Breaking Bread with the Dead by Alan Jacobs

According to Alan Jacobs, as our society becomes more and more immersed in digital realities, we are losing our personal density. He wrote this book to encourage his audience to learn to think more deeply by reading more widely.

He begins by explaining why our thinking has become so thin. Because of the deluge of information pouring into our minds via screens, we must, of necessity, practice a form of informational triage. We simply cannot read everything so we choose those subjects which are immediately interesting, and topics which are generally written from the point of view of those with whom we agree.

There is no time to think about anything else. This preoccupation with the present, with no regard for history or past ideas, leads to a “lightweight” existence that is easily toppled by life’s hard knocks. Jacobs believes that reading old books (and grappling with their ideas) can give us a stability that is not easily shaken by each current event or recent mode of thinking.

Jacobs encourages us to read older books with a generosity toward the author, which means that instead of writing them off for being racist, sexist, white or male, etc., we need to be gracious toward them and give them more of your attention than you may at certain moments feel that they deserve – because you hope that something good will come of it. At the very least you hope for an expansion of your own understanding.

He writes, I believe that any significant increase in personal density is largely achieved through encounters with un-likeness. When we read something that startles us (or with which we disagree) we are naturally tempted to close the book. But if we disregard all past authors for differences we have with them, our pool of candidates for our attention will get smaller and smaller.  Eventually we get a nicely manageable collection of ideas, all of which are more or less the same. But this limited understanding of the world leaves us impoverished.

G.K. Chesterton’s argued that when we ignore the history and ideas of the past, we do so at our own peril. If the modern man is indeed the heir of all the ages, he is often the kind of heir who tells the family solicitor to sell the whole damned estate, lock, stock, and barrel, and give him a little ready money to throw away at the races or the nightclubs. (from his essay: On Man – Heir of All Ages)

I learned a lot from this book, but while reading, I had to practice what Jacobs preached. Although I sometimes disliked his disdainful tone, I kept going because his main emphases are ideas that are very important to me. If only he had been as generous to those with whom he disagrees (who are still living) as he is with writers of the past. 

Blessings,

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

In a recent post I talked about the “100 Books with Dante” method of tackling daunting classics by reading short chunks each day with a knowledgeable tutor to guide you through. There is nothing wrong with using training wheels to get through a classic for the first time.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is one of those stories that I knew I should read, but didn’t think I could because of the 14th Century Middle English. I noticed that Grace Hamman had covered the book on her podcast, “Old Books with Grace," and decided to read along with her, which was a great way to work my way through the book. I found a simplified (but not dumbed-down) kindle version by Marie Borroff (1923-2019, Lit professor from Yale) for 55 cents. I listened first to Grace’s half-hour introduction to each chapter, and then read the chapter. Hamman’s rich commentary and Borroff’s lovely translation made it a delight.   

The story takes place at Christmastime in the court of King Arthur. While he and his men are feasting, a huge green knight appears and challenges them to a "Christmas game" of chopping off each other's heads. If Arthur is unsuccessful, he must come to the green knight “in a year and a day” to have his own head cut off. King Arthur’s nephew, Sir Gawain, begs to take the king’s place in the match. The rest of the poem recounts his adventures.

I enjoyed this book so much that I bought the Simon Armitage version on Audible (the version Hamman used on her podcast) and look forward to re-visiting it in the future. 

Has anyone else tried to read this? Any thoughts?

Blessings,

Latest Audible Haul

I thought I had all the Audible titles I could possibly want, but once again, they drew me in with the promise of "3 months for 99 cents". I had been wanting to get my hands on Jan Karon's latest Mitford novel, My Beloved, so I jumped at the chance of getting it for 33 cents. ($15 at Amazon). My second credit was spent on a Great Course offering from one of my favorite lecturers (Great Authors of the Western Literary Tradition - 84 lectures by Elizabeth Vandiver!). My third book was Against the Machine by Paul Kingsnorth. So far so good. 

When I discovered that almost all of Wendell Berry's books were on sale for 2 to 3 dollars, I bought eight of them, including his most recent novel (and possibly his last), "Marce Catlett." ($14 on Amazon)

I almost squeezed by without shelling out more money, but then I saw a few more Great Courses for sale done by Vandiver. Ha! 

