Out Walking

Very, Very Short Stories: Brian Doyle's "Epiphanies & Elegies"

At the recent Calvin College Festival of Faith and Writing, I attended a workshop led by Brian Doyle.  Though the precise topic of the workshop is lost to me now, the experience is not.  Doyle told story after story, became emotional, and in general was one of the most animated of writers I have ever experienced.  So, I was hooked.  I bought his latest book, Epiphanies & Elegies, a collection of, as he says, "very short stories," which, naturally, they are, although they present as free verse poems, most barely taking up a page of the book.  Perhaps they best qualify as "prose-poems," though once you read a few it hardly matters what you call them.

Certainly these are not inaccessible poems or stories.  Like Doyle himself, they are rich in color and emotion, with language easily understandable and descriptions of events to which most can relate.  There are poems about animals and children, war poems, Irish poems (Doyle is of Irish-Catholic background), and prayers.  While he doesn't shrink from darker subjects (try "Death of a Phoebe," where a deceased bird leads him to contemplate his own mortality), his humor is remains intact, with poems like "Instructions for the New Puppy" and "Wiping Paul."  There's soccer games, confession (the Catholic kind), sitting in church, children crawling in bed with parents, and all other kinds of ordinary, everyday life experiences --- all presented honestly, artfully, and with emotion.  Bottom line:  You want Brian Doyle as your friend, as someone to hang out with, or failing that, you want him at your party.  But enough generalizing.  Try a Doyle poem for yourself:

Things I Know About
Children I Don't Know
As Told To Me By My Twin Sons
Sprawled Like Trout In The Bathtub

Randall loves rocks and is a liar.
Jack can blow bubbles with bubble gum
And can make the bubble go in and out
Of his mouth without popping it.
Ian is the fastest runner.
Kate is the best reader in the class.
Laura is the best writer, though.
She can even write in cursive.
Anthony will only play with John.
John steps on people's feet on purpose
And he'll kick you when he's angry.
Joe's brother died last year in his sleep.
Amy's dad died this year. He was a doctor.
Alex wears the same shirt every day.
Zachary is mean to Cole all the time.
Cole is funny but no one plays with him.
Kevin says he smoked a cigarette once
But no one believes him, not even a little bit.
Victoria has really cool sunglasses.
Elizabeth's mom and dad are divorced.
Justin's mom is very fat.
Robert's dad yells at him in front of everybody.
He even yelled at the principal once.
Melissa's sister kisses boys in the sixth grade.
Allison is allowed to walk home alone from school.
Corey says he can do things that he can't,
Like ride a bike and do tricks on a skateboard.
Carl wears glasses and loses his temper.
Ariadne likes to draw rabbits.
We don't know anything about Molly.

Doyle is the Editor of Portland Magazine, author of some seven books, and a contributing essayist and poet to magazines such as Harpers and The Atlantic Monthly (which, alas, is no more.)  But honestly, he's just like us, really.  Sometimes he cries when he reads stories.  Or he yells for joy and laughs out loud.  He has kids that do crazy things.  He worries about things, prays a lot, and loves animals dearly.  He's passionate about life.  And he'd make a good friend. . . in small doses.

Go West, for Grace: A Review of Leif Enger's "So Brave, Young, and Handsome"

Since one of my favorite books of all time is Leif Enger's Peace Like a River, I was eager to read his second and just-published novel, So Brave, Young, and Handsome, to see if the story lived up to the that first novel, a New York Times bestseller.  I'm happy to say that it largely succeeds, even though there isn't a character quite as compelling as either of the children in that first novel.  But in a sense, it's unfair to compare.  It is, after all, a different story.

In this novel, Enger tells the story of an aging train robber who, having retired from a life of crime, decides to seek out the forgiveness of a young wife he abandoned many years before.  Writer Monet Becket, who somehow managed to write a successful first novel, is struggling, not able to write a follow-up, with success long behind him.  Monte and his wife and his young son, Redstart (who immediately makes you think of the kids in Peace Like a River), live simply in 1915 Minnesota, where he befriends the aging outlaw, Glendon Hale, and then decides to accompany him on his quest.  Much happens as they seek to escape the ex-Pinkerton, Charles Siringo, a man who is relentless in pursuit even as his own health is failing.  Along the way there are many adventures and just as many characters, none completely bad and none completely good.  In the end, both Monte and Glendon come to terms with life, understanding what they need to do and who they are.  Both encounter grace.

