"Marching" through my huge stack of books-to-be-read....

 

Today I'm linking up with Modern Mrs. Darcy's monthly "Twitterature" post to share what I've been reading.

What Matters in Jane Austen?

Twenty Crucial Puzzles Solved 

by John Mullan 

The title's a little misleading:  these aren't really puzzles but short essays on interesting themes in Jane Austen's books, like "Which Important Characters Never Speak in the Novels?" and "Do We Ever See the Lower Classes?"  This well-researched and entertaining book could be read for sheer enjoyment or used as a way into a deeper study of Austen's works.  It's great for quizzes, too:
- Who is the only married woman in Austen's novels who regularly calls her husband by his first name?
- Who is the only woman in Austen's novels who marries a man younger than herself?
- Who is the only character who dies in the course of an Austen novel after also appearing in scenes in the book (as opposed to just being talked about, like Frank Churchill's aunt in Emma)?
(See answers at the end of this post.)  

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  The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

After seeing this novel mentioned and reviewed all over the place for the past year, I finally read it.  It is about the love affair between Hazel and Augustus, two teenagers with cancer who meet at a support group.  The characters are original and unsentimental, and there are some profound insights about what makes a life worth living and a legacy worth leaving.  Still, the book feels way too clever at times.  Virtually every time the characters speak they make cool, quotable remarks -- but what looks cool and quotable on the page can be very difficult to imagine coming out of a seventeen-year-old's mouth.  For instance:  "I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you."  (Whoa.)  It's no surprise that a movie based on this book is coming out soon; it's tailor-made for the big screen with its dramatic speeches and heart-tugging plot.

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  The Thorny Grace of It

and Other Essays for Imperfect Catholics 

by Brian Doyle

I've read and enjoyed a number of Doyle's short essays in literary journals like The Sun and Ruminate; this book brings together more than fifty of them. If you're not Catholic (as I am not), you might think, "This book will be of no interest to me whatsoever."  Think again.  Doyle has a unique gift for giving both fleeting moments and significant events a sense of dignity and grace -- whether he is describing a little girl's attendance at Mass before she has major surgery, recalling a bus driver's gentle response to the death of a passenger, honouring two teachers who died in the the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, or lamenting the utter waste of Osama bin Laden's life.  Doyle's writing is funny, moving, and hopeful, and I find myself wanting to read more slowly just to savour it.  Here's a short excerpt from the essay "first draft of the first letter to the corinthians":

"Love never fails, even in those moments when we are glaring at each other in the kitchen, which there have been a few of those moments, and there will be a few more, because love isn't a placid sea, love is a verb, love is human, which means flawed and difficult and complex and startling and wonderful and painful.  Faith abides, for what else can we do except leap into the unknown, take a flyer on what might be, shoot the moon, believe in the unbelievable, steer by the tumult in our hearts?  And hope abides, for we are creatures milled from hope, we see the substance of things hoped for, we see dimly what might be gleaming and brilliant on the road ahead if only we can stride forward through the thickets.  And love abides, for if we have not love we are nothing and nowhere.  But the greatest of these is love.  You know this and I know this, and even when we forget it we know it someplace deeper than words, deeper than understanding, deeper than we are.  There are many names for the One but of these the greatest is love."

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quiz answers:  
Mary Musgrove (Persuasion), Charlotte Lucas (Pride and Prejudice), Dr. Grant (Mansfield Park)

"You do it to Jesus"

"Whatever you do, even if you help somebody cross the road, 

 you do it to Jesus. 

Even if you give somebody a glass of water, 

you do it to Jesus.

Such a simple little teaching, but it is so important." 

- Mother Teresa

One of the hallmarks of Mother Teresa's life and mission was that she saw Jesus in the suffering people she served.

There have been times when I have tried to take this approach to those God has called me to serve -- for example, let's say certain members of my family -- to see the face of Jesus in them, and to minister to them with joy and humility. 

This plan usually lasts for about ten minutes.

The problem is:   

Jesus does not ask me to tape or glue broken jigsaw puzzle pieces 20 times in an hour, or need to be reminded 19 out of those 20 times to say "Please."

Jesus is not in the habit of yelling with rage when I tell him that this is blue-box week, not grey-box week, or that we go to church on Sundays, not Saturdays.

Jesus never screams (with hand up to mouth for increased megaphone effect) when told that it's time to get ready for supper, and does not need to be told ten times to go to the bathroom and wash his hands.

Jesus does not say, "Mom? Mom?  Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?"

And Jesus does not wait to say, "Mom? Mom?  Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" until I have gone downstairs to the laundry room, and then say it louder.

Jesus does not make a point of shrieking when we back the car in the driveway.

Jesus does not need his underwear changed three times a day.

Jesus does not, when given a time-out alone in his room, take that opportunity to wet his pants.

So it can be a little difficult to see service to certain people in my life as service to Jesus.

But then again ...

Even after I have said harsh words like "Stop it!"  "Don't talk to me!" and "Could you leave me alone for five minutes?" Jesus' face lights up when he sees me again.

Even after I roll my eyes, let out long sighs, and seethe with irritation, Jesus catches my eye and asks me to play "sad face" or comes to sit on my lap to squish me "flat like a pancake."

And although I say goodbye to Jesus in the schoolyard each morning and walk away feeling (I confess) guiltily relieved that I won't be seeing him for another six-and-a-half hours, I come back in the afternoon and scan the crowd, eager to see him coming.

