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Ukrainians Increasingly Reject Russian Language

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Not that long ago, Ukrainians spoke and read mostly in the Russian language, even if they knew Ukrainian.

In the 60s, novelist Andrey Kurkov writes, “If someone on the street spoke Ukrainian, people thought they were from the village, or some strange intellectual, or maybe even a Ukrainian nationalist. . . . [H]aving Ukrainian as your first language was considered by many as a handicap.”

Today, after 100 days of war, “[o]nline and in casual conversations Ukrainian patriots increasingly refer to Russian as the ‘language of the enemy.’ Those who endorse this rhetoric would prefer to ignore the fact that up to 40 percent of Ukrainians speak Russian as their mother tongue. However, if some of them no longer want to speak Russian, many more no longer want to talk about it.”

Bookselling, Publishing

Russia Published War Novels Telegraphing Their Invasion

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Sergej Sumlenny, a political scientist focused on Eastern Europe and living in Berlin, posted a Twitter thread on the preparations Russian books made in advance of the Ukrainian war.

“One of the first indicators of Russia preparing for a full-scale turn to dictatorship and a global war,” Sumlenny says, “was the mass production of books about cool sides of Stalin and Stalinism and about upcoming war against the West.”

The secret police control the publishing industry, he says, so it wasn’t the free market bringing a surge of books with titles like “Be proud, not sorry! Truth about Stalin Age,” “Stalinist’s Handbook”, and “Stalin’s Repressions: A Great Lie” in 2010 and following. Bookstores followed the theme with vintage war paraphernalia.

Continue reading Russia Published War Novels Telegraphing Their Invasion →
Music

Sunday Singing: I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say

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This marvelous hymn from the Scottish minister Horatius Bonar (1808-1889) has a beautiful grandeur in this recording, but I’ve sung the song at a ripping pace, time and a half this pace, almost like a sea shanty. It’s stirring. I don’t know if the Free Church of Scotland would have approved of it, but I think it still keeps the spirit of worship.

1 I heard the voice of Jesus say,
“Come unto me and rest;
lay down, O weary one, lay down
your head upon my breast.”
I came to Jesus as I was,
weary and worn and sad;
I found in him a resting place,
and he has made me glad.

2 I heard the voice of Jesus say,
“Behold, I freely give
the living water; thirsty one,
stoop down and drink, and live.”
I came to Jesus, and I drank
of that life-giving stream;
my thirst was quenched, my soul revived,
and now I live in him.

3 I heard the voice of Jesus say,
“I am this dark world’s Light;
look unto me, your morn shall rise,
and all your days be bright.”
I looked to Jesus and I found
in him my Star, my Sun;
and in that light of life I’ll walk,
’til trav’ling days are done.

Continue reading Sunday Singing: I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say →
Authors, Blogs, Socials, Publishing

Freedom of the Press, Lovejoy, and Bad Arguments

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I’ve been reading from a book of American speeches from the time of our nation’s founding to the Civil War. It’s good fodder for guilt over my short attention span and how I’ve wasted my life on the Internet. It also shows the value of knowing this kind of history, because arguments made 180 years ago are still circulating today.

John Calhoun’s defense of slavery in the South in a Senate speech in February 1837 goes from reasonable though wrong to ridiculous. We’ve heard the same fearmongering over the last couple years.

In Wendell Phillips’s response to the 1837 murder of abolitionist and journalist Elijah Lovejoy in Alton, Missouri, he rebukes the characterization of the mob as patriots and bizarre criticisms of the freedom of the press. He says an Alton minister claims that no one has the right to print opinions with which his community disagrees. In fact, this minister says speaking what we think is evil.

“This clerical absurdity chooses as a check for the abuses of the press, not the law, but the dread of a mob,” Phillips states. “By doing so, it deprives not only the individual and the minority of their rights, but the majority also, since the expression of their opinion may sometimes provoke disturbance from the minority. A few men may make a mob as well as many.” No one would have a right to speak their mind, if it could provoke a mob.

Haven’t we heard similar arguments against this first freedom today?

John J. Dunphy of the Second Reading Book Shop in Alton, Missouri, reviews a new biography of Elijah Lovejoy, called “First to Fall.”

As for other links I wish to share today . . .

Publisher: Eerdmans – “We do not think it is for us as a publisher to define doctrine for the church,” but we won’t publish “false teaching.” Coming in August 2022 from Eerdmans is a transgender reading of Scripture.

Dostoevsky: “The advice every writer hears at one point or another? Write what you know. Whenever I hear those words I wonder, How do you explain murder stories?”

More important than being right: “Neither labels nor worldly ideologies require renewal or transformation. None of them require humility. And none of them bring life. They simply offer an unbalanced formula to conform to that creates a deeper divide within the church, as well as the culture at large.”

Fully human? “No true portraits of Africans by White artists existed; that White artists couldn’t see past their own ingrained stereotypes of Blackness.” The white author of this novel about two black men believes she can see past such stereotypes, but perhaps not clearly. (via Prufrock)

Photo: Main Street, Stillwater, Minnesota. 2003. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

Fiction

What Makes a Murderer Tick?

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Evil Explored in ‘Pattern of Wounds’

In the second of three crime novels, Pattern of Wounds, J. Mark Bertrand’s homicide detective, Roland March, tries to capture the inner-work of his suspect. He lingers at the hideout, trying to get a feel for the thoughts behind the crimes. He looks forward to the interrogation, hoping to find out what makes him tick, but his superior officer offers another line of thought.

“Maybe you can’t put a label on him. Maybe it’s not enough to say he was insane or evil or a product of a bad environment. But in this case, there’s one thing you do know. He’s guilty.”

The question March wants answered is what produces a dedicated murderer. Many stories depict the wages of hatred as murder. The loving husband, who worries over his troubled marriage, discovers his wife’s infidelity and disdain for him, so in jealous rage he lashes out at her. Most people just walk out; some lose control.

“You have heard that it was said to those of old,” Jesus taught, “‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council…” (Matthew 5:21-22). This raises the bar very high, equating hatred with murder. Despite this warning, many of us still get angry with each other. Some of us hate certain people, even if we don’t actually kill them.

What would provoke us to murder, or are you and I immune by our natures? Bertrand gives us a few clues.

“If Only There Were Evil People”

When the murderer is gradually revealed, we get to read some of the backstory: abusive behavior, broken home, sociopathic trends, etc. We get an explanation for what drove this one person to act, but what goes untold are the many things absent from the final portrait: healthy love, constructive discipline, selflessness, respect for family and outsiders, to list a few. All of these things work together to produce the kind of disturbed person who believes murder is a good exercise.

Is the murderer crying out for a father’s love? Has he been spoiled by permissiveness, by being protected from natural consequences through family or money? Was he abused? Is he just twisted? Yes, maybe all of those things, and together they work to motivate him to choose murder.

So when someone accuses violent video games, for example, of provoking murder, he may have a good point about desensitization and training to kill, but he takes it too far when he implies the games alone bring a player the violence. It can only be one of many factors.

“The Line Dividing Good and Evil”

Detective March does not have a spotless reputation. In the first book, Back on Murder, he works in the Houston Police’s Homicide Department, but he doesn’t work on regular homicide cases. He works the standard procedure cases no one else wants. He earned that position from a long line of disappointing decisions, “letting things drop” and “cutting corners” as he would say. Because of that, his old partner believes he is completely corrupt, and his superiors don’t trust him to follow through with things.

March swears he has changed, and we see the contrast between who he is and who he could be in a Louisianan cop named Fontenot. Both are veteran cops. Both are zealous for justice. Both have been tempted to take matters into their own hands, and both have. But one of them has begun to hold back.

Continue reading What Makes a Murderer Tick? →
Fiction, Reviews

‘Poor Dead Cricket,’ by W. Glenn Duncan

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W. Glenn Duncan’s Rafferty series, about a tough Dallas private eye back before the turn of this century, is not my favorite hard-boiled series by far. Think of Robert B. Parker’s Spenser, then move him to Dallas, give him a gun-happy cowboy buddy instead of a black gangster type, and reduce his intelligence and wit by about 25%, and you’ve got Rafferty. But the books are entertaining enough to keep me interested, and refreshingly un-Woke.

In Poor Dead Cricket, Rafferty is hired by an obscure environmentalist group to investigate the death of one of their informants, Sandra “Cricket” Dawes. Cricket was apparently killed by a mugger in her apartment’s parking lot. Crime of opportunity, no arrest likely. But the environmentalists insist she was in the process of delivering secret files she stole from a nuclear power company employer, documents that could blow the lid off dangerous practices in handling fissionable materials. They think the company killed her. They also want those files, if Rafferty can find them.

Rafferty isn’t much impressed with the environmentalists, whom he considers shallow headline-chasers, and he doesn’t even like much what he learns about Cricket. But she’s dead, and nobody seems very concerned about her as a person. So Rafferty gets to work.

Lots of switches and surprises, a couple gunfights, and a pretty neat final twist. I enjoyed Poor Dead Cricket, and recommend it for light reading. Only minor cautions for language.

Authors, Fiction, Religion, Uncategorized

Of Northmen and Kingsnorth

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Now I draw toward the conclusion of a brief, strenuous stretch of days leading up to the rigors of a long airline flight (different from prison incarceration, as I often say, mainly in that you’re likely to get out of prison ahead of schedule). Friday I drove up to Brainerd to speak to the convention of the 1st District of the Sons of Norway. Spoke twice on Viking Legacy and got a very good response. My only disappointment was that somehow I was boneheaded enough not to check my stock of the book. I had three copies to sell of the book I was promoting. Well done, Marketing Genius! I did have plenty of my novels, The Year of the Warrior and West Oversea (see the upper right, if you’d like to buy them), and they went pretty well.

Anyway, it was a good experience, though driving two hours (each way) is more of a challenge than it used to be – not so long ago, it seems.

Then on Sunday it was Danish Day at the Danish-American Center in Minneapolis. Last year I planned to go, but that was when Mrs. Ingebretsen, my poor PT Cruiser, broke down. The sequel to that, as you may recall, was three-and-a-half months without my car.

This year I crossed my fingers and made it. Nice day, and a good number of our Viking club members showed up to wear costumes and fight with blunt swords. The younger ones did the fighting – I looked on with a paternal smile. I only sold one book, but I never sell much at Danish Day. It was good to be out there again with my A-frame tent. And the young people were very good to help with the loading, unloading, and setting up. And down.

Our friend Gene Edward Veith has a fascinating post today (behind a paywall, alas, but I’ll link to it here anyway) about the novelist Paul Kingsnorth, previously unknown to me, who has quite a conversion story – out-Lewising C. S. Lewis himself. He went from being an atheist to being an environmentalist, to being a seeker, then a Wiccan:

I had known, I suppose, that the abyss was still there inside me—that what I was doing in the woods, though affecting, was at some level still play-acting. Then, one night, I dreamed of ­Jesus. The dream was vivid, what he had looked like. The crux of the matter was that he was to be the next step on my spiritual path. I didn’t believe that or want it to be true. But the image and the message reminded me of something strange that had happened a few months before. My wife and I were out to dinner, celebrating our wedding anniversary, when suddenly she said to me, “You’re going to become a Christian.” When I asked her what on earth she was talking about, she said she didn’t know; she had just had a feeling and needed to tell me. My wife has a preternatural sensitivity that she always denies, and it wasn’t the first time she had done something like this. It shook me. A Christian? Me? What could be weirder?

Eventually he found a home in the Romanian Orthodox Church. His full account can be read on his blog here.

Dr. Veith says he’s ordering Kingsnorth’s novel Alexandria. But since it’s the third book of a trilogy, I can’t resist starting with the first installment, The Wake.

Writing

Can I Become a Writer Without Actually Writing?

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Rob Long has a piece on writers procrastinating by giving talks on writing.

“Writers, in general, love giving these talks, love giving advice, because it’s as close to writer-ish activity as you can get without actually having to write, which is something that all writers, or at least all honest writers, hate.” (via Prufrock)

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Manual of Detection,’ by Jedediah Berry

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On Suspects

They will present themselves to you first as victims, as allies, as eyewitnesses. Nothing should be more suspicious to the detective than the cry for help, the helping hand, or the helpless onlooker. Only if someone has behaved suspiciously should you allow for the possibility of his innocence.

Charles Unwin, hero of The Manual of Detection, is not a detective, but a clerk. He works for a famous detective agency and has the honor of being the clerk entrusted with documenting the cases of Travis Sivart, the greatest detective in the world. Charles is fussy and punctilious, leading an utterly conventional and predictable life in an unnamed city where it’s always raining, and the historical period is ambivalent.

But recently he has changed his routine. Instead of going straight to the office in the morning, he makes a detour to the Central Station, where a young woman in a plaid coat stands every morning waiting for someone who never arrives. Charles fears the day when that person does show up, and he’ll be unable to see her anymore.

One day when he goes to work, he gets a shock. He has been promoted. Detective Sivart has disappeared, and Charles has been named his replacement. This is absurd. Charles is the least qualified person in the world to be a detective. Still, he wants Sivart to come back, so things can go back to normal. So the first case he tackles is Sivart’s disappearance.

Also, the woman in the plaid coat turns out to be his replacement as clerk. He can’t talk to her though, because detectives and clerks are not allowed to socialize.

In his feckless way, Charles will gradually uncover bizarre facts about the bizarre world in which he lives. About old crimes supposed to be closed, and the derelict carnival down by the river, and hypnotism and a criminal mastermind, about the lost final chapter of The Manual of Detection, and about the third, secret division of the detective agency.

I’m told The Manual of Detection is reminiscent of Jose Luis Borges, an author I’ve always been meaning to get around to. It reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, crossed with A Winter’s Tale. In any case it was inventive and amusing, and I read it with great enjoyment. Beautifully written.

Recommended.

Uncategorized

Escape from Auschwitz

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Walter Rosenberg knew that escaping from the Auschwitz Concentration Camp was a crazy idea and probably impossible, but when he turned 18, he knew he should be the one to attempt it. Others had tried and failed. Even attempting to warn someone before their deaths resulted in one’s own death for breaking the deception the Nazi’s employed to efficiently usher their prisoners into the gas chambers.

“The factory of murder that the Nazis had constructed in this accursed place depended on one cardinal principle: that the people who came to Auschwitz did not know where they were going, or for what purpose. . . . The Nazis had devised a method that would operate like a well-run slaughterhouse rather than a shooting party.”

On April 7, 1944, he and Fred Wetzler acted on all of their preparations. The UK Guardian has their story.

“Walter understood that the Nazis wanted him and every other prisoner to conclude that escape was futile, that any attempt was doomed. But Walter drew a very different lesson. The danger came not from trying to escape, but from trying and failing.”