Enger writes prose that is lyrical and yet very accessible.  Characters and scenes are richly drawn, and the story is one I did not want to lay down until the end, even then wondering how their lives continued.  There's a bit of irony here in the writing of the story, with Enger perhaps telling us about himself, about the difficulty of writing a second novel when your first was hailed as a great success.  And yet Enger is not Monte Becket; he does succeed.  The other surprise about the novel: there is no coarse language or sexual situations presented.  They are not missed, of course.  Good novels do not need them, and yet given the prevalence of such writing, it is a welcome surprise.

I recommend So Brave, Young, and Handsome.  Don't compare.  Read it for the story that it is.  Maybe you'll just take your own quest.

Everyday Miracles: A Review of "The Miracle at Speedy Motors", by Alexander McCall Smith

When I opened the cover of The Miracle at Speedy Motors, the eighth novel in Alexander McCall Smith's hugely popular #1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series, it was like seeing old friends after being apart.  I missed them.  I'm glad to know what they have been doing.  I don't want them to leave.

If you don't know the series, its chief protagonist is the "traditionally-built" (that is, somewhat overweight) Precious Ramotswe, owner and founder of the #1 Ladies' Detective Agency in Gaborone, the only woman detective in all Botswana.  Precious is married to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, owner of the auto repair shop Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, where Mma Ramotswe and her assistant, Mma Makutsi, also have an office.  The stories are about the people and problems confronting Mma Ramotswe, as well as the life of Mma Ramotswe, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, and their two adopted children, as well as Mma Makutsi, her fiance, and Charlie, the shop apprentice.  If all this sounds unexciting, you'd be right, in a way, and yet none of that matters here.  What oozes from these stories is nothing less than a panoply of Christian virtues:  love, mercy, respect for others, forgiveness, hope, and plenty of good humor.  There's no preaching here, yet the narrator allows us to listen in on the thought processes of the characters, their struggles to do right, their humble self-doubt, and their reminding themselves of their convictions.  Because the characters are so human, and yet are often virtuous, you grow to love them.  You even want to emulate them.

In this eighth installment, the primary case that Precious Ramotswe is investigating is that of a woman who is looking for her family, even though she doesn't know her real name or if any members of her family are living.  The case takes some unusual twists, and its conclusion is a demonstration of how what we may perceive as failure may ultimately be reckoned as success.  Meanwhile, Phuti Radiphuti, fiance of Mma Makuti, has bought a new bed for their life together, yet tragedy strikes.  And Mma Ramotswe begins receiving threatening letters in the mail.  And finally, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni is given false hope that his daughter's medical condition might be miraculously cured.  Yet in the end, they all discover that the biggest miracles are often the smallest ones.

There are so many incidents in the book that testify to me of grace, but I'll just mention one.  Mma Makutsi, indignant at an evil that Mma Ramotswe has suffered, is brought up short by Mma Ramotswe's decision to answer hatred with love:

Mma Makutsi laid aside her pencil and stared across the room at her employer.  She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again.  There was much she wanted to say, but even these few moments of contemplation of what Mma Ramotswe had said had shown her that everything that she, Mma Makutsi, would have said was wrong.  Mma Ramotswe was right: evil repaid with retribution, with punishment, had achieved half its goal; evil repaid with kindness was shown to be what it really was, a small, petty thing, not something frightening at all, but something pitiable, a paltry affair.

I commend these books to you.  The are full of grace, and yet not sentimental but about real people who make mistakes and yet who often demonstrate wisdom, kindness, and love.  They remind you that everyday miracles abound if you look for them.

Reading Prince Caspian: Reepicheep's Petition

Sometimes God gives us what we ask for not for the reason we ask for it but for another, better reason.  That's the lesson of Reepicheep, the valiant if small mouse warrior that we first meet in Prince Caspian.  If you recall, Reepicheep is an Old Narnian, a talking mouse, somewhat proud, deeply concerned about his honor and dignity, passionate, possessing a temerity larger than his size, loyal to the High King always, a true believer from the beginning.

Near the end of Prince Caspian, a battle is fought between the Old Narnians, headed by King Peter, and the Telmarines, with the imposter king Miraz.  The battle is a success, yet in the process Reepicheep loses his tail.  He asks Aslan to restore the tail.  Listen in to the dialogue:

     "But what do you want with a tail?" asked Aslan.
     "Sir," said the Mouse, "I can eat and sleep and die for my King without one [note the melodrama of the Mouse].  But a tail is the honor and glory of a Mouse."
     "I have sometimes wondered, friend," said Aslan, "whether you do not think too much about your honor."