Jesus never holds anything against me.  He never bad-mouths me or anyone else he knows.  He doesn't give me the cold shoulder or tell me I need to make it up to him before he'll smile at me.  He is always glad to see me.  

He loves me.  I am special and dear to him.

So maybe Mother Teresa was right when she said this is "a simple little teaching."  Maybe I just need to pay more attention to my simple little teacher.

Monday morsel: "We, the people, used to be stupid" (from Brian Doyle)

One of several books I have on the go right now is Brian Doyle's The Thorny Grace of It and Other Essays for Imperfect Catholics.  Doyle is a writer and magazine editor from Oregon whose work I've read in various literary journals.  This book of short essays about life and faith is very funny and touching; a friend lent it to me and I'm already considering purchasing it because I want to savour Doyle's reflections again and again.

In this excerpt from the essay "nobody cannot be saints," Doyle quotes from letters he received from an admiring eleven-year-old Korean girl who has discovered his books:

Dear mister, she wrote, your book gave me such wise lessons.  I learned new things about saints and, also, how to love.  I learned to bend our hours into acts of love, to love not only sweet friends and family but enemies.  Well, honestly, I used to love only my dearest people, such as friends and family.  But, how about my enemies?  I used to be hostile to them.  I just acted mean to them, not even thinking about how they would feel.  But now I truly recognize that saints are here and saints are us.  We, the people, used to be stupid, looking for saints there when they are living right here.  But saints are us.  Nobody cannot be saints.  I now realize that.  Thank you for writing fabulous.  Your book is the best one I have read so far.

we didn't succeed, but we didn't fail either

Yesterday Jonathan was booked for an EEG test at Kingston General Hospital.  It has been a long time since he's had one.  When he first started having seizures at 10 months of age, he had an EEG then, and I nursed him to sleep so they could perform the test.  He had one again at about age three; that time they gave him a sedative which put him to sleep for the entire time.  But Dr. MacDonald, the pediatric neurologist who's been following him these past ten years, wanted to try to get one with no sedation so that it would provide a more accurate look at what his brain is doing.

Unfortunately we were unsuccessful.  Jonathan just couldn't relax and lie still.  The technician, whose name was Mike, was barely able to measure Jonathan's head and do the markings; Jonathan kept turning his head, trying to sit up, wiggling down the bed, and just not cooperating.  It became clear after about twenty minutes that there was no way he would accept having electrodes stuck to his head and then lie still for half an hour to get a good reading.

Mike was apologetic, and so was I.  "Don't worry," he said, "I've seen adults walk out of here without being able to get the test done."

"Maybe Dr. MacDonald will decide to order one with sedative," I said.

"Tell her to prescribe a double dose," he said, "One for Jonathan and one for me."

Jonathan accepted a "Nemo" sticker; then when he realized it was too big to fit on his hand, he dropped it in the garbage; then he marched out of the room with a wave, calling back, "Bye, Mike."

So much for that.

So, it didn't work out.  But I couldn't help looking on the positive side of the whole situation:  Jonathan was so well-behaved the entire time.  I'd been a bit anxious about the logistics of getting him to the appointment on my own.  I had to take him out of school at mid-day, and we had to go to a different hospital from the one where he visits Dr. MacDonald.  But going in a different direction didn't faze him at all.  He walked enthusiastically the whole way, going confidently in the main hospital doors and down the hallways and into the elevator without hesitation.  (He met a woman pushing a man in a wheelchair and said, "Hello, wheelchair!" with a big friendly smile.)  He sat patiently and read books with me for the 20 minutes we had to wait to be seen.  He didn't yell, cry, fuss, or try to run away; he acted like a big boy -- well, until it came time to have his head measured and marked.

All things considered, it was not a total failure.  Jonathan seemed to view it all as an interesting adventure rather than a stressful change of routine, and he handled it much better than he would have a year or two ago.  In that sense, even though we couldn't get the actual information we were seeking, there's still something good that we can take away from the experience.

Monday morsel: "I was found of Thee"

On Saturday we learned the sad and shocking news that a man from our former church, John Bylsma, had died, three days after a cancer operation that initially appeared to have gone well.

His obituary stated that his favourite hymn was "I Sought the Lord, and Afterward I Knew."* I'm sharing the words here today because they provide such a comforting message of God's amazing, initiating love.  "We love because He first loved us." - I John 4:19 

I Sought the Lord, and Afterward I Knew

I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew
He moved my soul to seek Him, seeking me.
It was not I that found, O Saviour true:
no, I was found, was found of Thee.

Thou didst reach forth Thy hand and mine enfold;
I walked and sank not on the storm-vexed sea.
'Twas not so much that I on Thee took hold
as Thou, dear Lord, took hold on me.

I find, I walk, I love -- but oh, the whole
of love is but my answer, Lord, to Thee;
for Thou wert long beforehand with my soul --

always, always Thou lovedst me. 

Jesus walks on water, by Ivan Aivazovsky (1888)

* The words were written in 1878 by an anonymous hymn-writer.  It is sung to the tune of Sibelius' Finlandia.  I couldn't find a good recording of the hymn itself, but this video plays Sibelius' entire 9-minute composition, and the hymn's melody can be heard starting at about the 6-minute mark.