You know how Sam's Club sells cheap rotisserie chicken at the back of the store so that you'll spend a lot more than you planned before you leave? Audible is no different. They offered me three almost free books and then deluged me for months with other books that were on sale. I'm not sorry for anything I bought, but am glad the temptation to give into book fever has finally ended. (Because somehow I resisted their offer of three more months for half price!)

Do you use Audible? Have you found any particularly good recordings of favorite books? 

Blessings, 

Metamorphoses by Ovid

My reading of Metamorphoses was an example of the old proverb, "Slow and steady wins the race." Inspired by my experience with 100 Days of Dante in which I read through Purgatorio, Inferno and Paradiso (twice!) by the very simple practice of reading 15 minutes per day, 3 times per week, I plunged into another reading project, this time self-formulated.

With Dante, I had not only discovered that reading a hard book was doable, I had learned that, with the right teachers, it could also be enjoyable. I wondered if it would it be possible for me to read the works of Shakespeare the same way. I found a Shakespeare enthusiast (Jake) on Goodreads who had written an extensive list of books to read before ever attempting Shakespeare. I knew that if I read all the books on his list, it would be years before I ever got to the actual plays so I decided to take his top six suggestions. (Ovid, Montaigne's Essays, Nicomachean Ethics,The Iliad, The Odyssey, and Greek and Roman Myths).

It took seven months to get through Metamorphoses, but it was relatively painless. My version by Henry T. Riley was 99 cents for Kindle and had helpful intros to each fable as well as extensive footnotes. (Unfortunately, the maneuverabilty between the text and the footnotes in the appendix was not very smooth.) Even with those helps, I was sometimes clueless, and was happy to discover Ian Johnston's translation online, which was much more accessible. Often Ovid will mention a person or god without using their name ("girl from Arcady, descendent of Abas, son of Apollo," etc.); Johnston's version fills in the god's/person's actual name to simplify things for the modern reader.

I took extensive notes on each fable, which slowed me down even more, but I felt it was worth it to sharpen my focus and to help me remember what I'd just read. (If you know anything about Charlotte Mason's teaching methods, it was the equivalent of narration.)

Translations can be rough and Riley's was full of the archaic language of his day. (The benefit of reading the 1899 version was that all the hanky panky between gods and mortals was described in euphemisms.) But I loved some his poetic turns of phrase such as when he describes Cadmus as loaded with woes and with years, or when another man flees the bustling city to be alone in unambitious fields. It was fun to see the source of Romeo and Juliet in the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. 

I look forward to continuing this journey over the next few years. 

Has anyone else tried to make it through the Shakespearean canon? Any tips for me?

Footnote: A couple of weeks after I posted this, the Literary Life podcast did an episode on How to Read Shakespeare.

Blessings,

D. E. Stevenson quote on the Art of Living Well

"You're both so clever," said grandmama admiringly. "I was never any good at languages."

"You're good at living, which is much more important," said Charles.

Grandpa nodded thoughtfully, "Good at living is a valuable gift - and grandmama has been dowered with it."

(The author goes on to explain): She loved people and understood them; she oiled the wheels of life so that everything ran more smoothly when she was there. It was not because she talked much; in company she was rather silent, but she always said the right thing at the right time. She was lovely to look at: her silver hair was thick and soft and slightly wavy, and, despite her age, here eyes were deep-blue and full of intelligence. Goodness and kindness emanated from Grandmama like the fragrance of spring flowers.

(quoted from Sarah's Cottage by D. E. Stevenson)

Photo by Andreea Popa on Unsplash

Blessings,

Old Herbaceous by Reginald Arkell

Herbert Pinnegar was born in the 1860s. He was an orphan with a lame leg and didn’t seem to have any prospect for a happy future. But with a lot of hard work and the gracious gift of a few generous friends, he makes a way for himself as the head gardener of an English manor house. This is the story of his friendship with the lady of the house and how his devotion to her was rewarded throughout his lifetime.

He is in his eighties when the story begins, sitting by his cottage window looking over the gardens he used to tend. He wonders that gardeners who earn more than he ever did somehow seemed to care less about making things look their best. He never felt that he was just a paid man working for a wage. He felt that the place was his – and so it was, in a manner of speaking…. People said that big gardens were finished; that everything belonged to everybody and nothing to anybody. He didn’t believe that. The world started with a garden and a thing that had been going all that time wouldn’t end so easily.

Old Herbaceous is not a “Christian” book by any means. The narrative makes it clear that Pinnegar is not a church-goer (much to the chagrin of a long line of village vicars), but there are many episodes of grace that make it a delight. First there is his adoptive mother. Then the school teacher, Mary Brain, who teaches him to identify and love wild flowers. Then there is Mrs. Charteris. And the elderly lawyer, Mr. Billiter. Pinnegar’s life is an uphill climb all the way, but these men and women demonstrate a kindness and generosity that fortify him for the challenges.

The writing is delightful. As a young boy, Herbert enters a bouquet in a flower show. While he waits for the judges to make their decision, he sees the most lovely, laughing lady – not a day over eighteen. Young Herbert stood in the center of the tent with his mouth wide open and promptly fell in love, for ever and ever, amen.

Later, when he leaves school and needs employment, he is hired by this lady and her husband to work as an under-gardener. He knew much more than she did about plants, but she reveled in teaching him their Latin names; and, so, his puppy love develops into an enduring friendship that is one of the mainstays of the book. 

Not only is this a gardener’s memoir of his work and relationships, but it is also gives a glimpse of what it was like to live through various historical events, including two world wars. As WWII approaches, we read: Of course, it had all happened before, but Mr. Pinnegar, now nearing seventy, wasn’t quite the man he had been twenty-five years ago. In those days he had taken on every job that was going – carried the village on his shoulders; even found it in his heart to laugh when they dug up the flowers and planted potatoes along the borders. But not this time. He began to feel a fierce resentment against everything and everybody mixed up in this mad endeavor to the destroy the gracious pattern of the world he had known…

This is easily one of the sweetest books I’ve ever read, but not sickeningly so. Plenty of pathos and sadness balance out the moments of charity and beauty. Best of all, you don’t have to know a thing about gardening to love this book.

Blessings,

Beauty by Roger Scruton

Is it possible to write a rave review about a book that I hestitate to recommend? Frankly, I struggled to like and finish Roger Scruton's Beauty: A Very Short Introduction, because it is a dense philosphical treatise. I understood about twenty percent of it, but that percentage was pure gold! I still think about it almost every day.

In the final chapter, Scruton explains the differences between art and "kitsch." Kitsch is art with no message of its own, in which all the effects are copied and all the emotions are faked. He calls it the "Disneyfication" of everyday life, when people prefer the sensuous trappings of belief to the thing truly believed. It is not an excess of feeling, but a deficiency. The world of kitsch is in a certain measure a heartless world, in which emotion is directed away from its proper target towards sugary stereotypes, permitting us to pay passing tribute to love and sorrow without the trouble of feeling them.... Art cannot live in the same world as kitsch, which is a world of commodities to be consumed, rather than icons to be revered. 

This explains why I have always been uncomfortable with Precious Moments figurines and Thomas Kinkaide paintings. (Forgive me if you love those.) Since reading this chapter, I've seen kitsch everywhere from Hallmark movies to TV commercials, to Facebook posts: content that elicits an emotional response that is not based on deep thoughts or feelings. 

Although this was a very hard book to read, I am grateful that Scruton gave me new ways to think about art and its importance. The day after I finished Scruton's book, I read a post on Facebook about Tolkien's dislike of Disney for cheapening the beauty and power of fairy tales for "universal consumption." A few weeks later I learned that this was an AI generated article. (Ugh!) BUT all was not lost; members of the Literary Life Podcast group led me to an authentic article on the subject. 

One quote from the article: From Tolkien's perspective, Disney was a glorifed salesman who peddled commercialized dumbed-down fairy tale casualties to the masses. 

It sounds like Tolkien and Scruton were in agreement on this. 

My lengthier review of Scruton's book is on Goodreads.

Blessings,