Continuing my one-man, hate-filled vendetta against the new Prince Caspian movie, I’ll link to a couple blog reviews today.

Christopher Cowan of The Council for Biblical Manhood and Womanhood has posted two pieces on the movie—here and here. His reservations are much the same as mine. Except for being more coherent, better developed, and properly researched, of course.

Gene Edward Veith at Cranach was disappointed with the movie, for a different reason.

Everything I read tells me that this is probably a pretty good flick, one which I’d enjoy under other circumstances.

But as an adaptation of Prince Caspian, it appears to be deeply flawed.

I’m sad about that.

It seems to me that one of the problems with believing in Karma (not that I’m seriously considering it) would be that most of us are prone to think we’ve earned less of the bad stuff, and deserved more of the good stuff, than is actually the case.

To choose an example entirely at random, take me. This was The Weekend of the Set-up Crew for me. As you know if you’ve been following my bellyaching, my church meets in a gymnasium, and we have five teams that rotate rolling out the tarps and setting up chairs, stage, sound system, etc. It usually only involves one hour on Saturday and another hour after church on Sunday morning.

This weekend was not my team’s turn. But a call went out that most of this week’s team had conflicts (crafty villains that they were), and could somebody help? So I agreed, despite my abhorrence for both physical work and the society of my fellow man. I then learned that this weekend would involve three hours. First there’d be the routine Saturday set-up. Then on Sunday, instead of tearing down after church, we’d have to move some stuff around and set up risers, because our school was having its graduation ceremony that night. And then we’d have to come in Sunday night, after the ceremony, to do the actual tear-down.

It’s with considerable self-complacency that I inform you that not one of the regular team was present for all three sessions. Only one, lone volunteer did that—Your Arrogant Servant.

In my mind, I’m paddling in the deep end of an Olympic-size pool of good karma.

Let me tell you—any enterprise that depends on the energy and industry of Lars Walker for its success is in a bad way. Any crew whose most reliable physical laborer is Lars Walker is clearly suffering from malaise, decomposition and decline.

It hope it’s not a portent of my church’s future.

Had any trouble pulling out this blog lately? The vast technical team that keeps this blog running is working on a potential problem, but they want to hear about your experience good or bad. I guess they don’t want to take Lars and my word for it. I’d ask who pays the bills around here, but that would just escalate the tension. So, has BwB been slow on your end?

This was the first perfect day of the year, from a weather point of view (or at least from mine). It wasn’t just “sort of warm if you overlooked the frigid undertones.” It was genuinely warm, without any equivocation or small print. You probably would have preferred yesterday, since my thermostat is set a little warmer than most people’s, but I think you would have agreed that today was nevertheless the caterpillar’s overcoat (1920s slang cribbed from P. G. Wodehouse).



If you’re deeply conflicted (like all good Americans) by my critique of reports on the Prince Caspian movie yesterday, and want a good reason to see the movie in spite of my carping, Dirty Harry at Libertas gives a strong argument here.

We are nothing if not openminded here at Brandywine Books. Our openmindedness is the same as that of America’s greatest educational institutions—we present a broad range of opinions stretching all the way from people who almost agree with me on the right to people who almost agree with me on the left.

It seems to have fallen off the news radar today, but I meant to mention this story yesterday. The wildfires described are located precisely in the area where I lived, when I lived in Florida. I had a mobile home in a park on US 1 in Malabar, and my parents lived in Palm Bay. I’m not actually in touch with anybody down there anymore, but I pray my old friends haven’t suffered any loss (assuming any of them are still in town).

It’s all Florida scrub down there, and from an ecological point of view a wildfire every twenty years is the best thing that could happen. I can say that, of course, because I don’t own any property there anymore.

I paged through WORLD Magazine yesterday, and saw that they published a big, vividly illustrated article on the new Prince Caspian movie.

The article was very positive, even boosterish, but it had the opposite effect on me than was intended. I’d been excited to see the movie, but after reading the article I made the sad decision not to go.

What set me off was a statement that director Andrew Adamson decided to make Susan Pevensey a warrior in the battle (in the film), though Lewis had made it a point to keep her out of it (in the book).

The more I think about this, the more it bothers me. I understand that I’m touchy and obsessive on the subject, but there are times when madmen (like me) can see the truth that sane people can’t, because we look where nobody else is looking. If it’s true that the truths that are most important to defend in any age are precisely those that are most despised, then madmen are sometimes the bloodhounds who smell out what the truth-hunters don’t see.

The decision to kick aside a plot point that mattered to Lewis, just because it’s unfashionable, is not a minor matter (or so it seems to me). In this situation it’s a declaration that there is no special calling for a man to be warrior and protector in the world. Nobody seems to see this, but to me it’s obvious—such a view has dangerous, catastrophic consequences, not only for boys and men but for society as a whole. It’s an assertion (one at which Lewis would have snorted in contempt) that there is no essential difference between men and women; that there are only interchangeable hominid units.

You think this doesn’t matter for society? Look at what happened at the California Supreme Court today, where the justices struck down the state’s marriage protection law. The court’s decision was based, at bottom, on the conviction that men and women are interchangeable. Marry a man. Marry a woman. Take your choice, it’s all the same.

If you think the court decision was good, you probably won’t understand what I’m talking about. But if it troubles you, maybe you’ll see what I’m trying to say.

Even if I’m nuts.

Finally got in a walk tonight. What with bad weather and uneven health, I haven’t been able to do that for a month.

I spent the morning with a salesman for the company that provides our library cataloging software. We’re essentially in the Bronze Age in our technology, and it’s going to have to be upgraded. Unfortunately, I fear we won’t be able to go with these guys anymore, because I suspect our schools won’t spring for the price tag.

But it was an enjoyable few hours. The salesman was an Englishman, transplanted to America, and in the dead spaces caused by some wireless connection problems we found that we have shared enthusiasms for Norway, Monty Python and Patrick O’Brien.

It’s a rare pleasure for me to spend time with someone who wants something from me, and so is forced to act if I were good company.

Here’s a story the Sons of Norway won’t be highlighting anytime soon. One of the noted Norwegian-Americans we don’t talk about much was an Indiana farm woman named Belle Gunness. She was a celebrity in her time—one of America’s first known serial killers, and an example of the rare female variety at that. The University of Indianapolis has exhumed the body identified as hers after her house mysteriously burned down in 1908 (evidence is strong that it was another woman Belle murdered to fake her own death), along with Belle’s children (named Sorensen and Gunness due to multiple marriages), whom Belle probably poisoned to death before setting the fire. They’re going to do DNA tests to see if they’re all related or not. Continue reading The bell tolls for Belle, the troll →

I was a teenage Elvis impersonator. There are worse things.