Month: October 2010

  • Letters to an American Lady

    I’m sorry to say that my initial response to Letters to an American Lady was one of annoyance.  The book contains thirteen years of letters from C.S. Lewis (Jack) to a woman who kept writing him back.  Only Jack’s letters to Mrs. ——– (Mary) are published, but from his we get an idea of hers. She had many distressing circumstances, medical and financial.  

    Lewis was from the old school of manners: for every letter he received, he wrote a reply. Jack doesn’t disguise his opinion: responding to mail was tedious and difficult and, at times, dreadful.  The daily letter-writing I have to do is very laborious for me. (May 6, 1959)  He asks Mary –nearly every year–not to write at holiday times. Will you, please, always avoid “holiday” periods in writing to me? (April 17, 1954)  And always remember that there is no time in the whole year when I am less willing to write than near Christmas, for it is then that my burden is heaviest. (January 29, 1955)

    A majority of the letters have some explanation/apology from Lewis about the length it took him to respond.  (You have, you know, recently stepped up the pace of the correspondence! I can’t play at that tempo, you know.) (October 5, 1955)  I get on my righteous indignation and want to reproach Dear Mary to please quit bugging one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century. 

    Don’t get me wrong: there are some gems in these letters between the in great hastes and all good wishes.  All the best quotes from this book will be found in The Quotable Lewis if you’d like to skim the cream off the top.
     

    As for wrinkles–pshaw! Why shouldn’t we have wrinkles?
    Honorable insignia of long service in this warfare.     (October 30, 1958) 

    The great thing with unhappy times is to take them bit by bit,
    hour by hour, like an illness. It is seldom the present,
    the exact present, that is unbearable.     (June 14, 1956) 

    A man whose hands are full of parcels can’t receive a gift. (March 31, 1958)

    : :         : :        : :

    The second time through this short book (124 small pages) I had a better sense of its value. In short, it is a primer on helping people who are in pain. 

    He prays for her.  From the first letter, I will have you in my prayers (October 26, 1950) to a letter written on behalf of Lewis by Walter Hooper, He is much concerned for you and prays that you may have courage for whatever may be yours both in the present and future. (August 10, 1963) there are assurances of prayer.

    His words of sympathy are simple: May God comfort you. (October 20, 1956)  May the peace of God continue to infold you. (June 7, 1959)  I am most sorry to hear about…

    Lewis writes about the daily stuff of life:  I love the empty, silent, dewy, cobwebby hours (September 30, 1958)  A big tree and a still bigger branch off another came crashing down in the wood yesterday, in windless calm–purely for lack of internal moisture. (August 21, 1959)  In these short snippets he offers a piece of his personal life, which, I’m certain, was received as a valued gift and a pleasant distraction.

    If you love Lewis and want to read everything he wrote, this is a book for you.  For the rest of you, get The Quotable Lewis.

    What is your favorite C.S. Lewis title? 
    Which book would you recommend to a reader unfamiliar with C.S. Lewis?

  • Wherein I Read a Twilight Book

    I’ve never been an enthusiastic participant in pop culture.  So when the Twilight rage hit, I was unmoved.  A friend tried to persuade me to borrow her book.  “Carol,” she promised, “after you’ve read Twilight I guarantee that you will want you very own vampire.”  I perfected my noncommittal hmmmm.  No. That’s wrong.  I laughed “I’m having difficulty even imagining that!” So why did I read a Twilight book?

    Because it was Morris Berman’s The Twilight of American Culture. Published in 2000, this book describes what he calls a cultural massacre.  Berman’s antidote is a way of cultural preservation he calls “the monastic option”.  Stick with me. The idea isn’t to become a monk, but to act like the monks by holding tight to the treasures and exposing the emptiness of the corporate/commercial, prefabricated way of life.

    What Roman culture had discarded,
    these monks treated as valuable;
    what the culture found worthwhile,
    they perceived as stupid or destructive. p.8   

    Berman outlines four factors that are present when a civilization collapses.

