‘Away in a Manger’

Tonight, “Away in a Manger.” It’s a Christmas hymn I tend to overlook – because it’s expressly for children and not very sophisticated. In my own personal history, it was the first Christmas carol I ever memorized. I remember (probably erroneously) singing it to my grandmother and an aunt or two (using the melody in the clip above) while riding in a car at night at Christmastime. But I moved on to songs that had more going on under the surface.

When I was a kid, I often heard “Away in a Manger” referred to as “Luther’s Cradle Hymn.” Everybody knew it was a translation from Luther. Turns out it wasn’t, though. Luther did write a Christmas hymn for his children, but it’s called “From Heaven Above To Earth I Come,” and can be found in any Lutheran hymnal. Nothing in his works resembles “AIAM” at all. It is, as someone has pointed out, not his kind of thing. If he’d written it, he’d have thrown in more theology. He was not a man to let a chance to catechize people go to waste. Sentimental he was not.

The origins of “AIAM” are in fact quite mysterious. According to Wikipedia, its earliest known appearance was on March 2, 1882 in the “Children’s Corner” of an anti-Masonic paper called The Christian Cynosure. Within a few months it had appeared in a couple other publications, always identified as “Luther’s Cradle Song.” This is rather perplexing. Somebody actually wrote the thing, but they gave credit to the Reformer. Why?

It’s been suggested (again, I get this from Wikipedia) that it may have originated in a forgotten children’s Christmas play, in which Luther sings the song for his children. Maybe somebody took the script literally, and reprinted it cutting the play’s author out. Nobody seems to have sued for copyright infringement, in any case.

The immortal author Lars Walker refers to “AIAM” in his novel Troll Valley, complaining that, because the song describes “the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay,” many people draw the erroneous conclusion that hay is stuff for animals to sleep on. This is wrong, because a manger is a feed trough, and hay is for eating and belongs there. What animals sleep on is straw, another agricultural product altogether.

‘Star Light, Star Bright,’ by Stanley Ellin

Private investigator John Milano, hero and narrator of Star Light, Star Bright, works for a large New York agency. When his boss gets a special request from a multi-millionaire for his services in protecting a man at his own estate near Miami, John is less than enthusiastic. Because that multimillionaire is married to Sharon Bauer, gorgeous movie queen. John was involved with Sharon a couple years ago, and she in fact left him for the rich guy. But the money’s so good he can’t refuse.

Down in Florida, he finds himself tasked with protecting a man who calls himself Kalos, leader of a trendy cult (whom John knows from his past as a con man astrologer). Sharon is a member of the cult, as are several other movie people who are resident at the estate. Typewritten threats to Kalos’s life have been showing up – reinforced by the killing of the family dog. It’s John’s job, not only to protect Kalos, but to figure out who has a motive for killing him. Also to fend off the advances of Sharon, who’s suddenly interested in him again, while trying to get close to her husband’s secretary, who’s standoffish.

I quite enjoyed Star Light, Star Bright. John Milano is a strong, masculine hero, somewhat in the Travis McGee category, though less laid back. The characters were vivid, and the puzzle genuinely puzzling – blindsided me completely. There are a couple sequel books, and I plan to read them.

Recommended.

‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’: not a secret code

Above, a fine rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” done by Hayley Westenra and some guys I never heard of.

I was thinking about Christmas music today. I’ve posted a number of Christmas hymns here over the years, but not a lot of secular carols. I thought, “I should post a fun, secular Christmas song, and talk about it.” Then I asked, “What is my favorite secular Christmas song?” And I realized I have no idea.

I don’t think of the secular Christmas songbook the same way I think of the hymns. Aside from a couple that I hate (like “Little Drummer Boy,” which I’ve denounced here before), I like them all pretty equally, as familiar, mostly interchangeable elements of the season’s background music. The songs have pleasant associations. I’d date them, but I don’t want to marry any of them.

There’s a story that keeps going around (I haven’t seen it yet on Facebook this year, but I expect it’ll show up) that says the song was originally a super-secret, underground memory aid to help Catholics in teaching their children the catechism, back when Catholicism was illegal in England. This story is completely false, and won’t sustain even a few seconds of dispassionate interrogation, let alone a persecutor’s thumbscrews. (I’m not denying the persecution, though. I can sympathize, even as a Lutheran.)

Let me say this clearly: Two random numbered lists don’t assist each other in any way. Mnemonics mostly rely on matching first letters – as in repeating “Good Boys Do Fine Always” to help one remember the whole notes in the treble clef (or something. I remember the mnemonic, but I’ve forgotten what it’s supposed to remind me of). The gifts in the “Twelve Days” bear no resemblance to the theological points they’re supposed to recall. It’s like saying, “Here’s a list of Holy Roman Emperors to help you remember the state capitols of the US. See, here’s Number One, Charlemagne – he corresponds to Montgomery, Alabama.”

“The Twelve Days of Christmas” is an example of what’s called a “cumulative song” according to Wikipedia (and since this isn’t about politics, I figure I can trust them here). Cumulative songs are songs played as games, where people sit in a ring (ideally) and each person in turn repeats what the previous singers have sung, and then adds an item of their own. The next singer has to do the same, adding yet another item to the list. When someone forgets, they usually have to pay a forfeit, such as being kissed or taking a drink.

Such games used to be popular in the days before electronic entertainment, and I myself am old enough to remember playing such a game (though I forget its title; need a mnemonic here) on a long bus ride to Bible camp in North Dakota.

Such feats of memory no doubt will astonish future generations – and probably a generation or two that’s around now.

Have I mentioned that I used to be able to recite “The Cremation of Sam McGee”?

‘The Fragile Cage,’ by Scott Hunter

Author Scott Hunter has chosen to set his series starring English former police detective Cameron Kyle in the 1970s, when the world was (or seemed) a little simpler. I have no objection to that. In the first book, The Fragile Cage, he seems to be paying homage to James Bond and the adventure stories of the period – and that’s fine too, as far as I’m concerned.

Cameron Kyle stopped being a cop when his partner was shot to death, and he himself took a bullet to the head, which left a sliver in his brain, in an inoperable spot. He now suffers from chronic headaches, and from personality change. Formerly a rather cautious man, he’s now a risk-taker – not exactly optimal for a guy who’s supposed to take it easy and avoid shocks.

Kyle has a former girlfriend who does social work with prisoners. When he learns that one of her subjects has kidnapped her and escaped prison, he goes looking for them. The police warn him off, but he doesn’t care.

The Fragile Cage is pretty well written, and it kept my interest throughout. I thought the plotting – especially the character development – was a little weak; the villains tended to be unnecessarily cruel for no apparent reason. The first big scene of the hero and a female cop in peril struck me as improbably complex, like a scene in a supervillain’s secret lair in a Bond movie. And the final confrontation between Kyle and the main villain was theatrical and unconvincing. So I don’t rate the book highly on believability.

But I did enjoy reading it. I might even read the sequel.

The Tale of Klypp the Hersir

Illustration of Klypp killing King Sigurd Sleva, by Christian Krohg, for J.M. Stenersen & Co.’s 1899 edition of Heimskringla. Krohg was a Commie and made ugly pictures, and I’ve never liked him.

I’m still researching my book on Haakon the Good. It occurred to me that I possess a resource most English-speaking scholars don’t have access to – the Norwegian translation of Flatøybok, published by my friends at Saga Bok in Norway. In it I came upon a fuller version of a story that Snorri Sturlusson only mentions in passing in Heimskringla. Which also involves Erling’s family. Had I known this story when I wrote my Erling books, I might have changed a couple lines.

The Tale of Sigurd the Slobberer

It is said that when the sons of Gunnhild [widow of King Erik Bloodaxe] ruled in Norway, King Sigurd Sleva (the Slobberer, though I’ve also seen it translated “Sleeve”) sat in Hordaland. He was manly in appearance, and a great spendthrift. Lightminded and inconstant he was, and fond of women, nor was he careful about it.

Torkjell Klypp was the name of a man, a rich hersir in Hordaland; he was the son of Thord Horda-Kaaresson. He was a fearless and strong fellow, and an outstanding man. His wife was named Aalov; she was beautiful and honorable.

It is said that one day King Sigurd Sleva sent him a summons to come and see him, and he did so. Then the king said: “It has come about that there is a voyage west to England to be made, and I want to send you to meet King Adalraad (Ethelred the Unready) and collect tribute from him. Such men as you are best fitted to carry out errands suitable to great men.”

Torkjell answered, “Isn’t it true that you have already sent your own men on such errands, and that they’ve had no success?”

“That is true,” said the king, “but I think you’ll have better success in this matter than they, useless as they were.”

Torkjell answered, “Then it looks as if it is my duty to travel, and I will not make excuses, even if others have had so little luck in the errand.”

Afterward Torkjell set out and went west to England with a good following, met King Adalraad and greeted him. The king received him well and asked who was the leader of this group. Torkjell then explained who he was. The king said, “Of you I have heard that you have a good reputation. Be welcome among us.”

After that Torkjell was with the king over the winter. One day he said to the king: “This is how things stand, my lord, with this journey of mine, that King Sigurd Sleva has sent me to you to collect tribute. And I hope that you can find a good solution for this.”

(Continued after page break)

‘Murders at the Manor,’ by Milo James Fowler

The premise of Murders at the Manor, by Milo James Fowler, is fairly traditional for a cozy English mystery – Inspector Willem Broekstein hears from his old friend Charles for the first time in 30 years. Charles wants him to visit him at the country estate he recently inherited. When he arrives, he meets several other guests, and Charles surprises them all by introducing his beautiful young fiancée. Then one of the guests is murdered, and Inspector Broekstein is on the case.

Only it’s not what the reader assumes. The setting is not England, but Connecticut. And Inspector Broekstein is not a police inspector, but a quality control inspector for a soap company. He is a socially awkward man who enjoys mystery stories and suffers from an overactive bladder.

Occasionally one reads a book and asks oneself “Why? What is the purpose of the exercise?” If it’s a mystery, is it challenging? Suspenseful? If it’s a comedy, is it, well… funny?

In my personal view, Murders at the Manor succeeded only marginally on the first question, and not at all on the second. Partly this is due to my own prejudices – it’s hard to make murder funny for me, and I don’t find bathroom humor funny at all.

The prose in Murders at the Manor, I’ll admit, was pretty good. But I got the sense that the author didn’t really like his hero – Willem Broekstein is a fairly pathetic character, lonely, unloved, and forever in danger of wetting his pants. I felt sorry for him, but I think I was supposed to roar with laughter at his frequent humiliations.

I didn’t like Murders at the Manor much. Your mileage may vary.

‘The D.A. Calls a Turn,’ by Erle Stanley Gardner

You may recall that I’ve discovered, rather to my surprise, that I enjoy Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason novels. They’re nothing profound or inspirational, but they’re interesting reading entertainment, competently written.

But Perry Mason, defense lawyer, wasn’t the only continuing character Gardner created. Another character – on the other side of the legal fence – was Doug Selby, district attorney in a small town outside of Los Angeles. I found a deal on book 5, The D.A. Calls a Turn.

The story starts on Thanksgiving day. A successful local businessman is killed in an auto accident. Oddly, although his shoes and socks are expensive, he’s wearing an old suit that’s too small for him. The coroner says that he did not die in the crash, but was murdered beforehand.

D.A. Doug Selby, along with his friend the sheriff, and his girlfriend, a friendly newspaper reporter, conclude that the only explanation is that the victim must have been suffering from amnesia. He had suffered some kind of trauma in the past, they postulate, and started a new life as a businessman. Then, for some reason, he had regained his memory on Thanksgiving, gone to fetch his old clothes, and gone on the run. It is assumed he has a criminal past.

The whole plot is kind of complicated and (I thought) far-fetched, and frankly I had trouble tracking it. The writing was okay – Gardner was a pro. But the story didn’t compel me – maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

I might note that this e-book has a number of Optical Character Recognition errors, and it must have been published from the British edition, as it uses English orthography.

‘The Most Curious Case,’ by Jason Fischer

This review will be short, for the rather embarrassing reason that I don’t have any strong memories of the book. I finished it last Friday night, and forgot it completely over the weekend.

That doesn’t mean it was awful. If it had been awful, I probably would have remembered it better.

The hero of Jason Fischer’s The Most Curious Case is Rex Haining, a former police detective forced into retirement because of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, which he has been self-treating with alcohol.

But when his old superiors find themselves faced with a locked room mystery, they turn to Rex. The secretary of a foreign dignitary has been found dead in his boss’s office, stabbed in the heart. In addition, a jewel necklace, a national treasure, has disappeared, assumed stolen.

Rex investigates, finally solving the mystery – and you can’t blame the police for not doing it first, because the solution is pretty darn far-fetched.

The Most Curious Case wasn’t badly written, so far as I recall. Also, it was short – if that’s a positive in your world.

I guess I neither recommend nor disrecommend this book.

‘No Safe Place,’ by Michael Ledwidge

Michael Ledwidge is a successful thriller writer who has collaborated several times with James Patterson. So he knows the formula for keeping readers turning pages. No Safe Place, book 3 in a series about retired police detective Michael Gannon, makes that very plain.

Unfortunately, it’s possible to overdo the formula, at least in this reader’s view.

Michael Gannon didn’t want to retire as a New York cop, but he’s doing his best to enjoy his free time. He especially enjoys fishing, which is what brought him back to his New England home town. To make things even more perfect, he’s run into a girl he had a crush on in high school, now divorced and available.

But that’s before the bar where they’re meeting is invaded by armed men, in search of the mayor’s wife, who has decided to inform on her husband’s illegal activities. Only she can’t guess how very illegal those activities are, or how many powerful people are up to their elbows in the racket. Michael and the others would have no chance against them, except that Michael has a few tricks – and weapons – in his kit.

The writing in No Safe Place wasn’t bad in itself – the spelling and grammar were okay. But I got a strong feeling of first draft here anyway. The book feels as if it were written quickly, strictly following a template of dramatic beats. The chapters are very short, and switch jarringly back and forth between Michael (first person) and other characters, especially the villains. None of the villains has much depth.

I disliked the staccato jerkiness of the narrative, and I didn’t believe the preposterous premise for a moment. This is junk food literature – easy to chew, highly flavored, zero nutrients. Quickly finished and forgotten.

Not awful, and profanity was avoided. But I wasn’t impressed.

Based Book Sale

My novel West Oversea is currently available at the low, low price of 99 cents! See it, and a lot of other good books at good prices, at the 2025 Black Friday/Cyber Monday Based Books Sale!

Just something to be thankful for.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture