Where do you like to read? Favorite chair? In the tub? Down on the ccean floor? I have a chair in my house which is cursed with a sleeping hex, I suspect. Whenever I try to read in it, I have to fight off sleep.
How I was corrupted early by degenerate literature
It occurs to me that this is a book blog, and I ought to post about books occasionally.
I’ve already told you pretty much everything I know about writing. I’ll probably be recycling that stuff again after a while, but not quite yet.
So I’ll write about books.
You want to know about books that were important to me growing up, don’t you? Sure you do.
The first book I recall vividly is one of those Golden Books that were so popular back then (do they still have those? Not that I actually care.) It was about Davy Crockett, with pictures based on scenes from the Disney series. I think the Davy Crockett craze happened simultaneously with the arrival of sentience in my life, so I imprinted on Davy Crockett with great intensity. I don’t actually recall seeing the programs on their first showing, but I remember very vividly the Crockett stuff I had. Aside from the book, my brother Moloch and I both had Crockett caps and tee-shirts. I also remember some kind of jigsaw puzzle or board game.
There’s a family legend that I was able to read the Davy Crockett book at a very young age. This was an illusion. The truth was that I had memorized the entire text, and I could recite it by page.
I still have a soft spot for Congressman Crockett, whatever kind of hat he actually wore.
Strangely, I don’t have much clear memory of my other kids’ books, although I’m confident we had a fair number. The next book that really caught my interest (helped by the fact that I could actually read by the time it showed up) was a book called What Cheer?, an anthology of light verse edited by David McCord and published by The New American Library.
The book was actually a Christmas gift to my mother, as I recall, but I was the one in the family who seized on it and spent hours and hours in its pages. Bear in mind that this was grown-up, pretty sophisticated poetry, originally published in journals like The New Yorker or Punch, a lot of which was definitely unsuited to my age. But I escaped corruption through my inability to understand more than maybe an eighth of what I was reading. It didn’t matter to me. I loved the play of words. I loved the jokes, when I got them, or thought I did. I loved the rhythm of the stuff, and the challenge of big words I didn’t know yet. We didn’t have a lot of books in our house, but I think that one was what made me a writer. I still have a copy (though not that particular one, as it happens).
The other published work I’d have to count was The Universal Standard Encyclopedia, published by Funk & Wagnall. My folks bought it one volume at a time, at Nelson’s Super Valu grocery store in Faribault, Minnesota. It was not a premier reference work, but it was what we had, and I took advantage of it. I did not read the books through. I took down volumes at random, and high-graded them for stuff that interested me. I picked up a lot of odd facts that came in handy from time to time throughout the years of my education.
That’s enough for tonight. Have a good weekend.
Watch the Snark
CAAF is on Snarkwatch. What did James Wood say about Don DeLillo’s use of the “inflationary mode” in Falling Man? Find out today on Snarkwatch.
The Joy of Eight
In which each player lists eight facts/habits about themselves, the rules of the game being posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed, eight people tagged at the end of the post, listing their names. The player then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read his blog.
In this post, I am to list eight facts/habits about myself, and I’m tempted to list such banal observations as my possession of ten fingers and two ears. No matter what you think about me, I do in fact have ten fingers and, though I can’t see them at the moment, I also have two ears. What else is there to know about me?
- Here’s a deep one. Though I believe a newish pair of khakis shrunk an inch in the wash, I still wear them. I look silly in them sometimes, but I am silly sometimes so maybe it fits me perfectly.
- Like Lars, I have read The Lord of the Rings aloud to my wife, children, and sister-in-law–The Hobbit and part of The Silmarillion too.
- I also read The Man Who Was Thursday off the Internet to my fabulous wife, and my oldest girl, who was three or four, heard part of it and asked to hear it again a little later. She is so cute.
- I wear size 11.5 shoes and currently own two pair of ECCO brand. They have been great, comfortable shoes, but when they wear out, I think I’ll buy something cheap. Maybe a penny-loafer.
- I am in the habit of rising promptly with my morning alarm and falling asleep in a chair a few minutes later, sometimes bending over in such a way that my arms or legs go to sleep too. I’m trying to break that habit.
- I work as an in-house graphic designer for CBMC.
- Sometime this year, I hope to start a fight in the steel cage at iStockphoto. I don’t have the skills for it yet. The photo editing I did a little while back–kid’s stuff.
