Authors, Reading, Religion

Jack and his privacy

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Joss Ackland and Claire Bloom in the 1985 “Shadowlands”

My metaphorical Advent calendar opened today and dispensed paying translating work. This is excellent. I’ve been idle for a couple months, and I can use the income. An interesting project, too.

So, little time for reading and no book to review today. Of what shall I write?

I watched the Most Reluctant Convert movie, as I said. Then I watched it again. And last night I thought, “Might as well watch Shadowlands too, and close the circuit.” And when I say Shadowlands, I mean, of course, the original 1985 BBC production with Joss Ackland and Claire Bloom. The 1993 version, with Anthony Hopkins and Debra Winger, isn’t even on my radar. I watched it once and was unimpressed (except by Winger, who is much closer to the real Joy Davidman than the refined Claire Bloom. But otherwise the 1985 version is more authentic and more concerned with the characters’ Christian faith. My impression of the 1993 movie is that it portrays Lewis as an immature man rescued by True Love. And his Christianity is regarded as one of his immature traits).

Anyway, you get a pretty good overview of Lewis’ life by watching the two movies in sequence. The Most Reluctant Convert offers a fairly authentic (though necessarily incomplete) picture of Lewis’ life up to his conversion. Shadowlands (if you watch the right version) gives a broadly decent impression of what happened in his later years, when he got married and suffered bereavement and a crisis of faith.

Of course, it’s an incomplete picture, as any cinematic portrayals must be. The Most Reluctant Convert leaves out much of the story, notably Lewis’ unhappy time in English public schools (what we’d call private academies in this country). And the book it’s based on, Surprised by Joy, omits much in the first place. In particular, Lewis’ domestic life with Mrs. Moore, the mother of a friend killed in the Great War, whom Lewis cared for in fulfillment of a promise to that friend. He wouldn’t have liked that story re-told; it began in infatuation in his atheist days and was transformed into voluntary servanthood after his conversion.

Shadowlands is a moving story, but heavily tailored to its dramatic form. Jack’s and Joy’s marriage actually lasted four years – her sons were nearly grown and away at school when she died. The affecting scene at the end where Jack and the boy Douglas Gresham grieve together never happened – sadly.

Most of all I was wondering what Jack himself would have thought about all this bother. And I thought I’d ponder that tonight in this post, to see if I could figure out what I think. I’m pretty sure Jack would have been mortified by the whole business. Aside from his personal modesty, there’s the fact that he deplored any examination of a writer’s life in order to interpret his work. The work, he frequently insisted, must stand on its own. It’s not for the critic to poke around in the author’s history and personality, hunting for repressions and obsessions.

Although I’m pretty sure he didn’t object to Boswell’s Life of Johnson. Because that’s a work of literature in its own right.

However, the two films I’m discussing are works of art in their own rights too. So does that make it OK?

Well, we have to deal with things as they are, I suppose. Whether he liked it or not, Jack Lewis was an interesting man. And people who love his books frequently want to know more about the man who wrote them.

This interest, surprisingly, even generally survives their first exposure to a picture of Lewis, something he himself described as a “most undecorative object.”

Maybe – and I’m very likely projecting here – it’s the fact that people experience Lewis’ writings as letters from a friend. We’d very much like to have a friend like that. Friendship is an experience that’s fallen on hard times in our evil world. Lewis had a splendid gift for friendship, as we know from his life story.

I know what he’d say to that, though – “Do you live on a deserted island? Is there no church in your community? You might be surprised what qualities lie concealed in the people in the next pew.”

Fiction, Reviews

‘Kiss My Assassin’ by Dave Sinclair

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The blurb says, “You’ve never met a spy like this before!” That’s false advertising. Charles Bishop, hero of Kiss My Assassin (apologies for the title), is almost indistinguishable from James Bond. He does the same job, has the same way with women, and gets into the same kind of scrapes as Bond (at least the movie Bond). I suppose the author’s attempts at witty dialogue are intended to make the atmosphere a little lighter than a Bond story, but I didn’t find the wit very sharp, myself.