In other words, Aslan is not unsympathetic to the request of Reepicheep to have his tail restored, but he is gently critical of the motive.  And yet Reepicheep is defensive, reminding Aslan, as if he needed reminding, of his small stature, and continuing a bit of bluster about how he would take on anyone who mentioned things like "traps" in his presence.  But then there is this moving scene:

     "Why have your followers all drawn their swords, may I ask?" said Aslan.
     "May it please your High Majesty," said the second Mouse, whose name was Peepiceek, "we are all waiting to cut off our own tails if our Chief must go without his.  We will not bear the shame of wearing an honor which is denied to the High Mouse."
     "Ah!" roared Aslan.  "You have conquered me.  You have great hearts.  Not for the sake of your dignity, Reepicheep, but for the love that is between you and your people, and still more for the kindness your people showed me long ago when you ate away the cords that bound me on the Stone Table (and it was then, though you have long forgotten it, that you began to be Talking Mice), you shall have your tail again."

And so, for love, Reepicheep's petition is granted by the Great Lion.  Isn't that the case with so many of our requests to God?  We ask for something, our motives impure or mixed, and yet we receive it for another reason all together, for love, for the sake of others, or for some other hidden reason that only Providence knows. What it reminds me is that I need to ask, even if I don't know if my reason is a good one or my motives pure.  I still need to ask, to boldly ask.  Not only did Reepicheep have his request granted, in the asking he also learned that dignity and honor were not as important as love.  When we ask, we too can be gently instructed by God that our motives are impure, and yet Love gives us what we need anyway.

What I note in Lewis's writing about the talking animals of Narnia, including Reepicheep, is that whenever he uses their common name, like Mouse, he always capitalizes it.  I think it's his way of showing honor, of recognizing the dignity of the talking animals of Narnia, creatures who, in that world at least, are made in the image of their Creator.  In addition, did you note the name of the second Mouse, Peepiceek?  It's a sign of love and honor that his given name even sounds like his Chief's, Reepicheep.

The authors of A Reader's Guide to Prince Caspian note C.S. Lewis's fascination with mice, his great love for animals.  They report that, in writing to a young child about Reepicheep, Lewis declared: "I love real mice.  There are lots in my rooms in College but I have never set a trap.  When I sit up late working they poke their heads out from behind the curtains as if they were saying, 'Hi! Time for you to go to bed.  We want to come out and play.'"

I'm looking forward to meeting Reepicheep in the upcoming movie.  His courage, passion, loyalty, and love remind me that there are no little people. . . or mice, provided they are God's People. . . or Aslan's Mice.

This (Wretched) Business of Music

One of the bibles of the music business is the multi-authored This Business of Music, now in its tenth edition.  Billed as the "definitive guide to the music industry," the prose is dry and often pedantic, frustratingly anecdoteless, just the kind of thing you avoid reading at bedtime (or maybe you do read it, as a sleep-aid).  And yet there are a precious few light moments in this encyclopedic tome, or more to point, some thought-provoking comments.

On the very first page, for example, there is a quote from sociologist Marshal McLuhan, who said that "The medium is the message."  Though the writers seem oblivious to what the quote really means, as it is disconnected with what follows, it made me realize, sadly, that form has trumped content, that image and sound mark one out as belonging to a particular "tribe," and the lyric has (except in folk music, the poor stepchild of the music family) been neglected.  Being, looking, and sounding like Hannah Montana (Miley Cyrus) is more important to tweens than that which she sings about.  McLuhan's comment, like his disciple Neil Postman's follow-up work (Amusing Ourselves to Death) has proven prophetic.

In a section on Independent record producers, there is a very helpful categorization of producers offered by Jerry Wexler, renowned producer and former co-owner of Atlantic Records.  Wexler (who ought to know) said there are three types of producers --- the documentarian, the project leader, and the studio superstar.  The documentarian simply tries to capture what is there, unadorned and real; the project leader tires to enhance what is there, to get the best out of the artist; and the studio superstar, as you can imagine, takes center stage.  Every record the studio superstar producer makes sounds uncannily just like. . . him.  For some reason this may be the predominant type in the Contemporary Christian Music business, though I won't name any names.  Maybe the three producer types are really just reflections of personalities in the general culture --- those who simply take it in for what it is (a refreshing kind of person to be around, though quite frustrating if you need to get something done), those who accept what is and yet interact with and try to transform it, and those who simply think they are what is, the kind of people that seem to suck all the air out of a room when they enter it.  All this makes it so critical that the artist matches the producer; two superstars in the studio are incendiary; two documentarians spend a lot of money and get nowhere fast; and two project leaders (enhancers) may lose sight of what it is they are enhancing, lose focus.  What is your spouse?  What are you?  Somehow I sense that the somnolent wanderings of The Grateful Dead and Jerry Wexler's production must have been an expensive marriage.

The chapter on copyright infringement yielded some interesting anecdotes, if only that they were court cases.  There's Fogerty v. Fantasy, Inc., which allowed Creedence Clearwater Revival's leader to recover attorney fees from his record company.  Oh my.  It reminds how litigation can sap a life.  Fogerty spent years fighting Fantasy, never releasing a record, sounding more bitter all the time.  A little foresight and better advice and he might have seen a "bad moon arising."

The most dissatisfying chapter of the book was the one on agents and managers.  Now this special breed of prima donnas deserves better.  There's so much material to work with!  I didn't work with many, but one I worked with was a crazy alcoholic who sent me hand-typed single page sizzling faxes at midnight with (count 'em) sometimes as many as 50 profanities on a page.  Listen to the understatement of this sentence: "The close and often difficult relationship between artists and managers during the years of active management makes it desirable that the parties involved be sure of their compatibility before entering into binding contracts."  No, no, no.   These "parties" need marriage counseling before working together, and the manager may need a personality profile.  They tend to be controlling, all-consuming players in an artist's life.  There should be a big stop sign here in the book.

I could go on, but I might bore you.  The music business is a lot more interesting than this book, full of sin, wretched in its on peculiar way, and redeemed the same way anything else in this world is redeemed, by the power of love (love of music) and, in the end, by the One who loves His Creation.  I'm shelving the book.  I don't want to think about copyrights and managers, whining artists and super star producers, lawsuits and licenses.  Just give me the music.  Somehow that never fails me, because even the bad music still reminds me of a Music that just may come, some day soon.

Reading Prince Caspian

I've just completed doing something that I often say I will do but rarely actually do.  I re-read C.S. Lewis's Prince Caspian, prior to the release of the movie on May 16th.  Not only that, I read Leland Ryken and Marjorie Lamp Mead's A Reader's Guide to Caspian: A Journey into C.S. Lewis's Narnia.  I thoroughly enjoyed both.

If you haven't read the seven-volume Chronicles of Narnia, it's not too late to start.  These children's stories are remarkably deep.  Like all good stories, they operate on multiple levels, as enjoyable for adults as for children.  I first read the novels when I was introduced to them by my 9th Grade Modern Grammar teacher, an eccentric, slightly strange spinster who read The Lion, the Witch, & the Wardrobe aloud to us, and then encouraged me to read all the books.  I quickly read them, and yet I completely missed the clear Gospel allusions.  When she told me of this, I re-read them.  I have kept reading them every few years, including reading them aloud to both my children.  As Lewis (or was it Tolkien) said, every good book should be re-read every five years.  And yet, reading Prince Caspian again, I was amazed at how much I had forgotten, as well as at what a good tale it really is.

If you don't recall, Prince Caspian is about the return of the Pevensie children --- Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy --- to Narnia, called there by Caspian's blowing of Susan's horn.  Arriving there, they find that several hundred years have passed in Narnia (yet only one year in their own time), and the Old Narnia they ruled has been corrupted, the trees asleep (they used to talk), the animals mostly non-talking, and the land ruled by King Miraz, a Telmarine --- human, but not of Narnia at all.  The Pevensies quickly learn what has happened and proceed to journey to assist Caspian in re-establishing a proper rule over Narnia (with a lot of help from Aslan, the lion, Christ in that world).

The book is fantastical in may ways, and yet the most delightful part of it is the characters themselves and the narrative.  It's an adventure, a quest, enjoyable simply on that level alone, and yet it's much more.  It's about faith, the children learning once more to believe in Aslan, to trust him, and in so doing they begin to see him.  It is, in Lewis's own summary, about the restoration of true religion and even the substantial restoration of Aslan's rule and of nature itself.  There's a moving section with Aslan moving through the countryside, awakening the trees, healing an elderly woman, and more.  What Lewis does so well is give voice to our own longing that things be set right.  And yet there is no preaching here, just story, and story told with great attention to particularities, like what the children eat (or don't eat).  It's an enjoyable and quick read, and yet there's much to come back to and savor.

To help you savor it (only after reading it), utilize A Reader's Guide to Caspian.  In this  book, Ryken (English Professor at Wheaton College) and Mead (Associate Director of the Marion E. Wade Center at Wheaton, where you will find Lewis's "wardrobe" and his papers), do a number of things for readers.  Part One is a guided tour through the book, offering short synopses, numerous questions for reflection or discussion, various tidbits of information (like where the names "Cair Paravel" or "Caspian" came from, or why Lewis was so fascinated with mice a/k/a Reepicheep).  On the whole, these guides help us reflect on the book as literature --- something I do not naturally do.  Part Two  of the book is a collection of various background materials --- including very helpful articles on "Are the Narnian Sories Allegorical" (the answer is quite disputed) and "The Christian Vision of Prince Caspian," the later examining how the Christian themes of, for example, providence, faith, and discipleship weave throughout the story.  Finally, there are excerpts of contemporary reviews of Prince Caspian (that is, reviews published around the time of its publication), summaries of critical commentary on the book, a review of the success of attempts to bring The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe to screen, and a guide to using the book with reading groups or with home-schoolers.  All in all, it's a great resource, and, to some extent, you will get out of it whatever you choose to.  I plan on spending a little more time with the questions, reading back over chapters in the next few weeks, as I think it all a help to spiritual growth and a good preparation for the movie.

In conclusion, I commend both Prince Caspian and A Reader's Guide to Prince Caspian to you.  If you read them, the movie will not only entertain but will heighten the insights you already have from this great story.

A Rational Faith: A Review of Tim Keller's "The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism"

Pastor Tim Keller has had a lot of experience talking to non-believers and skeptical seekers.  After all, Keller lives and pastors in the sophisticated urban world of New York City, where a plethora of belief systems are available (or not).  In The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism, Keller manages to do two things well.  First, he winsomely confronts the questions and arguments raised by doubters, including "There can't be one true religion," or "How could a good God allow suffering?" or "Science has disproved Christianity."  Second, he offers reasons for faith, challenging skeptics to examine the clues for God, the problem of sin, the reality of the cross, and the resurrection.  What I particularly enjoyed about the book is that Keller never overstates his case, always admits truth in skeptic's arguments, and is never shrill or combative in tone.  It's an excellent book for Christians who desire to understand the questions of those nonbelievers they may relate to on a day-to-day basis, as well as for seekers who desire to explore the arguments for faith.

Throughout the book, Keller acknowledges a great debt to the work of C.S. Lewis, and yet Keller is more accessible than Lewis, more American, and more conversational.  There are liberal quotations from Mere Christianity and The Great Divorce, among other works.  Keller also (yet more subtly) pays homage to Puritan pastor Jonathan Edwards, his Reformed faith permeating the book and undergirding all that he says.  And yet his writing is informed by his own experience in talking with people, as evidenced by the many quotes from real conversations he has had with skeptics.

When taking on the new atheists --- Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens, and others --- he contends that their arguments are based on what some call "strong rationalism," a belief that "no one should believe a proposition unless it can be proved rationally by logic or empirically by sense experience."  As Keller says, most philosophers reject "strong rationality" as an impossible standard to meet.  His approach is that of "critical rationality," which "assumes that some systems of belief are more reasonable than others, but that all arguments are rationally avoidable in the end."  We don't insist on  irrefutable proofs but look for the system of belief which has the most explanatory power, which best makes sense of reality.  This is a helpful distinction that avoids the pitfalls of strong rationality and relativism.

Keller writes pastorally --- with intelligence and warmth.  His arguments are cogent, his prose sufficiently personal and animated to hold interest, and his love of God evident.  I heartily recommend the book.

A Rounded Jesus: A Review of Christ the Lord: The Road to Cana, by Anne Rice

One of the challenges in fully absorbing and appreciating the setting, characters, and dialogue of Scripture is our own disconnect with the pre-modern world in which Jesus lived and moved. Without serious study of ancient history, original languages (Greek and Hebrew), and, perhaps, archaeology, the characters in Scripture can sometimes appear flat rather than rounded, not fully human, not fully like us.

In The Road to Cana, the second installment in Anne Rice’s Christ the Lord series (the initial offering was Out of Egypt), the author attempts to remedy this by filling in the interstices of Scripture while remaining faithful to the words of Scripture. While any such attempt is fraught with pitfalls, in large measure Rice succeeds in presenting a Jesus who is very human and yet, at the same time, divine and without sin.  It's not that we need such writing to help us read Scripture rightly, as the message of the Gospel is perspicuous.  Nevertheless, well-done retellings such as Rice's make unfamiliar what has become too familiar and, thus, too flat to us.  We can return to Scripture with new eyes.