- In college, a friend and I wrote a little murder mystery for our friends to role-play. It didn’t come off the way I wanted, but it was fun, so I supposed we succeeded in our first time at role-playing a story. My co-writer got herself murdered because she knew who the real criminal was and wanted to see all of the action, so she pursued him, not thinking she could easily become a victim.
Tags: Jared of Thinklings (and whatever other blogs he plants)
Mark Bertrand
Scott, who is the nameless warrior
Amy of Books, Words, and Writing
and You. Leave a comment to let me know where you post your list. (Most links removed because they ain’t good no longer.)
A kiss is still a kiss… I think
Listening to talk show host Laura Ingraham in the mornings doesn’t usually lower my spirits, but today was just depressing.
She made a comment about guys who don’t know how to kiss. “They’re the worst,” she said, if I remember correctly.
Cut me to the quick, that one did.
Now I know how liberals feel, getting personally attacked on talk radio.
The issue never actually came up in my life, social phobic that I am, until the time I played Tony in “You Can’t Take It With You,” (Jimmie Stewart played him in the movie version, because I was unavailable [that is, not yet born] at the time). I’d always assumed that the thing must be fairly easy, but the mechanics gave me unexpected trouble. I’d never realized that you had to do something about The Nose In the Way Problem.
I’m sure the woman who played Alice thought I was a complete dork.
I’m also sure she was right.
But as far as Laura Ingraham is concerned, I now begin to see the logic behind the Fairness Doctrine. If that rule were in place, maybe I could go on the air and offer a spirited defense of socially handicapped dorks everywhere. Call for a federal program or something.
In closing, I offer this link to a brilliant recent post on the Iowahawk blog. I’ve been meaning to share it for several days, and it’s as good a way as any to close out this embarrassing post.
“Then the Earth Reeled and Rocked”
Psalm 18 (English Standard Version)
To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David, the servant of the LORD, who addressed the words of this song to the LORD on the day when the LORD rescued him from the hand of all his enemies, and from the hand of Saul. He said:
1I love you, O LORD, my strength.
2The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
3I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies.
4The cords of death encompassed me;
the torrents of destruction assailed me;
5the cords of Sheol entangled me;
the snares of death confronted me.
6In my distress I called upon the LORD;
to my God I cried for help.
From his temple he heard my voice,
and my cry to him reached his ears.
7Then the earth reeled and rocked;
the foundations also of the mountains trembled
and quaked, because he was angry.
Continue reading “Then the Earth Reeled and Rocked”
Point of Impact, by Stephen Hunter
I said a little about Stephen Hunter’s Point of Impact a few posts back, and I told you I was enjoying it quite a lot.
That was an understatement.
Now, I suppose that’s old news to many of you. I expect I’m far behind the curve (as is so often the case), since this book and its sequels and collaterals have been out for a while. So this review would probably better be called an appreciation. I just want to babble a little about how much I enjoyed Point of Impact, and to share my priceless insights on why I think it’s so great.
The chief beauty here is that the book is centered on a strong, well-rounded, sympathetic hero. If you’ve been reading this blog for any time at all you know I think character is king, and Bob Lee Swagger, the hero of this book, is a hero and a half. I don’t think there’s been a straight-ahead, singleminded, admirable main guy like this since Louis L’Amour died, and L’Amour wasn’t as good a writer as Hunter (I speak as an admirer of L’Amour).
Bob Lee Swagger of Blue Eye, Arkansas is everything books and movies and television have been teaching us to despise for most of my lifetime. He’s a white southerner. His formal education is limited. He’s ex-military, and he loves his guns. He also loves his country, to the point where he destroys evidence that might clear him of a capital accusation, because its release might make America look bad.
Swagger is approached by a mysterious pair of strangers, obviously former soldiers, who offer him a short-term job. They want him to test some new ammunition, they say. His testimonial would be valuable to them, as he was a legendary Marine sniper in Vietnam.
He does the job, and the ammunition is good. But something isn’t right. Bob Lee is not only a shooter, he’s a hunter of men. His hunter’s sense tells him they’re not telling him the full truth, but they entice him with a lure he can’t resist—there’s a plot to kill the president, they say, and the shooter coming in to do the job is a Russian, a famous sniper whom the Vietnamese brought in to take out Bob Lee himself during the war. That sniper crippled Bob Lee and killed his spotter. Bob Lee’s job will be to figure out where the attack will come, and to help them prevent it.
Of course it all goes south from there. Before long Bob Lee is on the run, wounded and the target of a nationwide manhunt.
Another great character is Nick Memphis, an FBI agent who first hunts Bob Lee, and then forms an alliance with him. Nick was a sniper too, years back. He tried to take out a criminal who was holding several women hostage. But he missed the shot and paralyzed a hostage. He married the woman and nursed her for the rest of her life. It doesn’t seem to have ever occurred to him to do anything else.
Even the villains are entirely believable and realistically motivated.
And the women—the women in this book are solid gold, Tammy Wynette, “Stand By Your Man,” grand ladies. They may have moments of envy for the easier lives enjoyed by women who chose lesser men, but they know that they could have had that kind of man if they’d wanted one. (I suppose these women are as much fantasy characters as Bond Girls in the movies. But it’s a whole ‘nother kind of fantasy.)
The plotting is flawless. Tension grows and grows as Bob Lee’s enemies’ plans unfold, and he finds the whole world more and more against him. Yet he never loses his nerve. He never gives up—even with a bullet hole in his chest.
I couldn’t help thinking of James Bond as I read Point of Impact. Like a Bond movie (the books not so much), this novel presents a vision of manhood that most of us can only dream of.
The difference is that, after reading Point of Impact, I wanted to be a better man than I am.
As you’d expect, there’s mature subject matter and harsh language. But I recommend Point of Impact for every grownup man. I have no idea what women think of it.
Timeless Advice
How To Write The Great American Novel, a video by Vernon Lott. I especially like the part about telling others you’re a genius they won’t understand.
Meme of 8
Beautiful day, if a little windy. The temperature is in the 70s, and it looks like tomorrow will be much the same.
Walking through the park this evening, I saw a man standing all by himself, practicing some kind of dance that called for stomping his feet with his knees bent and making elaborate motions with his arms.
I envy him his lack of self-consciousness.
But only that.
Sherry at Intellectuelle has tagged Phil and me with an Eight Things meme. These are the rules:
Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
Hmm, that’s a challenge. Not to write eight things about myself, it goes without saying, but to try to think of eight things about myself I haven’t told you already. Two or three times.
But let’s give it a shot.
1. I’m not a genius. That ought to be a no-brainer (to put it weirdly), but some people seem to have gotten that impression, probably because of my intellectual arrogance. My IQ, at the last testing, was 126. A nice, comfortable upper-middle range figure, but nothing that would get me into MENSA.
2, I have a rather nice singing voice. Indeed, I spent nine years with an obscure Christian musical group. However I have a lousy ear and no ability whatever to play an instrument.
3. I’ve visited Norway 4 times, and have gotten as far north as the North Cape. I’ve also visited Iceland once, and I’ve been to the Leif Eriksson archaeological site at L’Anse Aux Meadows, Newfoundland.
4. On the American side, I’ve visited Abraham Lincoln’s birthplace, his childhood home in Indiana, and his home in New Salem, Illinois. I’ve also been to Ford’s Theater, and the Peterson House across the street where he died. Oh yes, I’ve also visited a house in Tennessee built by Davy Crockett, and Wild Bill Hickok’s grave in Deadwood.
5. In community theater, in Florida, I played Mordred in Camelot, Prof. Moriarty in a Sherlock Holmes play, the leads in both Larry Shue’s comedies, “The Foreigner” and “The Nerd,” Tony in “You Can’t Take It With You,” Crichton in “The Admirable Crichton,” and Clive in “Write Me a Murder.” I also did a local TV commercial for kitchen fans.
6. My personality is almost entirely synthetic, by which I mean it’s man-made. I wasn’t born programmed to be the man I am. As a child (I’m told), I was happy, outgoing and talkative. I grew up to be depressive, introverted and famously taciturn. The difference came because certain people in my life didn’t like my original personality and set about changing it, with complete success.
7. I once read the entire Lord of the Rings out loud (to my roommate). But not in one sitting.
8. I can wiggle my ears.
As is my custom, I shall not tag anyone with this meme.
Winnie The Pooh on Writing with Clarity
“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn’t use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like ‘What about lunch?'” says Pooh. This reminds me of something I said yesterday, that if you need a full article to define one word then you may not understand the word. Simplicity promotes understanding. Roy expands on Pooh’s words and points to more advice from the Bear with Little Brain. This link is to Roy’s blog, “Writing, Clear and Simple.” Roy’s other blog is “Dispatches from Outland”.