When the Turkish ambassador to Great Britain is arrested on Westminster Bridge after a naked male body flies out of his car trunk, Bishop is sent to talk to him at his residence (diplomatic complications have delayed his being detained by police). The ambassador tells Bishop that it doesn’t matter what he does – he’s going to be dead by the end of the day. He says he got an opportunity to participate in a highly secret illegal arms auction, but since the dead man, the sellers’ agent, died – accidentally – the arms brokers, who are not understanding sorts, will certainly kill him and his family.

Fireworks ensue, and soon Bishop is off to Marrakech, where he meets a seductive woman and a brutish Russian agent, who turns into an unlikely ally. In the honored tradition of movie action heroes, Bishop will kill an improbable number of enemy agents, and though he’ll suffer several traumatic injuries, including gunshot wounds, he’ll still drag himself out his hospital bed to give it one more go.

I’ve read a lot of improbable action thrillers, so I could have gone happily along for the ride if I’d liked the main character. But I took a dislike to Charles Bishop almost from the start. The dialogue, I think, was meant to be clever, but it didn’t amuse me. An attempt at one point to make Bishop sensitive to male sexism struck me as both false and a little prissy.

The writing isn’t awful, but I don’t recommend Kiss My Assassin. As you might expect, there was quite a lot of sex, some of it pretty kinky.

Authors, Reviews

Video review: ‘The Most Reluctant Convert’

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I finally saw it. I touted the film, The Most Reluctant Convert when it first appeared in theaters, but didn’t get around to going myself. Because I’m old, and there’s Covid, and it would have been a long drive, etc., etc. But now I’ve got the DVD, and I must say I was impressed. Better even than I expected.

Essentially, this production is a dramatization of Lewis’ memoir, Surprised by Joy, with some The Weight of Glory thrown in. Originally a stage play, the film adaptation takes an interesting approach. We start with the filming preparations, as makeup people finish their work on the actor Max McLean. Then he seems to nod off, and when he lifts his head he’s Lewis. He walks out of the studio and directly into the Museum of Natural History at Oxford, all the while discussing how he moved from atheism to Christianity. As we follow, the film alternates between the “present” – Lewis talking to the camera – and recreations of dramatic scenes from his life. Often Lewis sits on the sidelines, watching his younger self, a dramatic element I rather like.

The production is really very well done all around. It has an authentic look; the acting is excellent. Good costumes and sets. The actors even vaguely resemble the people they’re playing. And the story is presented with what I think is considerable power. Some memorable parts of Surprised, like Lewis’ miserable time in public school, are skipped over as the narrative sticks with the main topic.

Max McLean is good – I won’t say great – as Lewis. In makeup he resembles the man, in a sort of rubber-faced way. Having never met Lewis, I can’t really say more with any authority, but I still think the definitive portrayal is Joss Ackland’s in the original BBC version of Shadowlands (which had the same director as this film). Ackland looked less like Lewis, but had the physical bulk and booming voice. And he’d clearly studied Lewis’ mannerisms. He also wore his hat with the brim turned down all the way around, which McLean neglects to do for some reason. (Somebody must have told him about this, I would think.)

But these are quibbles. All in all, The Most Reluctant Convert is a highly successful and impressive adaptation. I’m glad I bought it.

Music

Advent Singing: Comfort, Comfort Ye My People

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“Comfort, Comfort Ye My People” performed by the choir of First Plymouth Church of Lincoln, Nebraska

This marvelous advent hymn comes from the German Lutheran Johannes Olearius (1611-1684), originally as Tröstet, tröstet meine Lieben for St. John Baptist’s Day (June 24). John Julian notes, “He was also the compiler of one of the largest and most important German hymn-books of the 17th century.”

Our words come from Catherine Winkworth’s English translation in 1863. I’ve copied the Trinity Hymnal version here. The performance above skips verse two, but it captures the festival spirit of this song.

