Fiction, Reviews

Lancelot, by Walker Percy

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Do you know what I was? The Knight of the Unholy Grail.

In times like these when everyone is wonderful, what is needed is a quest for evil….

“Evil” is surely the clue to this age, the only quest appropriate to the age. For everything and everyone’s either wonderful or sick and nothing is evil.

Honesty comes first. I’m not at all sure I understand Walker Percy’s novel Lancelot. I think I understand some of it, but it’s one of those books that I come away from pretty sure I’ve encountered something written for people smarter than me.

But it was a fascinating read, and I’ll tell you what I thought. For whatever that’s worth.

The main character and narrator is Lancelot Lamar, formerly the scion of a fine old Louisiana family, owner of a handsome estate, successful lawyer with a record of civil rights advocacy, and loving husband to a beautiful wife.

Now, as he narrates the text of this book, he is a patient in a mental hospital, having been declared insane after blowing up his home, killing his wife and her movie industry friends. His confidante is his friend Percival, a priest (or a former priest; it’s never made clear) who never contributes a word to the narrative. Continue reading Lancelot, by Walker Percy →

Religion

The Saga of the Nativity

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“Journey to Bethlehem,” by Pieter Bruegel (1566)

[I thought it might be amusing to retell the Christmas story in saga style. The result is below. I’d intended to post this Christmas day, but got distracted.

This version includes some imaginary information not found in Luke’s account. This is because sagas are very different literature from the gospels, and the telling detail is a necessary part of the technique, even if you have to make it up. ljw]

There was a man called Joseph, son of Jacob, son of Matthan, one of the clan of old King David from Bethlehem. Joseph was an honest man, and very clever at building things. But he didn’t get on with his kinfolk, especially his brothers. One day he said, “I’m going to move up to Nazareth in Galilee. They talk strangely up there, but at least they talk sense, and there’s work to be had.” And his brothers said, “Don’t let us stand in your way.”

Now Joseph was promised in marriage to a girl named Mary, daughter of Heli, daughter of Matthat, also of the David clan, though they had kin among the priests. Mary was a beautiful girl, and very devout. Some people said she was too devout for her own good. One day when she was praying in the house all alone, a mighty messenger of God appeared to her, clad in mail that shone like the sun, and he said, “Hail, highly favored one! You are about to conceive a Son, whom you will name Jesus. He will be a hero, and will be known as Gudsson, and the Highest of All will set Him in the high seat of David, and He will reign over the Jacoblings forever.”

“How can this be?” asked Mary. “I am a virgin.” Continue reading The Saga of the Nativity →

Non-fiction, Reviews

Gospel Wakefulness by Jared Wilson

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Jared’s latest book on the joys found in the gospel of Christ is a rich, beautiful addition to a long list of puritan literature. Gospel Wakefulness describes our Lord’s multifaceted gospel, revealing its shimmering light against many dark colors of brokenness and sin.
In short, we are saved by God’s grace through faith in Christ Jesus’ atoning work on the cross. As Romans 10:9-10 says, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.” When Christ said on the cross, “It is finished,” he truly conquered death and overcame sin for all who believe. His resurrection from the grave proves it. Many Christians do not struggle with this concept as a doorway into heaven and the church, but we frequently misunderstand that this is the path to holiness as well as salvation. We believe that Jesus is Lord for the purpose of saving us from damning sin, but not for the purpose of making us righteous today. For righteousness, we believe we must “work out our salvation” on our own (Philippians 2:12). “The spiritual reality is that it is God who is in us doing the work,” Jared explains. “The gospel is not just power for regeneration; it is power for sanctification and for glorification [as if these ideas can be separated-pw]. It is eternal power; it is power enough for life that is eternal.” Continue reading Gospel Wakefulness by Jared Wilson →

Reading

Semicolon's List of Lists

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Sherry is compiling on long list of 2011 book lists which vary in focus, some being recommendations, some being what someone has read. Here is her second list. Here is her first list. And there’s more to come.

