You’ve been devoted to the Church. As you know, we like to say that we don’t have followers. We have lenders. You give us your love and passion devotion, and we’re obligated to pay back the debt.”
Lars reviewed Jonathan Leaf’s debut novel, City of Angles, earlier, and with it being a mystery novel, that’s about as much of the plot as you’ll want to know before reading. What you don’t get from reviews is the style of humor Leaf employs.
[Disclaimer: I picked up the novel in response to the author’s request, having seen a friend’s referral days before.]
City of Angles isn’t a dark story. It’s standard fare for a character-driven murder mystery, and from almost every character you read something like the quotation above: “We don’t have followers. We have lenders.” Also from this same church context, we get this: “Selva had attained the status of FUP. This mean a fully unrepressed person. Those who opposed the Church were EMEs, or enemies of man’s emergence.” An FUP. That’ll catch on.
This actually rings true with my experience, in that some folks like to make acronyms and others like to use terms, and the Church of Life in this story resembles Scientology, which is probably just as debauched and oppressive as the Church is depicted. But in a way, everyone in this novel is debauched. Everyone is friendly, while it serves their purpose, and they drink sexual allure from the tap. Everything they can control they will try to control. And when a character finds himself at a dead end with all of his plans disassembled, he tells himself all PR is good PR and begins to wonder if he can sell his story. Even the cops are thinking this next thing could be their big break.
I enjoyed reading this book and look forward to Leaf’s success with it.
Kormak, as this old illustration shows, was not shy about public displays of affection, even with married women.
When the brothers put out from their place of anchorage, a walrus surfaced beside the ship. Kormak fired a weighted staff at it, hitting the animal, so that it sank. People thought they recognized Thorveig’s eyes when they saw it. The animal did not surface from then on; and it was reported of Thorveig that she was dangerously ill, and people say that she died as a result.
When we think of troubled poets today, we tend to imagine languid aesthetes wasting away with alcoholism or drug addiction. Troubled poets in the Viking Age seem to have been rather different sorts – pugnacious types and psychopathic killers. We discussed the greatest of them, Egil Skallagrimsson, a little while back. Today our topic is a lesser poet in a lesser saga, Kormak’s Saga, as published in The Complete Sagas of Icelanders, but available in other formats as well.
Kormak’s name, I might mention, is the same as the Irish name Cormac. This is yet another testimony to the heavy infusion of Irish and Scottish elements into Icelandic society and culture (the same is true of the saga hero Njal’s name, which is the Irish Niel). Like Egil, Kormak is big and strong, though less ugly.
Kormak first notices Steingerd Thorkelsdatter of Tunga when he catches a glimpse of her foot through a doorway. Immediately he dedicates a poem to the foot, and when he sees the rest of the girl he’s not disappointed. He pursues her, and their marriage is arranged. However, when the wedding day occurs, he doesn’t show up. Yet when her family tries to marry her off to other men, Kormak routinely makes war on them – in some cases killing them. This behavior looks like prolonged adolescence and fear of commitment to the modern reader, but the saga explains it as the consequence of a witch’s curse. One looks in vain here for the kind of psychological insight we find in Egil’s Saga.
The most interesting character in the saga, in fact, is not Kormak himself but Bersi the Duelist, who dominates the middle part of the story. Though a famous man-killer, he’s far more sympathetic than Kormak, something like the Old Gunfighter trope in Western movies.
Kormak’s Saga is believed to be one of the oldest ones that’s been preserved, but that’s no guarantee of artistic quality. The episodes in the story appear to have been reconstructed (rather freely) from hints in the poems the hero left behind. And the hints look very much as if they’ve been misinterpreted a fair amount of time. Many of the incidents, frankly, make little sense.
Kormak’s Saga is interesting for its age, and also – in particular – for accounts of dueling customs in the Viking Age. As a piece of art, it’s fairly middling.
I should mention that a couple of Kormak’s love poems include pretty explicit descriptions of sexual organs.
A new form of religious community appeared for the first time in history: not a nation celebrating its patriotic cult, but a voluntary group, in which social, racial and national distinctions were transcended, men and women coming together just as individuals, before their god.
It’s done at last. I have successfully worked my way through the Marathon length of Paul Johnson’s A History of Christianity. And I have to tell you from the start, it wasn’t what I expected or hoped for. The late author, of whom I’m a big fan, started out (like many thinkers on the right) on the left, and gradually worked his way to conservatism. This book was an early work, published in 1975 when he was (I assume) still in transition. And conservative politics doesn’t necessarily entail Christian faith – I don’t know what Johnson believed. This book didn’t give much clue.
Also, the book is somewhat misnamed. It’s not a history of Christianity, but of western Christianity. Once Rome breaks with Constantinople, the Eastern Church (as well as all the smaller eastern groups) drops off the stage except for when they interact with the West.
He starts well, arguing that it’s silly to question whether Jesus actually existed. Even better, he seems fairly sure that we have a fair idea what He taught. But his description of the formation of the canon and of orthodox doctrine is thoroughgoingly naturalistic. By this account, the scriptures were assembled through chance and politics out of a selection of wildly variant alternate manuscripts (I’m pretty sure this is not true). And the fights over doctrine were wholly political, decided in the end by brute power. The author’s greatest admiration seems to be reserved for certain heretics and the marginally orthodox – Arian, Pelagius, Erasmus. “Sensible” Christians who concentrated on good works rather than abstract doctrine and faith.
Then follows the long, sad chronicle of how the persecuted church (not so much persecuted most of the time, he insists) gradually rose to imperial power in Rome, and organized – on a model invented by St. Augustine – a unitary civilization in which Church and State were one thing. And corruption inevitably set in. The system gradually broke down, leading in time to the Reformation and the Enlightenment, and to the decline and challenges of the modern world.
It’s a depressing read, to be honest. Which is not to say I didn’t learn valuable stuff. I was particularly interested in the account of the decline of papal power in the 12th Century. It helped illuminate my reading of Norwegian history and the way King Sverre was able to ignore a ban and excommunication (as his contemporary King John did in England).
He ends in the “present” (1975), expressing optimism that the ecumenical movement can lead to a more flexible, dynamic church in the world (and we all know how well that’s worked out).
The oddest part, for this reader, was the author’s epilogue, in which he explains that he actually does consider Christianity a force for good in the world:
The notions of political and economic freedom both spring from the workings of the Christian conscience as a historical force; and it is thus no accident that all the implantations of freedom throughout the world have ultimately a Christian origin.
My big problem with A History of Christianity is that it takes him 516 pages to get around to mentioning that. The impression the reader gets from plowing through his long catalog of persecutions, heresy trials, witch hunts and religious wars must certainly be that Christianity has been a greater force for suffering and evil than Nazism and Communism combined. And I’d wager most readers have quit before they get to that epilogue.
Near the beginning he tells an anecdote about Bishop Stubbs, professor at Oxford, who, when he met a young historian, noticed he was carrying a book of which he disapproved, and said to himself, “If I can hinder, he shall not read that book.” He emphasizes the importance of not being like Stubbs, of listening to all ideas and making up one’s own mind.
That’s a noble sentiment, and I approve as a reader. But as a Christian concerned with souls, I would have to say, “Keep A History of Christianity out of the hands of young and impressionable Christians. If they’re looking at all for reasons to walk away from the faith, they’ll find plenty of them here.”
“A Hymn of Glory Let Us Sing,” performed by the congregation of the Church of Saint Michael in Stillwater, MN
For the majority of May, our theme will be Christ’s ascension. Ascension Sunday is May 21. The text was written by The Venerable Bede, “Father of English History.” He died on Ascension Day in 735. Benjamin Webb originally translated it for The Hymnal Noted in 1852.
The words here were copied from the Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary, 1996.
1 A hymn of glory let us sing! New songs throughout the world shall ring: Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ, by a road before untrod. Ascendeth to the throne of God. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
2 The holy apostolic band Upon the Mount of Olives stand. Alleluia! Alleluia! And with his followers they see Jesus’ resplendent majesty. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
3 To whom the angels, drawing nigh, “Why stand and gaze upon the sky? Alleluia! Alleluia! “This is the Saviour!” thus they say, “This is His noble triumph-day.” Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
Illinois will soon have a law designed to put silence readers who might be under a delusion that they have a voice in their community libraries. I wonder if it will matter as much as they think it will.
In his State of the State address, Illinois Governor JB Pritzker said, “This afternoon I’ve laid out a budget agenda that does everything possible to invest in the education of our children. Yet it’s all meaningless if we become a nation that bans books from school libraries about racism suffered by Roberto Clemente and Hank Aaron, and tells kids they can’t talk about being gay, and signals to Black and Brown people and Asian Americans and Jews and Muslims that our authentic stories can’t be told.”
The bill, that has passed both house and senate, requires libraries to adopt the American Library Association’s Library Bill of Rights or to create their own policy against removing books in response to community pressure. At least, that’s the intent.
What the House bill actually says is “In order to be eligible for State grants, a library or library system shall adopt the American Library Association’s Library Bill of Rights that indicates materials should not be proscribed or removed because of partisan or doctrinal disapproval or, in the alternative, develop a written statement prohibiting the practice of banning books or other materials within the library or library system.” Banning is the term used. Removing from circulation would be another thing entirely, wouldn’t it?
The ALA’s policy says, in part, “Libraries should provide materials and information presenting all points of view on current and historical issues.” and “libraries should challenge censorship in the fulfillment of their responsibility to provide information and enlightenment.”
But a library can’t hold everything, can it? Who chooses what goes on the shelf or what provides enlightenment? If the state library system has four copies of one book and 16 copies of another, is the latter book understood to be more enlightening?
This seems to be an attempt to silence reading communities, and I have to wonder if it will amount to much. Will some libraries adopt the proper policy and ignore it, going about their business as usual? Will some communities express their complaints quietly? Will some librarians be run out of town?
Book banning, as you and I both know, is not a thing. Wrestling over the moral propriety and age appropriateness of books is what the ALA calls banning, and that’s what we’re arguing over. Now, Illinois will declare that no one knows moral propriety like public librarians, so sit down and read what they give you.
What other waves are undulating the Internet?
O’Connor: “On Our Need to Be Displaced” – “The richest irony in efforts to dismiss O’Connor is that her fiction provides the insight we need right now to help heal our social and political divisions, and to temper our hostile public discourse. Because Flannery O’Connor, with her scorching wit, fingered the exact cause of all of it, including racism: fear.”
“The music itself is the pathway to joy. Getting applause after a performance is lovely, but not as lovely as the song you just played. Reading a favorable review is sweet, but hardly as sweet as the ecstatic moments of creative expression.”
Family: Roberto Carlos Garcia has a moving poem about the adults in a child’s life, called “The Tempest.” Poetry Foundation has a short passage from it.
My father was a great sailor, a seaman, navigated
Only the darkest waters—the sweetest squalls
Which is to say he was a drunk
Ack. I’m only about 60% done with The Book That Never Ends (for review, not one I’m writing), and I’ve got lots of translating work to do, so what shall I post? Hm. It’s May now, which means that Syttende Mai (May 17), Norway’s Constitution Day, is coming up. Find some music about that. Anything from Sissel I haven’t seen?
Well, what do you know? Here’s Sissel singing Edvard Grieg’s “Våren,” (Last Spring). It seems to have been filmed 10 years ago for a Constitution Day celebration at Eidsvoll. That’s significant because Eidsvoll is a Norwegian national monument – the place where an assembly of delegates drafted and passed the country’s constitution in 1814. Which is what the holiday is all about.
Spring finally seems to have come to Minneapolis, and I’m enjoying it when I have time to pay attention. (I much prefer that to having no time because I’m out of work.) Spring’s been late in coming, but that makes it all the more enjoyable. I earned this spring, blast it!
In the video above, Dr. Matthew Roby discusses Egil’s Saga (which I reviewed the other day), filming at some of the precise Icelandic sites where the action occurred. I found it atmospheric and fascinating.
I was also interested to note that the large blue book from which he reads Egil’s poem to his dead son is the very volume I’ve been reading myself (thanks to Dale Nelson’s generosity) from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders.
Our friend Dave Lull, ever generously aware of my fascination with the late author D. Keith Mano, sent me to this 1997 article he wrote for National Review.
The article builds on new medical information, shared by Oliver Sacks, concerning what happens to blind people when they are given (or even regain) their sight. Lacking the experience sighted people have acquired from childhood in recognizing visual clues, these people (he cites a patient named Virgil) see the world as an incoherent jumble of shapes and lines. They can tell color and movement, but all the rest of the data confounds them. Depth and perspective are particular challenges.