1 Comfort, comfort ye my people,
speak ye peace, thus saith our God;
comfort those who sit in darkness,
mourning ‘neath their sorrow’s load.
Speak ye to Jerusalem
of the peace that waits for them;
tell her that her sins I cover,
and her warfare now is over.

2 Yea, her sins our God will pardon,
blotting out each dark misdeed;
all that well deserved his anger
he no more will see or heed.
She hath suffered many a day,
now her griefs have passed away;
God will change her pining sadness
into ever-springing gladness.

3 For the herald’s voice is crying
in the desert far and near,
bidding all men to repentance,
since the kingdom now is here.
O that warning cry obey!
Now prepare for God a way;
let the valleys rise to meet him,
and the hills bow down to greet him.

4 Make ye straight what long was crooked,
make the rougher places plain;
let your hearts be true and humble,
as befits his holy reign.
For the glory of the Lord
now o’er earth is shed abroad;
and all flesh shall see the token
that his word is never broken.

Bookselling, Fiction, Publishing, Reading

What Everyone Should Read, Thanksgiving Americans, and Swordplay

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I’m almost done reading Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory, and last night I thought, “Everyone should read this. They should assign it in schools or colleges. It should be something that young people should be expected to read before they are thirty.” Hundreds of churches would benefit from reading of the unmerited grace God shows the whisky priest, his duty and that of the lieutenant, and sparks of faith you can see here and there. It would stir up the pious in a way they need to be stirred.

Patrick Kurp’s son may have a better idea. He suggests making The Gulag Archipelago required reading in high school. Kurp replies, “This simple idea is too commonsensical ever to be adopted. The historical memory of many Americans has almost evaporated, leaving it eminently inflatable with hogwash.” Education, he says, is being trivialized.

Thanksgiving: In Barry Levinson’s Avalon (1990), Titus Techera writes, “Thanksgiving has a double character. On the one hand, it’s a kind of nonreligious expression of gratitude—ultimately, a form of patriotism. These are not religious people, and it seems that, without religion, Americans don’t know who is especially deserving of their thanks. They love America, but it seems no different than loving themselves. . . . On the other hand, Thanksgiving is supposed to save Americans from this individualism by forcing them at least to stop busybodying and rekindling the love of their own family.”

Paperbacks: “Around about the 1950s, the American literary establishment—never exactly nimble on its feet—noticed its world had changed a decade earlier.” And somewhat related, here are 30 fantasy book series with brief introductions.

Rings of Power: Still joking about convoluted story mess in the first season of Rings of Power. There’s a lot of material there. I’ve watched several of Ryan George’s Pitch Meetings skits and feel there’s a cumulative effect to several of the jokes. If this is the first one you see, you may that watching a few more adds to the humor of the whole.

Swords: A swordsman reviews his blade, one styled after a 14th century bastard sword.

Faithful: Pastors remain in Ukraine, leaning on the Almighty every day.

In the second tweet, Lee writes, “The 5th day, he woke up alone in bed at 5 am, and began weeping for an hour, for no obvious reason other than a sudden realization of his new reality. 9 months have passed. What did he learn? ‘God is good, all the time. It’s not just a slogan for me— it’s a deep conviction.'”

God have mercy on us and string Ukrainian streets with peace.

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As close as I ever want to get to arctic exploration

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I’m reading a very long book right now, and so it’ll be a while yet before I have a review ready. Instead I share the picture above.

This photo was taken way back in the last century, in June of 1994. That young, thin, dark-bearded figure on the ship’s bridge is your obedient servant. The ship is the Fram, the arctic exploration vessel designed for Fridtjof Nansen and later used by Roald Amundsen as well. It’s in a museum all its own in Oslo, not far from the Viking Ship Museum. When I reviewed Nansen’s book Farthest North in January, almost a year ago, I vaguely remembered having this picture, and looked around for it. Couldn’t find it. Today I happened to open a photo album in the basement, and there it was. So I share it with you now, to your wonder and amazement, I have no doubt.