Goofing

Signs You’re Reading Too Much Young Adult Literature.

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Bookriot has a list of five signs you are reading too much of the current swath of YA Lit. For examples: “You keep a spreadsheet to try to determine whether you exist in a utopia or a dystopia. (Corporate ownership of media? Dystopia. New Muppet movie on the horizon? Utopia.) You secretly hope it turns out to be a dystopia so you can demonstrate your awesomeness in some world-liberating way.”

Uncategorized

Life as a Walk Through a Dark Wood

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Jean Burden writes, “it is a wood to be gone through at night/ with no road to follow, /with no light,” such is life in a way. Patrick Kurp reflects on this, a kind of contrast to the light of Christmas.

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In Norwegian we say, "God jul!"

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I hope your Christmas was good. Mine was unusual, at least for me. I spent it with the young Norwegian relative I wrote of before, along with his mother, who came to America to be with him for the holiday. I took them to dinner on Friday evening. On Saturday afternoon we joined the family of one of my dad’s cousins, not too far from here, at one of their children’s homes. They have a very large family, so it was a rather different celebration than my less-fecund branch of the Walkers enjoys. But it was very nice, and everyone said they were glad we came. My lefse and pumpkin pie were received with appreciation.

On Sunday we went down to Kenyon, the old family seat, and we showed them the cemetery (where most of the Walkers in Kenyon are now to be found), our church (both the present one and the old stone one in the country), and the farm where my great-grandfather settled in 1915, after moving from Iowa. We also took them to the local nursing home, where they met Aunt Ordella, that great-grandfather’s sole surviving child. She’s 101.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but meeting Aunt Ordella seemed to be the high point of the visit for the Norwegians. If I understand their comments correctly, they don’t see Ordella as only our oldest relation, but their own oldest relation too. They came to Minnesota in part to touch the lives of their grandparents and great-grandparents.

My branch of the Walkers will meet this weekend. Last weekend was impossible due to scheduling, and this way we can save money by buying presents in after-Christmas sales. At least that’s my strategy.

Poetry

A Thousand Christmas Trees

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Merry Christmas. Robert Frost’s pleasant holiday poem “Christmas Trees” is a good addition to your reader’s holiday.

The city had withdrawn into itself

And left at last the country to the country;

When between whirls of snow not come to lie

And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove

A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,

Yet did in country fashion in that there

He sat and waited till he drew us out

A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.

He proved to be the city come again

To look for something it had left behind

And could not do without and keep its Christmas.

He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;

My woods—the young fir balsams like a place

Where houses all are churches and have spires.

Read the rest here

Balsam Harvest 09 16

Fiction, Publishing

Snippet Four, Troll Valley

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“Meadow Elves,” by Nils Blommer (1850)

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Miss Margit’s face, faceted in my tears. That face, longish and stern, with the gold blaze in the black hair above her right eye, could be gentle when she chose, and her gray eyes would soften with a sweetness that had nothing of sentimentality in it.

“What’s the matter, Kjære?”

I told her, between sobs.

She sat, elegantly careless of her black dress, in the straw beside me. She took my left elbow and fingers in her hands. I shuddered as I always did when someone examined my deformity. There is no nakedness like it.

My arm was permanently bent. More than anything else it resembled a plucked chicken’s wing. The useless fingers curled back toward the elbow, and the flesh hung loose and flaccid on the forearm. I never willingly rolled up my sleeves where anyone could see, which hid the worst of it, but I was an obvious cripple. I had learned early to expect the quick-glance-and-look-away that people use for politeness, or pity.

“You think you are to blame that your papa is unhappy?” Miss Margit asked, stroking the arm, making me shudder.

“If it weren’t for me—ʺ

“If it weren’t for you your family and Mr. Lafferty would find another way to persuade him. Your papa hasn’t the strength to withstand them. If he must be overborne, it’s just as well he do it for love. It’s a kindness you do him, Christian.”

“It doesn’t feel like a kindness.” Continue reading Snippet Four, Troll Valley →