And now for something completely different, “grand and splendid entertainment in two courses” from a 200-year-old cookbook.
Food scientist Anne Reardon worked through the recipes recommended a couple centuries ago for an entertaining meal and shares her family’s opinions on them. It’s impressive, historical, and sometimes gross.
Reardon’s YouTube channel is excellent for exposing silly or dangerous food hacks in other videos and explaining how to bake things well.
“He talks pretty big for a gutter wizard,” he muttered.
“You don’t understand at all,” said the wizard wearily. “I’m so scared of you my spine has turned to jelly, it’s just that I’m suffering from an overdose of terror right now. I mean, when I’ve got over that then I’ll have time to be decently frightened of you.”
Terry Pratchett’s first book in his long-running Discworld series, The Color of Magic, has an explosive start with the city of Anhk-Morpork (doubtless based on Dallas-Fort Worth) in flames and main characters Rincewind the wizard and Twoflower the tourist dragging themselves away from it. Both the wizard and the twin city, “of which all the other cities of time and space are, as it were, mere reflections,” found themselves completely unprepared for the arrival of a new type of visitor, a tourist. Here they have a man who doesn’t speak any of the languages, has plenty of money to spend, and hopes to see some of the legendary, fantastical people and events he has read about in his homeland far across the sea. Heroes, bar fights, dragons, magic–how fun it would be to see some of that!
Twoflower the tourist is guided into a tavern that happens to be tolerating the presence of Rincewind, who isn’t really a wizard because he was kicked out of magic school, but he can converse in many languages and consequently approaches the tourist as he attempts to talk to the innkeeper via a phrase book. The two can understand each other, and Rincewind is hired as a tour guide, a challenge he may not be able to rise to.
More than that problem, however, is the problem of helping his patron survive the night, because not only does he overpay in pure gold coins (not like any coins you’d find on the streets of Morpork), but his luggage is made of rare, very expensive wood and follows him around on its own tiny legs like a faithful, aggressive dog. Even without eyes, it leers maliciously at perceived threats. Rincewind immediately discerns there’s no telling what that thing could do when cornered or its master harmed.
Because Twoflower doesn’t understand the natural, human yearnings of the Morpork heart, he is instrumental in burning it to the ground, which can’t be a spoiler because you can see the flames on page one. But that story only takes you to page 87. There are more stories as the two travelers ride to the next city–all of it zany, funny, and ridiculous. The last story in this book is quite beautiful.
The humor isn’t particularly chaste, but it never gets bawdy. I wonder if that holds throughout the series. Once I thought it sounded just like The Princess Bride, and a couple times I noted turns of phrase that echoed Wodehouse.
I’ve read you can pick up the series at any point, because there isn’t a grand narrative to follow. The second published book, The Light Fantastic, does appear to be a direct sequel to The Color of Magic, so there’s some sense of order to some of them.
Rio Bell is 22 years old, the son of a Texas rancher. In spite of his youth, he already has an impressive reputation as a gunfighter. But he doesn’t expect to need that skill a lot on his present job – leading his first cattle drive, up the Goodnight-Loving Trail to Colorado. He’s got some older friends to back him up, but the decisions will be his, and he feels the responsibility.
The first part of the novel Showdown on the River, by J. L. Curtis (who happens to be a friend of mine, I need to confess) is pretty standard Western fare – the hard days of riding, the boredom and the danger involved in a cattle drive. I didn’t mind that at all. I can read that stuff all day long, if it’s done well, and it is here (Red River is one of my favorite Westerns).
Once the drovers reach Colorado, they encounter challenges they didn’t expect. Rio was planning to visit his hermit uncle in the mountains, but discovers the old man is dead. The people living on his old place are a father with two daughters, one of whom is away at school. But another rancher has moved in on the other side of the valley, with a plan to take over the whole area, at any cost in human lives. With the help of some old mountain men, friends of his cook, Rio and his cowboys will risk their lives to save his new friends – one of whom is a very attractive young woman.
Taken purely as a story, I thought Showdown on the River worked pretty well. I felt the last scenes were a little rushed, and could have been fleshed out. But reading the book was a lot of fun, and that’s the main thing we ask for in these parts.
I have a couple historical quibbles – which may be unfounded. The author likely knows more about these things than I do.
One is the availability of dynamite. Dynamite is overused in Western stories, especially ones set as early as this (1871 by my calculations). The stuff did exist at the time, but I have the idea that finding some just lying around stretches probability a little (could be wrong).
The other is the issue of violence against women. There’s the famous incident of the killing of Dora Hand, Dodge City dance hall singer (involving Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp). Though the killer escaped the gallows, the immediate reaction demonstrates the kind of outrage that the denizens of the American West were capable of when encountering violence of any kind against a (white) woman. They were rare out west in those days, and the culture was romantic and Victorian. In this book, women get threatened with rape and murder. There is negative reaction, I’ll admit, but some of the “bad guys” show an indifference that seems to me improbable. Even the bad guys wouldn’t stoop that far in that time and place. I’m not familiar with any historical exceptions.
In spite of this, I thoroughly enjoyed Showdown on the River, and recommend it highly.
Charles Todd, author of the Inspector Ian Rutledge series, is actually a mother-son writing team (our commenter Paul informed me of this). I found the first book in the series (the first I I read; we’re actually pretty far along in the series here) a little depressing, but I liked the positive attitude displayed toward Christians and the church. So I figured I’d try another, when a cheap download became available. Thus did I purchase A Divided Loyalty.
Inspector Ian Rutledge is an isolated man. He’s unpopular at Scotland Yard because he’s a victim of shell shock, considered a moral coward by other officers. He hangs onto his job only because they’re short of manpower, due to the losses of World War I. His shell shock takes a particularly painful form – persistent hallucination. His friend Hamish MacLeod, a wartime subordinate whom he was forced to order shot on the front lines, is forever at his shoulder, commenting on events. These comments are mostly – but not always – negative.
Avebury in Wiltshire is a famous place in England. It’s a double stone circle, not far from Stonehenge, less complete but larger. The village of Avebury nestles inside it.
A young woman was found stabbed to death in the ditch that surrounds the stones. Inspector Leslie, an older, respected officer, was the first to investigate, but he found no clues. Rutledge recently solved a similar mystery in another town, so his superior (who despises him) sends him to see if he can do any better. His real motive, Rutledge believes, is a desire to see him fail.
No clue to the woman’s identity has been found. She doesn’t “look English,” but she might have come from anywhere in the world. And what brought her here? How was she lured to the murder site?
Rutledge goes to work systematically, asking questions in a widening circle, investigating routes by which the woman might have come. Gradually a few facts – or probabilities – appear. And he begins finding indications of the culprit – indications that lead somewhere he does not want to go. However, the final twist will astonish even him.
I liked A Divided Loyalty better than I liked A False Mirror, the first book I read. It was by no means cheery, but it was less a downer than that one. And I liked Inspector Rutledge’s relentless professionalism in the face of depression and manifold obstacles.
I don’t recall any particular concerns in terms of language or themes.
“Let Children Hear the Mighty Deeds” was written by the great Isaac Watts, D.D. (1674-1748). The original 1917 title was “Providence of God Recorded; or, Pious Education and Instruction of Children.” It draws from the first part of Psalm 78, which says,
“We will not hide them from their children,
but tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might,
and the wonders which he has wrought.” (v.4 RSV)
The tune is one of twelve common hymn tunes published in a 1615 Scottish psalter, rearranged to be more upbeat by Theodore Ferris.
1 Let children hear the mighty deeds
which God performed of old,
which in our younger years we saw
and which our fathers told.
He bids us make his glories known,
the works of pow’r and grace,
that we convey his wonders down
through ev’ry rising race.
2 Our lips shall tell them to our sons,
and they again to theirs,
and generations yet unborn
must teach them to their heirs.
Thus shall they learn, in God alone
their hope securely stands,
that they may ne’er forget his works,
but practice his commands.
I try to be gentle on my books. I don’t crack the spine, if I can avoid it. I try to avoid dog-earring pages like I did with the last book I read (carrying it to work in a backpack roughed it up). On the other hand, I don’t mind writing notes or marking sentences in the margin. I will do this in any book if I think I’ll return to a passage later or feel piqued enough to comment. I try to use a pencil though, so anything can be erased later.
I’m thinking of these things after watching Elliot Brooks talk through reading habits that divide people.
Feature News: I think I’ve told you before that all of World’s podcasts are excellent. I listen to all of them. A new one, Doubletake, tells one feature story per 35-minute episode, and the stories have been fairly diverse. The first episode focuses on Brandon Young and being a clean comedian. The second episode tells the story of a doctor who left Canada to avoid being forced to euthanize someone. The third episode talks about abortions performed at a Christian hospital in Illinois.
“Of course, the pro-abortion nurses on the floor are mad at me [for speaking up], but I never expected the pro-life nurses to be mad at me.”
You can listen to these on their website or through your podcatcher.
Reading: Joel Miller asks, “Do you know the difference between a carrot and a caret? Family forms a key ingredient in Anne Fadiman’s essay collection, Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader, as do plagiarism, writing in books, eating books, and proofreading—hence the carrot/caret reference. Fadiman’s 18 essays range over all aspects of bookish living, including some truly strange. Did, for instance, Sir Walter Scott really shoot down a crow and jot a note with its blood to ensure he remembered a sentence he’d been stuck on?”
Independence Day: August 24 is Ukraine’s Independence Day. Here’s a celebration video from last year with English subtitles. Slava Ukraini.
This month a high school English teacher quit her job in response to the enforcement of a new Oklahoma state law on teaching controversial subjects. School officials instructed their teachers to cover up or remove books from their classrooms whose “titles might ‘elicit challenges'” to the law. If a teacher could reasonably defend a book, it wouldn’t have to be covered up or removed.
Summer Boismier had 500 books in her classroom and covered up all of them with paper and the note “Books the State Doesn’t Want You to Read.” She printed a QR code for students to get easy access to the Brooklyn Public Library’s “Books Unbanned” program, which decries the challenges that have been made to teens reading books written by Black or LGB-etc. authors.
What books does this program recommend?
“As part of the initiative, the library will also make a selection of frequently challenged books available with no holds or wait times for all BPL cardholders. The books include: Black Flamingo by Dean Atta, Tomboy by Liz Prince, The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, The 1619 Project by Nikole Hannah-Jones, Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong, and Lawn Boy by Jonathan Evison.”
Is this what Boismier had on her shelves? Were school officials fine with this library before Oklahoma HB1775 was passed?
Looking at the language of the law, these books would not be a problem unless they were required reading. They certainly weren’t banned. Moreover, if the principal and school board allowed such books in the classroom, they were definitely not banned.
What the law forbids is a teacher or course instructing students in such ideas as racial inferiority, discrimination, and inherent oppression. It attempts to prevent students from believing they should discriminate against their peers on the basis of race or sex and that due to their category in society they are inherently oppressed or oppressors.
The intent of this law is completely lost on some librarians and teachers who seem to think their discriminatory judgment cannot be challenged by anyone. A challenge to one book is seen as a challenge to all books.
With my limited knowledge of the books named above, I’m going to suggest Toni Morrison’s novel is the most valuable and least objectionable. Her writing and themes are marvelous, but you can see in this report out of St. Louis reasons The Bluest Eye would be challenged for teenagers. I’m confident some of what’s referred to here is difficult to read and would be better read by those college-aged and older.
It’d be safe to bet The Bluest Eye was in Boismier’s lending library, but was every other book of the “Books Unbanned” type? No Moby Dick or Paradise Lost? No Great Expectations? Was there a collection of poems by Gwendolyn Brooks? (She talks about her most famous poem and objections to it in a recording from the Academy of American Poets.)
All of the books in that classroom couldn’t have been problematic according to the school’s interpretation of the law. The real problem is how they got into the school in the first place.
I know nothing about the guy who made the video above, but he agrees with me, which conclusively proves him an authority.
Viking reenactments these days are infested with misguided people who use the History Channel Vikings series as a costuming model.
Where, oh where can today’s reenactors find a proper role model for their impressions?
I do this solely as a public service.
Here’s a neat interview with Dean Koontz from about 7 years ago (can it be 7 years already?) when he released the last Odd Thomas book. It’s not long, but he’s got some good things to say about the craft of writing, plus turning personal challenges into art.
She nodded. It was the first time I’d ever had a good chance to look at her face. Big bright black eyes, and just a shade too much in the tooth department, so she had a very faint look of coming out of one of Disney’s woodland dells.
Early (1953) John D. MacDonald. That promises a great story, set back when men were men and women were women. Dead Low Tide does not disappoint in any way.
Andy McClintock lives in a small, cheap Florida cabin in a court originally built for tourists. It’s all he can afford on his current salary. His boss, land developer “Big” John Long, lured him to the state on promises of promotion and good money, but neither has appeared. (Rapacious land development was a continuing theme in MacDonald’s books, and it’s interesting to note his criticisms even at this early date.)
Then John’s wife, the small, intense Mary Eleanor, asks Andy for help. John has been acting strangely, she says, and she’s concerned what’s troubling him. Andy agrees to talk to him. He goes to see John on a building site, and concludes that the man is hiding a problem – likely a health scare. Andy also confronts John about his job, asking for more responsibility and money. To his surprise, John hands him a contract the next day, and the deal involves a partnership.
Then John is found dead, apparently having committed suicide with a speargun that belonged to Andy. He does not identify it for the police. Mary Eleanor asks Andy for another favor – there’s an envelope in John’s desk, she says, that belongs to her. Don’t open it. Just bring it to me. Andy doesn’t agree, but he does search the desk.
The next thing he knows, he’s been arrested for John’s murder. The cops know the speargun was his, and the new contract is motive. But that’s only the beginning of his troubles. Something far, far more valuable than his freedom is about to be taken from him…
Outstanding prose. A tight, gripping plot. Vivid characters who surprise you. A shocking twist toward the end. Dead Low Tide had everything. I highly recommend it.
Minor cautions for mature themes.