(Religion News Service:) Frederick Buechner was asked on numerous occasions how he would sum up everything he had preached and written in both his fiction and nonfiction.
The answer, he said, was simply this: “Listen to your life.”
That theme was constant across more than six decades in his career as a “writer’s writer” and “minister’s minister” — an ordained evangelist in the Presbyterian Church (USA) who inspired Christians across conservative and progressive divides with his books and sermons.
Buechner died peacefully in his sleep on Monday (Aug. 15) at age 96, according to his family.
A part of the encampment at the Crow Wing Viking Festival. My tent is the one with the red frame, behind the guy with the white tee-shirt at the picnic table.
Good weekend. Brainerd, Minnesota is only a 2-hour drive from my home, so road time wasn’t bad. The weather wasn’t postcard perfect, but when you’re a medieval reenactor, cool temperatures and cloudy skies are just what the barber-surgeon ordered. A high in the 70s is rare in Minnesota in August, and we appreciated it. I had a very nice host with a lovely home, who made me welcome and grilled hamburgers. And I sold almost all the books I brought.
This was, I think, the third Crow Wing Viking Festival. It was the second held at the Crow Wing County Fairgrounds. I drove to the fairground site Friday night, and the young people helped me unload my tent and set it up, as some of them were planning to sleep in it. Kids these days seem to think that sort of thing is fun. Considerate man that I am, I brought a green plastic tarp for them to use as a ground sheet, at no additional charge.
Saturday morning we all set up and the public started showing up. Attendance was steady through most of the day. When I’d sold out my whole stock of Viking Legacy, I looked at the time and found it was only 1:30 p.m. I was sure it had been longer, not because I was bored, but because I’d been busy. Lots of people had questions, and the lucky ones came to me with them. Not long after, I sold out the last of my The Year of the Warrior too. It all wrapped up at 4:00 p.m.
The saddest thing, for me, was some people (whom I will not describe in detail) who came as spectators in Viking costume, hoping to fit in. Some had clearly spent serious money assembling their kits, but the costumes were purely out of their imaginations. I think they were hoping for admiration and cries of “Welcome, brother!” They were disappointed, I expect.
Here’s a tip: If you want to be a reenactor, join a group first, and learn their guidelines. Get advice. Unless you’re already a historian.
There were battles, enjoyed by enthusiastic crowds.
There were also craftspeople and vendors. Here, for instance, is a guy making wooden bowls with a pole lathe.
Thanks to all who participated in the event. I call it a success, which ought to settle the matter.
Courtesy of our friend, Dale Nelson, here’s a video of poet/priest Malcolm Guite (whose taste in clothing seems unnervingly similar to my own), reading some of C. S. Lewis’s poetry in Lewis’s very study, in his home — the Kilns, Headington Quarry, Oxford.
Smithsonian Magazine states, “Red, white and black stones make up the tessellated floor. Its pattern features large lotus flowers, colorful blooms and intricate twists of closed loops known as ‘Solomon’s knots.'”
Experts believe the floor was created in the late 2nd or early 3rd century.
If you’re anywhere around Brainerd Minnesota on Saturday, you have the awesome opportunity to see me at the Crow Wing Viking Festival, demonstrating the ancient Viking craft of selling paperback books. And, oh yes, there’ll be some other Vikings around, doing actual Viking stuff.
It’s held at the fairgrounds. You can learn all about it at the festival web site, linked above. We did it there last year too, and it was great fun. I recall we were all champing at the bit to go back in time again, after a long two long years of Plague and Penance.
This looks to be an interesting summer for me. I may be going as far as Montana next month, and I’m scheduled to participate in an alumni author’s forum at one of my several alma maters, in Iowa, for Homecoming. I’ll keep you informed.
I’ll have a post tomorrow, in spite of being out of town — if I can figure out how to set this contraption to “post later.”
The engagingly readable historian David McCullough, 89, died this week. In 1992, he said he wanted readers to know “that things didn’t have to turn out as well as they did. I want them to know that life felt every bit as uncertain to people back then as it does to us today.”
McCullough was awarded Pulitzer Prizes for two books, Truman and John Adams. He also received two National Book Awards for The Path Between the Seas and Mornings on Horseback. He wrote many other books, those most recently published being The Wright Brothers, The American Spirit, and The Pioneers.
History isn’t just something that ought to be taught or ought to be read or ought to be encouraged because it’s going to make us a better citizen. It will make us a better citizen; or because it will make us a more thoughtful and understanding human being, which it will; or because it will cause us to behave better, which it will. It should be taught for pleasure: The pleasure of history, like art or music or literature, consists of an expansion of the experience of being alive, which is what education is largely about.
“Knowing History and Knowing Who We Are,” Imprimis, April 2005
Good writing. Fully rounded characters. Love, pathos, and moral horror. Chris Culver’s Those Who Remain is a fascinating and disturbing book. I can’t say I loved it, because it left me troubled. But it’s darn good.
Homer Watson is a sheriff’s detective in St. Louis County, Missouri. He’s a family man, and happy in his life. But there are pressures. One of his small sons is autistic, and doing poorly in school. He and his wife would love to put the boy in a special school, but their salaries just won’t stretch that far.
One day he’s called to the site of a possible suicide. He recognizes the victim. It’s Hailey Bowman, a young woman who killed a policeman a year ago. She claimed he’d tried to rape her and was found not guilty. There are a lot of cops who’d have liked to see her dead.
But Homer’s a straight arrow. When the death proves to be murder, he looks to his fellow cops for suspects. That doesn’t pan out, but he gets a tip that Hailey has been living as the kept girlfriend of her defense lawyer, a man Homer has personal reasons to despise.
And when Homer gets an offer of a good-paying job from someone he cleared as a suspect, and he accepts it for his son’s sake, all his colleagues suspect the worst about him.
But the reader knows from the very beginning that Homer’s on the wrong track. The person really responsible is Pilar Garcia, a loving grandmother. Pilar runs an ostensibly legitimate cleaning business, but her main work force is composed of illegal aliens. She brings these people in and pays them below minimum wage to maximize profits. On the other hand, she makes sure they’re well fed, healthy, and housed, and helps them get established once their indentures are over. She is full of good will, and cares about her family above all things. She cares so much for her family that she’s willing to kill innocent outsiders to protect them – or to keep them in line.
Pilar is a masterfully painted portrait of how even a human’s best natural instincts can lead to appalling evil. I don’t know what the author intended, but one can’t help thinking of the doctrine of Original Sin.
Those Who Remain was well-written, compelling, and horrifying. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to read the next Homer Watson book. But I can recommend this one highly.
Are schools getting more transgressive in your community? The national push will suggest a righteous war of librarians and school officials against parents who, I don’t know, want their kids to be safe and not exposed to content that can’t be read in a school board meeting.
Here in the Midwest (which is actually the North Central US, but why be pedantic?), when we encounter something that’s unlike anything we’ve seen before, but still doesn’t impress us much, we damn it with faint praise by saying, “Well, that’s different.”
I’d describe Mark Gilleo’s Hunting Rabbits as “different.” I can honestly say I haven’t ever read anything quite like it before.
Charlie Gates is chief of police in Williamsburg, Virginia, home of Colonial Williamsburg. One day there’s a holdup at a local drug store, and the culprit is thwarted, getting his arm broken by a bystander who knows how to handle himself. The bystander then disappears.
The next part of the story confused me a little. Williamsburg isn’t a big town, as far as I know. But the police resources that are now devoted to this non-lethal crime struck me as implausible in any police department these days. Charlie is even able to secure the assistance of a big-city homicide detective, Luis “Quags” Millares, who becomes his trusty right-hand man.
Studying surveillance camera footage, they learn that the crime-stopping bystander soon left the area on a bus, along with a couple other drug store customers. A little inquiry reveals that this bus is one of a private fleet whose sole purpose is to transport CIA trainees to and from “The Farm,” the nearby, high-security federal training facility.
Even more intriguing, a fingerprint on the robber’s gun, touched by the crime-stopper, matches a print from the scene of an old murder – that of Charlie’s own sister, one of the victims of a still-unidentified serial killer decades ago.
What confronts them then is what I’d describe as a “black box” investigation. Because of security regulations, the cops find themselves unable to interrogate either their suspect or any witnesses. What they end up doing is to present various threats of bad publicity to the Farm authorities, and then watch as they themselves clean up their own mess — not always getting it right, either.
I found the story unsatisfactory in several ways. The decisive stuff in the narrative happens mostly offstage. Our heroes are just spectators, sometimes unsatisfied spectators.
Also I thought the characterization was clumsy, especially at the beginning, where characters commit the common literary sin of telling people too much at their first meetings. And there were some homophone spelling problems.
The book wasn’t bad, but it didn’t leave me wanting more.
There’s much talk today of the death of Olivia Newton-John, the famous Australian singer. And that’s appropriate. She was a great talent (not to mention a heartthrob for my generation).
But I just learned of the death, last Friday, of another great Australian singer. Judith Durham of the Seekers succumbed to a long-standing lung condition. She was 79.
According to what I’ve read, Miss Durham was a Christian who hesitated at first to go into secular music because she was committed to Gospel.
The Seekers’ music was unique. I hope it lasts forever, because it sure means a lot to this old man.
