The Classics Book Tag

My fellow blogger and book lover Elliott Blackwell recently wrote a post called "The Classics Book Tag" on his blog Begin In Wonder. In that post he answered ten questions about classic books and issued a challenge to others to do the same. Here are my ten questions and answers.

1. What is an overhyped classic that you didn't really like? 

That's easy: Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. At 55 pages, it is the shortest book I ever hated too much to finish -- and I am sure I had it assigned at least twice in university courses. I think on both occasions I just read the first five pages and the last five pages. I just hated it! I think it is probably an important book to read in the context of discussions about race and colonialization, so someday I may give it another try........................................................ actually no, I probably won't.

2. What is your favourite time period to read about?

Many of my favourite books (not necessarily classics -- yet) are set in/around World War I or II: All the Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr), The Light Between Oceans (M.L. Stedman), Everyone Brave is Forgiven (Chris Cleave), The Secret Keeper (Kate Morton), just to name a few.

But I think actually my favourite setting (if not time period) for fiction is rural: whether it's the "good country people" of Flannery O'Connor's fiction, or the Avonlea-dwellers in L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series, or the poor migrants of John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath. I just love reading about -- and writing about -- rural life and the things that go on behind the simple bucolic exterior.

3. What is your favourite fairy tale?

Hansel and Gretel. As a child hearing this story I admired the children's resourcefulness in leaving their breadcrumb trail, and I loved the idea of them nibbling parts of the gingerbread house. I thrilled at the idea of the witch being tricked when Hansel holds out a bone instead of his own finger -- and of course seeing the witch pushed into the oven was great! 

None of the disturbing parts of the story, such as why the children were alone in the forest in the first place, ever bothered me. 

By the way, Jonathan enjoys the PBS show Super Why in which the Super Readers fly into a fairy tale to solve a mystery using the power of words. In the Super Why version of Hansel and Gretel, the children must "ASK FIRST" before biting a piece off the witch's cookie house; once they do, she's perfectly fine with it and doesn't try to eat them at all. (It just  shows you what good manners can accomplish.)

4. What is the classic you are most embarrassed you haven't read yet?

Maybe not exactly embarrassed, but I confess that I have not read any of the great Russian classics except Anna Karenina. I have not read War and Peace, The Brothers Karamazov, or Crime and Punishment. Nor have I read Hugo's Les Miserables -- not Russian of course, but a large novel (in size and influence) that I've yet to read.

5. What are the top 5 classics you would like to read soon?

A Tale of Two Cities by Dickens. It is one of my brother Lincoln's favourites, and he gave me his copy when we were in PEI this summer.

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston.

Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton.

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe.

The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton. I love Wharton's writing, and this is one of hers I haven't read yet.

(Notice how none of these are the same novels as in #4?) 

6. What is your favourite modern book/series based on a classic?

I liked Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres and David Wrobleski's The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, both based on Shakespeare plays. 

I also enjoyed -- much more than I expected to, in fact -- Jo Baker's Longbourn, about a servant in the home of Pride and Prejudice's Bennet family. It's not a sequel to or a rewriting of the original, just a really good stand-alone novel that someone who'd never read P&P could enjoy.

7. What is your favourite movie/TV version of a classic?

I love the BBC version of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, with Hattie Morahan and Charity Wakefield as Elinor and Marianne Dashwood.

8. What is the worst classic-to-movie/TV adaptation you've seen?

The worst for me would have to be The House of Mirth starring Gillian Anderson. Anderson does her best, but this movie has serious casting problems. And the writers made an abysmal, nonsensical decision to combine two characters (Gertie and Grace) into one, obliterating one of the most important subplots of the novel. I could go on and on and on, but this is just an awful treatment of one of my favourite novels.

Two other adaptations I strongly disliked were The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian (I gave up after half an hour) and Earthsea, based on Ursula LeGuin's wonderful book A Wizard of Earthsea. That one is brutal.

9. Favourite editions you'd like to collect more classics from?

I don't have an answer here; I don't collect any particular versions.