    1. Accelerating social and economic inequality
    2. Declining success of organizational solutions to socioeconomic problems.
    3. Rapidly dropping levels of literacy, critical understanding and general intellectual awareness.
    4. Spiritual death–the emptying out of cultural content and the freezing (or repackaging) of it in formulas–kitsch, in short.
    The exploration of kitsch, its definition, and its pervasiveness in our culture was the theme I most enjoyed reading.  Berman defines kitsch :”something phony, clumsy, witless, untalented, vacant, or boring that many Americans can be persuaded is genuine, graceful, bright, or fascinating.” (p.33)  In contrast, quoting Todd Gitlin,

    Amid the weightless fluff of a culture of obsolescence,
    here is Jane Austen on psychological complication,
    Balzac on the pecuniary squeeze.
    Here is Dostoevsky wrestling with God,
    Melville with nothingness,
    Douglass with slavery.
    Here is Rembrandt’s religious inwardness,
    Mozart’s exuberance,
    Beethoven’s longing.
    In a culture of chaff, here is wheat.

    I was put off by Berman’s focal point of the Enlightenment as the locus for cultural renewal. While he admires the preservation of culture found in medieval monasteries, he completely misses the fact that their work was a form of worship.

    If you find yourself a bit of an oddball, one who resists the passive acceptance of consumerism around you, if you care about craftsmanship and critical thinking, I recommend this book.  Favorite quotes:

    Our entire consciousness, our intellectual-mental life
    is being Starbuckized, condensed into a
    prefabricated designer look.

    I’m not talking about putting
    Great Books on the web,
    because the Great Books program
    is really a way of life,
    not a database.

    America has become a gigantic
    dolt-manufacturing machine.

  • Get Used to Neglect

     

    Goodbye, my most neglected garden.
    I gave you precious little attention,
    but you faithfully rewarded
    our small times together.

    Even as you age and decline
    you graciously dish out goodwill.
    The Swiss chard, Italian parsley,
    lettuce, sunflowers remain.

    I live in a state of perpetual hope…
    the promise that next year I’ll do better.

    Next summer there’ll be no weddings,
    no babies, no trips, no books?
    May it never be!

    Get used to it, dear garden.
    You are a minor delight of my life.
    I need you, I do.
    But I’m an undependable friend.

    Next year we’ll get it together, won’t we?
    I will magically morph into a Gardener
    and you will mysteriously develop rich, loamy soil.

    Sweet dreams!
    Soon you will warm yourself with a quilt of leaves
    and a comforter of snow.

    Sleep well, my quiet companion.
    Remember: next year!
    Next year.

  • Aroma of the Soul

    I’m grateful for a slice of time,
    that slippery, elusive commodity,
    to be with our kids and their kids.

    For Carson,
    whose little bum I wiped,
    offering me pointers on the art of diapering.

      We take pleasure in watching this man
    giving baby-baths and piggy-backs.

    For Levi, who at three weeks’ age
    has the visage of an octogenarian.
    His furrowed forehead seems to say,
    “I reserve the right to withhold my opinion
    until more data is in.”

    For family extended,
    our daughter-in-law’s parents,
    whose lives are braided with ours
    through our mutual grandsons.

    Last night they taught us Hand & Foot,
    soundly defeating our novice hands
    and awakening that competitive urge for a rematch.

    The joy of cooking is magnified
    in a large kitchen with a common goal:
    chopping vegetables,
    gathering rosemary,
    mixing biscuits,
    slipping skin off peaches,
    blending pastry,
    stirring soup,
    watching the pie.

    Noah!
    We wait for you to wake up,
    to hear your happy vocals.
    You repeat the sounding joy,
    a face tilted back in laughter,
    trying out every word you hear;
    every word but one,
    that ponderous word no.

    I bless the day that Taryn entered Carson’s life.
    She enriches those around her,
    bringing beauty, depth, laughter and grace.
    Feet pitter patter,
    toys toggle between shelf and floor,
    hungry stomachs growl.

    Sleep deprivation can’t stifle
    the aroma of this home,
     wafting up from contented souls.
    The fragrance of good memories remains.