Mano relates this information (never available before modern times) to the biblical account of Jesus healing a blind man at Bethsaida in Mark 8:22-25:
“And he cometh to Bethsaida; and they bring a blind man unto him, and besought him to touch him. And he took the blind man by the hand, and led him out of the town; and when he had spit on his eyes, and put his hands upon him, he asked him if he saw ought.”
And the blind man (in what I had always considered a poetic image) replied to Jesus, “I see men as trees, walking.”
Mano notes the sequel, where Jesus touches the man a second time to enable him to process all this new information, and then draws the conclusion:
So let us suppose a man like Virgil, blind since childhood because of traumatic shock. Let us also suppose that Jesus, Messiah-as-therapist, came along and healed Virgil in a non-miraculous way. That does not (and cannot) explain Part Two. Whether Virgil’s blindness was physical or psychosomatic, still his brain would have been deprived of the visual exercise and constant drill essential to clear three-dimensional sight. Only by a miracle could Jesus provide that necessary crash course in visual recognition. Charismatic therapists may be able to unblock sight –but they cannot infuse a human brain with that lifetime of visual experience necessary for normal sight.
Okay, I’ll just start this semi-review by mentioning (in case you’re new here) that I have a dysfunctional relationship with the genre called “Nordic Noir.” Much as I love Norway, I find myself unable to get in the spirit of the boom in Scandinavian mysteries that persists today. I find Nordic Noir – in general – depressing and nihilistic. I’ve tried to enjoy Jo Nesbø’s Harry Hole mysteries, but I have trouble sympathizing with – or even believing in – a police detective who’s so desperately alcoholic that it interferes with his work, and who yet manages to keep his job and even be an asset to his department.
But I checked out the 2017 film adaptation of the Harry Hole book The Snowman on Amazon Prime. It’s not a film I did translation for (indeed, it’s not even a Norwegian production, but Swedish along with other countries), so I can say what I like about it.
I gave the novel a less than negative review (for a Nordic Noir) here. I guess I feel pretty much the same about the movie. Which seems to mean I liked it better than most people.
How very odd.
Michael Fassbender plays the role of Harry, whom we first observe, after a prologue, sleeping off a binge in a bus shelter in mid-winter. When he gets to work he meets a new partner, Katrine Bratt (Rebecca Ferguson), whom he finds annoyingly fresh and spunky. They investigate the disappearance of a young mother. Over time they discover that there have been a string of such disappearances, in different places over a long period of time. When the bodies are discovered, they are decapitated, the heads placed on snowmen. Harry’s difficult relationship with his ex-girlfriend’s son, who sees him as a father figure, provides a subplot that will eventually merge with the main plot.
The best part of the movie – as is often the case when they’re filming in Norway – is the scenery. There’s some spectacular footage here, especially as characters drive along the causeways of the famous Atlantic Road. J.K. Simmons, who always elevates any production, is on hand as a sleazy businessman/politician, an easy character for good Socialists to hate.
I can also see the problems in the film. One is a very dark plot, including one particularly awful surprise. Another is the odd presence of Val Kilmer, playing a now-dead character in flashbacks. He looks barely functional, and indeed was recovering from a stroke during filming. All his dialogue is dubbed but still hard to understand.
My big problem was a fairly heavy-handed message about abortion.
Still, I found the movie watchable, and it kept my interest.
Semi-recommended, but with cautions (language, sexual situations, brief nudity, disturbing violence) and without great enthusiasm.
I am a busy man. Busy, busy. Like a bee. Or a beaver. Or some other animal that starts with a “b.” Busy as a butterfly? Busy as a badger? Busy as Behemoth?
Anyway, I’ve got translation work today. Sweet translation work on a project which (as usual) I can’t tell you anything about. I will tell you (because it’s redundant) that it’s in Norwegian and I need to run it through the processors between my ears, extruding in the end an English script of rare beauty and grace.
It’s a good script, too. One I’m happy to be involved with. I will tell you that. I don’t think the lawyers will object.
Also, I’m only about a third of the way through the hypertrophied book I’m reading for review, so there wouldn’t be a review tonight anyway.
Instead, I found the video above. It’s by a guy I know nothing about, and my sharing it implies no endorsement of any kind. But he was at the Avaldsnes Viking Festival last summer when I was. So you can get the flavor of it. He missed a great opportunity, though, in not getting a shot of me in my Viking togs.