10. What is one under-hyped classic you would recommend to someone?

Make that two -- and they're very different:

Silence by Shusaku Endo - about Portuguese missionaries to Japan in the 1600's.

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith - about a teenage girl, Cassandra Mortmain, who lives in a tumbledown castle with her eccentric family in 1930's England. I think of Cassandra as a cross between Anne of Green Gables and Jane Austen's Emma. She's delightful.


Well, it's been fun answering these questions. I always enjoy thinking, talking, and writing about books.

October 2018 Quick Lit: What I've been reading

Today I'm linking up with Modern Mrs. Darcy's monthly Quick Lit post where we share short reviews of what we've been reading.

A Light So Lovely: The Spiritual Legacy of Madeleine L'Engle by Sarah Arthur. 
This recently-released book reflects on the life and work of Madeleine L'Engle, author of A Wrinkle in Time and over 50 other works of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Arthur organizes her material according to paired concepts like Sacred and Secular, Faith and Science, Fact and Fiction, etc. L'Engle was both a revered and a controversial writer; while A Light So Lovely reveals aspects of her life that many of us may be unaware of, it also reinforces her influence as a writer of deep faith, intelligence, and imagination. Excellent book.

 
Aching Joy: Following God Through the Land of Unanswered Prayer by Jason Hague. 
In this memoir, released just a couple of weeks ago, Hague shares his journey as a dad coming to terms with his son Jack's autism diagnosis and learning more about prayer, dreams, and hope. So good and so real. You can read my full review HERE.

Only Dead On the Inside: A Parent's Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse by James Breakwell.
I follow Breakwell (a.k.a. @XplodingUnicorn) on Twitter and enjoy his funny tweets about life with his wife, four young daughters, and pet pig*. Amazon has this to say about the book: "This step-by-step manual teaches you how to raise happy, healthy children in a world overrun by the undead." Just as silly and fun as it sounds. 
(*By the way, one of Jonathan's favourite things to do while we wait for the school bus is to watch a video Breakwell posted of his family singing Happy Birthday to their pig, Gilly, as it eats a watermelon birthday cake they've placed ceremoniously in the middle of their living room carpet.) 

  Tell Me More: Stories About the 12 Hardest Things I'm Learning to Say by Kelly Corrigan.
If you picked this up thinking you were getting Jordan Peterson's 12 Rules for Life, I have great news: this is not that book! I stumbled upon Tell Me More, which I'd never heard of, at the library this summer and it looked intriguing, so I took it out. Corrigan shares stories from her family life and friendships, focusing on 12 key phrases that are important in relationships -- phrases like "I was wrong," "I don't know," and of course "Tell me more." This book is a quick, enjoyable read with some profound takeaways. Some of the stories took a little long to get going, but overall I liked it a lot.

Fifteen Dogs by Andre Alexis. 
This is the only piece of fiction I read since my last Quick Lit post, and it's an unusual one. In the first scene, Greek gods Hermes and Apollos make a bet over whether dogs would be happier or less happy than humans if they could speak and think like humans. They happen to be passing by a Toronto vet clinic, so they give human consciousness to the fifteen dogs inside. The rest of the book explores how this change affects the dogs as individuals and as a group. I read this for a book club, and it was certainly interesting to discuss issues the novel raises like what is happiness? how do we react to change? how do we experience time? etc. It is intriguing and original, but I can't actually say I enjoyed it: it felt choppy, and the overall atmosphere of the book was pretty bleak. 

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I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of these books, or on anything you've been reading. Please comment! 

 

Five Minute Friday: PRAISE ("Excellent job!")

Today I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday, where we write for five minutes about a given prompt.

This week's word: PRAISE.

This morning I took Jonathan to the dentist for a checkup and cleaning.

Dentist visits with an autistic child can be challenging, but now that we've been going to this clinic for several years, Jonathan seems very comfortable with it. He actually looks forward to going, maybe in part because he likes being fussed over by all the women on staff. They also make sure to schedule him for the first appointment of the day, which ensures that our wait will be minimal.

One of his favourite people in the office is Erica, one of the dental hygienists. They greeted each other enthusiastically this morning. 

Erica knows about Jonathan's interest in garbage and recycling, and she knows that his favourite part of the appointment is throwing away all the trash: wrappers, gauze, used gloves and masks. 

So while Jonathan was lying in the chair, Erica said, "Look, I'll pile everything up here for you, and when we're all finished you can throw it away."

To Erica's great amusement, Jonathan replied, "Excellent job!"

He uses this expression when he sees someone shoveling a driveway or sweeping a floor or raking leaves.

He compliments fast food workers, janitors, garbage truck drivers, and construction workers.

Everyone needs praise.

Everyone needs to know they're appreciated for what they do.

Everyone needs, now and then, to be told they're doing an excellent job.

A review of Aching Joy: Following God Through the Land of Unanswered Prayer (by Jason Hague)

Parents of autistic children are always looking for companions on the autism journey. Jason Hague's newly released book Aching Joy: Following God Through the Land of Unanswered Prayer provides that kind of companionship.


Jason writes in a vulnerable, honest way about his struggle to accept his son Jack's autism diagnosis and to form a real connection with Jack. But beyond the specific details of the Hague family's life, the book is really about deeper issues that we can all relate to:

• how to balance hope and realism
• how to accept the what-is without sinking into dull resignation
• how to acknowledge struggle without trying to fix, escape, or seek pity
• how to foster the potential in our children without making their achievements all about us. 

For Jason, faith in God is what helps resolve these tensions. However, faith is not presented as a panacea or a source of glib inspirational quotes (Jason specifically mentions the cliche so many of us love to hate: "God never gives you more than you can handle"), but as an anchor in times of real challenge and wrestling.

It's also clear throughout the book that autism is not an enemy. Jason doesn't talk about finding cures or reasons or about "fixing" Jack; rather, he emphasizes over and over the need to connect with autistic people, to participate in how they see the world (something he and his family do consistently, in beautiful and often funny ways), and to foster inclusion and acceptance. I have to say I just LOVED getting to know Jack in these pages. He is such an interesting boy, and I could see so much of Jonathan in him.
 
Toward the end of the book, Jason says, "My story was a messy one ... [but] if I can help other parents -- especially dads -- identify what they are feeling instead of telling them the way they ought to feel, they might, in the end, be better equipped to love their children the way they ought to. They might, in other words, become better fathers." 

I have little doubt that those who read this book will come away with new information, new insights, and a renewed sense of what we all share, regardless of the unique circumstances we face.

Whispering our stories

This Friday, it will be four years since my mom died.

This week I am reliving her last days. 

I had traveled from Ontario to PEI to spend a week with Mom and Dad in their apartment. Mom had been diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer several weeks earlier, and her prognosis (made tentatively, as all prognoses must be in cases like this) was 3-6 months.

The days started early: Dad is an early riser, and Mom would often be stirring before 7 a.m. Dad and I would help Mom to the bathroom, help her dress if she wanted to, help her to the breakfast table. Early in that week she would spend hours in the recliner chair in the living room, drifting in and out of sleep, sometimes making clear-yet-confused remarks.

"I wonder when this whole process is going to be over. I wish they'd just decide what day it's going to be."

"What, Mom?"

"The funeral, and all that."

"God will tell you when it's time," Dad said.

If the days started early, they ended early too -- at least for Mom and Dad. Often we would get Mom ready for bed right after supper; then Dad might decide to turn in as well, and soon I'd hear the two of them snoring away. I spent long hours in the evenings, reading, writing emails to my brothers, answering the phone, giving updates to relatives and friends.

It was mid-week when the shift to the next phase took place. Dad and I got up on the Wednesday morning, but Mom was deep in sleep. "Let's just let her be," I said, and Dad agreed -- as did the home care nurse when she arrived for her morning visit. "I think we are looking at days, not weeks, at this point," she said. "We may want to have the palliative team come."

That afternoon, while my mom slept, my dad and I, my brother, my aunts and uncle and cousin sat around the living room as the palliative care doctor and nurse explained what we could expect over the next few days and what options we had. Dad wanted to keep Mom home instead of having her admitted to the palliative unit. The doctor, who was warm and gentle, said that was fine and that we could change our minds at any time. The nurse, who was straightforward and a bit crusty, handed us her card and said, "If she's doing very poorly or you can't cope, don't call 911. Call me." There was a feeling of both apprehension and peacefulness in the room: we all realized the end was coming quickly, but we knew we were surrounded with people who would support Mom and us through the final stage.

The doctor told us about the medications they would prescribe to keep Mom comfortable over the last days; then she went into Mom's room and examined her. This was the first and last time they would see one another. "How are you feeling, Meredith?" the doctor asked kindly, taking Mom's hands.

"I think I just want to go," Mom said.

Four days after that, she died. I wasn't there for her last moments: I flew home the morning of the 28th, and she died that night. It had been a difficult decision, because I was needed in two places, but it was the right decision, and I knew she would agree. I had to let go of the desire to be there at the last. And when I said goodbye to her, she could no longer talk to me. Her eyes were wide and she moved her mouth, trying to speak, but she couldn't say any words. I had to let go of the wish for one last meaningful, mutual conversation. Perhaps she did, too: perhaps on some level she knew the moment was slipping away and couldn't be recaptured.

Over the past few days as I've been reliving and writing about these details, these moments, I found myself wondering why I am holding on to them so tightly -- why I have saved the emails and the Facebook messages and have read them over and over.

Before bed I sometimes like to read poetry to relax my mind. Last night I picked up John Blase's beautiful book of poems, The Jubilee, and opened it at random -- to this poem.

I Don't Believe I've Ever Told You

Are you ever afraid of dying?
I'm not talking about
the dying that will deposit you
directly into the Lord's presence (as some hold).
But the dying that will tear
you from the fabric of here,
here where you've seen wonders.
I don't believe I've ever told you I fear
that second kind of dying. But I do.
I'm telling you now because I've recently
seen how life changes in an ordinary instant,
reminds us we live in a game of gossip,
whispering our stories to the next in line.
We die. Then we're passed along in
another's tongue, and I'm afraid they'll
edit a crucial detail.


And instantly I understood. Yes. I want those details kept and known, exactly as they are. These are the words she used. This is what the room felt like. This is how she looked as I said goodbye.

But those are just my "crucial details." Maybe Mom had her own details that she hoped, at the end, wouldn't be edited out. I remember a couple of times in her last years she said to me, "Do you remember me yelling at you kids?" I was a mom myself by then, and each time I just laughed and said, "Oh, not at all -- I must have blocked it out." I realize now she was asking me, "Was I a good mother?" and I evaded the question with a joke. Now I wish I had answered a little more pointedly: "I do remember that -- but I also remember what a wonderful, caring, involved, sacrificial mom you've been. A little yelling can't change that." When I sat at her bedside for the last time, I told her she had been the best mom. I'm honestly not certain she understood me, but I choose to believe she did. And I have to let go, too, of my regret over not giving her more heartfelt reassurance back in those times when she was so obviously seeking it.

And maybe that's kind of the point. At the end of his poem, John Blase leaves his fears unresolved -- and I'm glad. I'm glad he doesn't tie the poem up neatly with platitudes like "But we can't worry about that because it's in God's hands" or "But what seems significant to us is nothing in the larger scheme of things." The details do matter. It's natural to want to be known and seen, to have our story "passed along" in a truthful way -- a way that acknowledges both our simplicity and our complexity. Yet because we're all human, we don't always do that perfectly for one another.

But we can do our best to honour the details, the memories, the words. After we've given them the attention they deserve, then maybe we can decide what needs keeping ... and what needs letting go.

Top photo by Richard Prinsen, 2012.

Bottom photo by unknown - Mom in the meadow, 1935.

Poem "I Don't Believe I've Ever Told You" by John Blase, from The Jubilee (published 2017).

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I'm adding this post to Addie Zierman's "Let Go" linkup. Addie is one of my favourite bloggers -- and as I wrote my own post, the theme of her linkup became a source of inspiration.