‘The goat cheese is so good’

Forgive me for wasting your time posting news of authors in Atlanta, because this next story has the smell of greater importance. Mary Rigdon has cleared state hurdles for establishing her cheesemaking dairy, Decimal Place Farm, right in the city. Elizabeth Lee reports:

Rigdon makes the cheese on her and husband Ed’s 18-acre Conley farm, tucked away at the back of a subdivision. They purchased the land 13 years ago, moving from a Grant Park house on a tenth of an acre. Decimal Place Farm is a nod to that house, where she lived when she first got interested in raising dairy goats.

Next time you’re in Atlanta, perhaps you can look her up.

“The Baby-Sitters Club” Author at Book Signing

Reporter Jamie Gumbrecht fawns over an appearance in the Atlanta area of author Ann Martin, creator of “The Baby-Sitters Club” and “Main Street” series. Gumbrecht says the characters in the first series are the Hannah Montana of twenty-something girls. She writes:

I came to believe Martin was a literary figment created by the publishing industry to sell books, like Betty Crocker on cookbooks or Carolyn Keene on Nancy Drew mysteries. I continued to read the BSC books until way after it was cool, but I knew the truth: Ann M. Martin, fiction.

Now, she knows the author is actual. (How’s that for word choice?)

In other Atlanta-area news, father of seven Paul Weathington has taken to writing books for his own children. He says, “A lot of people never thought in a million years that I had it in me. But I’ve always had a creative bug; I just didn’t have a forum for it.” He wrote one of the books on several offeratory envelopes during a Sunday morning service. See the books here.

Lists, Cults, and Men

Sherry is talking about book lists again. This time she points out an article on cult books, quoting a description of the difficulty in defining a cult book. I say it’s any book which quotes from, alludes to, or can be even slightly argued to have been influenced by The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Seriously, can anyone argue with that definition?

Sherry also links to a so-called essential man’s library. Probably worth checking out should you find a spare minute. Just kidding, dudes–I mean, men. That’s a good list. I love those photos.

But speaking of cults, Sherry comments freely on When Men Become Gods by Stephen Singular, a book on Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints and the raid on Yearning for Zion Ranch.

C.S. Lewis, a Writer of Pulp Fiction?

Writer Rod Bennett believes “[C.S.] Lewis was heavily influenced by his many early experiences with ‘trashy’ literature.” He calls him a pulp fiction writer and lays out his case in four posts, quoting from Lewis’ letters where he confesses his enjoyment or exposure to Amazing Stories and Astounding, both pulp sci-fi rags, and many other works considered “trashy” by critics. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, Bennett says. In fact, it was through Narnia that Bennett found interest in Mere Christianity.

[This series is no longer on Bennett’s blog. This is a recycled post from 2006].

If Bennett’s premise raises the eyebrows of any Lewis fans, I think the trouble may be in the words “pulp” and “trashy.” I don’t think Bennett thinks Lewis’ science trilogy is trashy, but influenced by mass market stories of his day which were thought to be trashy by those who claimed to know what good and bad literature should be. But calling Lewis’ stories “pulp” may be the same as calling them “trashy” for some. Pulp fiction is lurid, tantalizing material written for commercial gain or cheap entertainment–nothing of lasting value. Again, I don’t think Bennett is arguing that Narnia and The Space Trilogy are cheap little thrillers, but that may be what comes across in the word “pulp.”

Vivian Edmonds

“The first African-American inducted into the N.C. Journalism Hall of Fame,” Vivan Edmonds, publisher of The Carolina Times, has passed away. Her father started the paper in 1922 and continue to report the news and write his opinions even as a cross burned against him. “You took your life in your hands when you spoke out, when you challenged the power structure,” said a reporter from Raleigh-Durham, N.C. area.

Pratchett is Slowing Down

NY Daily News has this feature on Terry Pratchett, whose Alzheimer’s is worsening. “I used to touch type as fast as any journalist does and my spelling was pretty good. Now I hunt and peg and my spelling is erratic,” he told The Times of London. “I can spell ‘transubstantiation’ and in the next bit I can’t spell ‘color’ because it’s as if bits of the network are switching on and off.”

He says he will to write, just “more carefully.”

An Abel Jones moment

Here’s another little snippet from an Abel Jones mystery by Owen Parry, Rebels of Babylon. I need to set the scene up a little. Jones, a strict Methodist, made a point in the earlier books of saying that he disapproved of novels, since they were made up entirely of lies, and were a frivolous waste of time. But recently he made the discovery of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, and was completely won over—providing the novel was morally upright, of course.

In Rebels of Babylon he makes the acquaintance once again of Barnaby B. Barnaby, an English “gentleman’s gentleman” who had told him in Call Each River Jordan that he was a great reader—but only of one book. He read The Pickwick Papers again and again, comforted by its predictability.

In this scene, Jones tries to persuade Barnaby to try Great Expectations. (Ever try to recommend a book to a friend who wasn’t interested? I’ll bet you never got quite the response Jones gets):

Mr. Barnaby shook his head, slowly but with decision. “I couldn’t do it, sir. Really, I couldn’t. It’s all too awful and ’orrible. I couldn’t bear to undertake the experience of more suffering. And people always suffers in a novel, sir, if it’s worth the ink and paper…. I’ve even ’ad to give up reading Mr. Pickwick, I ’as. I couldn’t bear it no more, knowing as ’ow all ’is ’appiness is bound to be torn from ’is bosom. Not all Sam Weller’s wits can’t save the poor man, sir. ’E goes to ’is sufferings over and over again. Without end, sir, without end! As if that Charlie Dickens ’as trapped ’im forever in the pages, so ’e can’t never escape…. A writer fellow must be ’orrible wicked, sir, to go killing folks with ink and making everyone suffer for ’is pleasure. And for profit, sir! The scribblers takes money to make the innocent suffer in their books. It just ain’t right to do a thing like that.”

That says it about as clearly as it could be said, I think.

This is the last Abel Jones book published to date, and I wish I could get information on the next. I searched the web, and found an interview with Parry (actually Col. Ralph Peters) in which he projects a series of about twelve books. But where each previous volume ended with the note, “The adventures of Abel Jones will continue in _______________,” this one just says, “The adventures of Abel Jones will continue.” And this one came out in 2005. That’s getting to be a three year hiatus, which is too long for a series, as I can tell you with some authority.

I may have given the impression, in my previous review of Honor’s Kingdom, that these are Christian books. They aren’t. They’re books about a Christian (and sometimes the author gets the theology badly wrong), but the Christian is a likeable and admirable one, which is relatively rare in contemporary fiction.

This book goes deeper than previous episodes into an analysis of Jones’ faith, and the author makes it clear that much of Jones’ rigor rises from some deep, repressed fears. It’s possible future books may cross the line for me, and I’ll feel compelled to give up on the series.

But I’m willing to take that chance with the wicked writer fellow, for now.

And how was your Memorial Day?

Memorial Day, of course, is meant for decorating the graves of those who’ve served our country in the military. But it was always traditional in my family to put flowers on all our graves for the holiday. Being the only member of my immediate family who still lives around here, I carry the custom on, in my little way.

Memorial Day was cool and cloudy, threatening rain, here in the Twin Cities. But when I drove south to Kenyon and Faribault, where the bones of my fathers lie (metaphorically speaking; my parents are actually buried in Florida) I drove into bright sun and warmth that forced me to take my coat off. I had to put it on again when I got home. I had but crossed into and out of a stationary pressure ridge.

My brother was in town Friday night, and we went to see Indy 4. It was better than I expected, since I wasn’t expecting much. I liked the numerous digs at Communism—it’s been fifty years after all. About time Hollywood admits there were two sides in the Cold War. (Still waiting for the first Hollywood movie about the Ukrainian genocide, though.)

The worst part was Shia LeWhatever as the Marlon Brando wannabee. He plays the part with all the weight and authority of a runway model. And the scene where he swings through the jungle on vines, like Tarzan—painful. (You know, don’t you, that you can’t actually do that? Vines grow up from the ground. They don’t grow down from the treetops.)

And that was part of the overlong jungle chase scene. Not bad, but I am very weary of seeing large numbers of thugs firing automatic weapons at people with no effect whatever. I know it moves the story along, but what it really means is that the writers couldn’t figure out a clever way for the heroes to get away or to protect themselves, so they opted just to let them survive without explanation. Which is lazy.

The best part—Cate Blanchett as the evil Commie parapsychologist. The word “audacious” is being overused this year, but hers was a really audacious performance. She realized she was playing an over-the-top character, so she played the role over the top. Anybody can do that, but not everybody can make it work. She made it work. She won’t get an Oscar nomination for it, but she deserves one.

On Sunday I was in a Memorial Day mood, and I’d been enjoying Owen Parry’s marvelous Civil War mysteries featuring Abel Jones. So I pulled out my DVD of Gods and Generals. I had good memories of it, largely (I suppose) because it’s a rare example of a Hollywood film treating Christian characters with a measure of respect.

Sadly, it didn’t hold up on a second viewing. It’s probably great for a high school history class, but as a movie it was uninspired. Dull script, dull direction, dull cinematography, and not enough editing. It plays like a school pageant, with people making long speeches at each other for no particular reason, and confiding in one another without dramatic justification. And the dialogue sounded as if it was lifted from contemporary documents. That’s nice from an academic point of view, but it makes for stilted speeches. And I suspect that most people didn’t actually talk the way they wrote, even back then.

But it put me in mind of the right things.

Two Stories from Our Paris Desk

Bestselling French novelist says, “What city could be more romantic than London?” Incroyable! Mais attente, that’s not all. He also rejected the critics who don’t like his writing. Speaking of himself, he said, “Critics say that Marc Levy is an author one reads in the subway… Nothing makes me happier than being read in the subway. If I allow people to get out of the tunnel, in a small way, I’ve done my job.”

In other news, the director of the History Channel in France has a new book on how the French endured the Nazi occupation, and it isn’t flattering. Author Patrick Buisson said, “It may hurt our national pride, but the reality is that people adapted to occupation.” By adapted, he means, fornicated in many ways and, I assume, for various reasons. “The result [is] that the birth rate shot up in 1942 even though 2,000,000 men were locked up in the camps.”

I don’t post this to take cheap shots at the French. On the contrary, I wish they would repent of throwing out the Huguenots and get back to building healthy lives for the glory of God.