“Fram” means “forward.” It’s Norway’s traditional motto, based on the reported war cry of St. Olaf’s men at the battle of Stiklestad: “Forward, forward, Christ-men, cross-men, king’s men!”

This was my first trip to Norway, and I took it with my dad. My mother had died recently, and Dad proposed that we go together. “I’ll pay for the travel; you cover the rest of your own costs,” he said. Couldn’t say no to that. That was when I first met my relatives over there. It was the first of five delightful journeys.

Have a delightful weekend.

Fiction, Reviews

For your Spectation

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I continue to yammer to all and sundry about the novel The Last of the Vikings. Today The American Spectator printed a second review by me.

There’s a fascinating section in The Last of the Vikings where the fishermen ask Lars to read to them from A Happy Boy, and they’re all transported by the story: “It had never struck them before that a house and land can be so beautiful despite their being small. They did not know that poor people could have so much sunshine.”

And then another fisherman comes in carrying a radical newspaper called the Dawn. He’s been bringing copies in periodically for Lars to read aloud, and they’ve all enjoyed reviling the greedy capitalists. But now the fishermen’s attitude has changed. They tell the agitator, to his shock, to get out and take his paper with him…

Read it all here.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Comes the Dark Stranger,’ by Jack Higgins

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Back in the late Jack Higgins’ heyday, I used to buy all his novels as they appeared, because he wrote a tight, compelling story, and when Christianity came up it was generally treated respectfully. As time went on I got the feeling he was starting to phone it in, telling the same story over and over with different settings and only superficially different characters.

But it had been a while since I’d read a Higgins, so I took advantage of a bargain on one of his early books, Comes the Dark Stranger. I don’t think he’d found his stride yet at this point in his career, but the book was entertaining.

Martin Shane shows up in the English town of Burnham, looking for an old army buddy. But not in a good way. He’d been with a commando group in Korea, all from the same town, and he and his friends were taken prisoner and tortured. One of them, under threat of execution, had broken and given the interrogator what he wanted. Then Martin’s best friend was executed. Martin vowed revenge, but then suffered a brain injury that kept him hospitalized for eight years. Recently he got his memory back. He needs brain surgery to remove shrapnel before it kills him, but before he goes under the knife, Martin is going to identify the Judas and kill him.

Of course, it isn’t as easy as that. Everyone has a story. Somebody’s lying. As Martin endures recurring, crippling headaches, he questions and threatens and gets people angry, hoping the culprit will give something away. At some points, he’s not even sure the things he remembers actually happened. In the end, he’ll get an answer he doesn’t want.

Comes the Dark Stranger touched all the bases as far as thriller plotting is concerned. My problem with the book is that I didn’t really believe in the characters. I didn’t think some of them were responding naturally, but were just doing what was necessary to advance the plot.

Still, the book wasn’t bad. Moderately recommended.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Hidden Voices,’ by Dan Willis

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I’ve been following Dan Willis’ Arcane Casebook series about hardboiled runewright/detective Alex Lockerby for some time. The books aren’t high literature, but they’re a rare example of modern urban fantasy that I find entertaining. The latest book is Hidden Voices.

Alex Lockerby is thrust into the turmoil of European affairs when William Donovan, creator of the OSS, asks him to transport to Austria and rescue an alchemist who possesses a valuable secret formula the Nazis want. The job – of course – turns out to be more dangerous than expected, but Alex manages to bring the alchemist home. And then it goes wrong on this end.

Meanwhile, he’s also hired to investigate the murder of a famous vaudeville musician, beaten to death with his own mandolin.

Supported and assisted by his girlfriend, the sorceress Sorsha, Alex comes through (even battling the Aryan Superman) to champion the cause of freedom and identify the guilty.

I wish the author had worked harder to master 1930s diction – he thinks, for instance, that Alex would have called the “#” symbol a “pound sign” rather than a hash mark. But most people can’t remember how they talked in the old days anymore, so I suppose it’s not important. The story was fun and there was no objectionable material. Recommended.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture