, original conception carried off with what looks like effortless grace, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell is a sprawling, lengthy epic in the heroic fantasy vein, but set in early 19th Century England and narrated in a style reminiscent of Charles Dickens and Jane Austen (and probably other Victorian authors of whom I’m ignorant. I was always a little weak on my 19th Century English fiction). If you’re looking for headlong, fast-paced adventure, this is not the book for you. This is a leisurely book, whose pleasures are subtle ones. I found it totally delightful.

(I might also add that I forgot the author’s name, and could not recall throughout my reading whether the author was a man or a woman. Coming from me, that’s high praise.) Continue reading Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke

Positive feedback

It took a full week for me to find out about it, and it was Calvin Gordon Dodge who finally brought it to my attention, but the immortal Andrew Klavan linked to my review of Agnes Mallory on his web site here.

Lars Walker is a fantasy novelist who, I’ve noticed, occasionally leaves literate and intelligent comments here and at my PJ Media blog. Now, at the C.S. Lewis inspired journal Touchstone Magazine, he gives a lovely review to my novel Agnes Mallory, which was just recently released as an e-book by Otto Penzler’s MysteriousPress.com.

Our Daily Bread, by Lauren B. Davis

Albert Erskine, 21, is “mountain,” which distinguishes him and his clan (all more or less family) from the “townies” of Gideon. They keep to themselves, and they don’t spill their secrets to anyone. Life, as Albert describes it, is a river of sewage; you have to swim through it the best you can and keep your mouth shut. He lives near the top of North Mountain, which has gorgeous views of the sunrise and sunset almost every day, but the Erskines aren’t a nature-loving, life-affirming clan. They are horrible perverts who abuse themselves and their children in every way. Albert has tried to separate himself from his uncles (who have been making moonshine for years, but are branching into methamphetamines now), his grandparents and mother, but he can’t leave. He doesn’t want to abandon the children, ages 2-15, who can only dodge and hide from the adults to survive.

Tom Evans is a father who lives in town and loves his wife dearly but wonders if she really loves him. He doesn’t understand what’s bothering his son, Bobby, but then who can understand a 15 year old? Bobby’s distant, doesn’t seem to fit in—kind of like his wife actually. Maybe an anniversary trip, a special meal on the day they returned to Gideon as a couple, will spark her interest again. And maybe after a few years, they’ll grow out of their current problems.

Continue reading Our Daily Bread, by Lauren B. Davis

Snippet Two, Troll Valley

CHAPTER I THRESHING

It really was my fault. There’s no getting away from that.

It started during the threshing.

I remember I was angry till I saw the red caps. Then I was frightened. As always.

Regular people, my brother Fred had explained to me recently, laughing, do not see red Norwegian caps (luer) with long tails and tassels dancing in the grass whenever they lose their tempers. All around me the caps rushed and gamboled in my sight, like flaming fox tails among the fields. I never saw the folk who wore those caps, nor wished to. They danced, it seemed, just underground, moving through the earth like fish in water.

So I’d learned to stop and take a few deep breaths whenever I got angry. The red caps usually went away then.

“Chris! Auggie! Fred! You think those shovels were made for leaning on?” Continue reading Snippet Two, Troll Valley

Link sausage, Dec. 8, 2011



“The Thin Red Line,” by Robert Gibb. These doughty Scots Highlanders were certainly descended in part from Vikings.

A couple links today. Both from the Archaeology in Europe blog, in which I’ve found much of interest over the years.

First, an article from the BBC on the ties between Scotland and Scandinavia. As Scotland considers possible independence, some are looking to the traditional ties between themselves and (especially) the Norwegians.

An oft-repeated tale has Jo Grimond, former Liberal MP for Orkney and Shetland, being asked to give the name of his nearest rail station on a parliamentary expenses form, and writing “Bergen, Norway”.

Also an article from ScienceNordic (also linked by Grim of Grim’s Hall) on current research into the effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder on Medieval knights. As Grim notes, there’s some nonsense here, but it also has much of interest. The subject of PTSD interests me increasingly, for reasons I won’t bore you with.

De Charny also suggested what the knights should do to resist the stress factors. He said knights should fight for a good cause to avoid succumbing to the pressures of war. A ‘good cause’ should be God’s cause – a war for a higher and just cause, to reinstate law and order – and not for personal gain.

Second Helping of Snake, Sweetums?

Book geeks wanting to eat the food described in their favorite fantasy novels are making dishes of raccoon, nettle soup, and grilled rattlesnake. You know, food and eating are things I want to include in my stories, but I should shutup about that until I get several thousand words into them.

Art Density

James Panero writes about the history of art in New York. “Believing that art is as much a social practice as a solitary one, Munk creates paintings made up of colorful, detail-laden maps and flow charts with thousands of data points indicating the placement of artist studios, the addresses of galleries, and the location of art critics within the urban grid.” In areas where many artists of different types live and work together, innovations and masterpieces are born.

Pearl Harbor before swine

Today is, as you’re surely aware, the 70th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor that sparked America’s involvement in World War II.

I’m not sure what to say. I’m tempted to write something nostalgic about the kind of America (I grew up in its backwash, and so remember it a little) that could unify in the face of aggression and dig in for the long haul, making sacrifices for the sake of victory—and justice. Errors were made of course. No one is proud of the internment of the American Japanese. And yet even that demonstrates the differences between that America and ours. Instead of assuming the mantle of victimhood, the Nisei grimly set about proving their loyalty beyond all doubt—a profoundly American response that secured for them an honored place in our society forever.

In contrast, I find on Robert J. Avrech’s Seraphic Secret blog a report that shocks and shames me. It’s not an apples to apples thing—he’s talking about Norway, not the United States. But Norway is my second favorite country, and one of the countries our political leadership looks to today as a model. Norway, like the U.S., is no longer the country it was when it was attacked in the 1940s. Continue reading Pearl Harbor before swine

Book Reviews, Creative Culture