The Road to Cana begins during the last winter before Christ's baptism in the Jordan and concludes with the miracle at Cana.  There are even remembrances of earlier periods of his life.  One likely controversial portion is Jesus' (or Yeshua's) love for a woman in Nazareth, Avigail, with whom he was tempted but did not sin.  It was a healthy reminder that Jesus was fully human, and yet Rice never allows Yeshua to lust, desire to possess Avigail, or entertain for long any intention of marriage (though he experienced pressure to marry).

Another portion some reviewers have remarked on is Jesus' temptation in the desert.  Rice has Satan appear to Jesus as a look-a-like, only Satan has a fine robe and beautiful features.  Wouldn't that be a temptation --- to be yourself and yet be godlike?

There's much more --- John the Baptist, Mary and Joseph, aunts, uncles, cousins, and brother James; prose that is descriptive but driven along at a good pace by Jesus himself, the narrator; and a real Christ, human and divine, full of emotion and yet full of divine portent: "I've entered history for the whole of it.  And I won't be stopped.  And I go now, disappointing you, yes, and to what village and town I head next, I don't know, only that I go proclaiming that the Kingdom of God is on us, that the Kingdom of God is with us, that all must turn and take heed, and I will declare it where the Father tells me I must, and I will find before me the listeners --- and the surprises --- He has in store."

You can object to it on principle (and yet be consistent and reject all literary and film depictions of Jesus).  You can quibble over details and nuances.  But Anne Rice, recent convert and former novelist of vampires, has given us a rounded Jesus.  And I'm thankful.

The Bent World: A Review of "The Used World," by Haven Kimmel

Why I often end up reading books about women, most assuredly marketed to women, I don't know.  Perhaps it is the fact that I grew up with sisters, or maybe I appreciate the better-articulated emotional life of women (men are reticent to emote).  Whatever it is, I picked up Durham, North Carolina author Haven Kimmel's This Used World because it had the look of an emotionally complex tale, something on the order of Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees.  I was right.  With some cautionary notes, and a few criticisms, this is a fine book.

The story revolves around the lives of three women in small-town Jonah, Indiana.  Hazel, who appears to be the oldest, is the eccentric (yet not elderly) proprietor of The Used World, an antiques shop.  Her two employees are Claudia, an unusually tall and strapping androgynous looking woman, and Rebekah, a petite (and younger) woman recovering from  some kind of extremely harsh Pentecostal background from which she is shunned by her own father and other church members because of her relationship with a man outside of the community.  Their stories become intertwined with one another and the past, as well as babies, dogs, and cats (not necessarily in that order) in a well-written story with rich dialogue and some surprising conclusions I won't give away.  Throughout the story, their complex relationships are wrapped in further complexity by periodic flashbacks to the past, to Hazel's relationship with a childhood friend Finny and her adequate but emotionally distant parents; to Claudia's mother, Ludie; and to Rebekah's life with her cousins and church family.  And that's for starters.   In the end, there is an emotional tension that builds, underlain by faith (of a feel-good kind, I'm afraid), and, in the end, by hope.

However, two criticisms can be levied.  First, the many flashbacks with different characters and times all become quite confusing,  breaking up the plot line.  It's a bit much for one who simply wants an enjoyable read.  Second, while we have a strong sense of place we never quite know enough about these characters.  We do not know their ages.  They seem to exist in a time of their own.  I could have identified better with them if I could have rooted them in space and time.  Finally, a word of caution:  the storyline deals with the topics of abortion and lesbianism, the latter of which caught me completely unawares.  However, I wouldn't say it promotes either or is excessive or gratuitous in its portrayal of either.  It's just that the subject matter is mature.  Interestingly, whether Kimmel intended it or not, she confirmed that homosexual tendencies are deeply rooted in broken relationships between children and the parent of the opposite sex.  These women had poor relationships or non-relationships with (you guessed it) men because they had poor relationships with their own fathers.  And yet rather than just label them, we come to see them as simply broken human beings desperate for love.

I recommend the book for a mature reader, one not squeamish about the subject matter and willing to put a little more concentration into a complex (and sometimes) confusing story.  It confirms what we know:  it's a bent world but not one without hope.

Real Christianity: A Review of "The Faith," by Charles Colson & Harold Fickett

Like most of his books, Chuck Colson's The Faith abounds with poignant stories of faith, real people living out the radical claims of Christianity in the world.  I think that this is what makes his books so readable.  He doesn't so much fill his books with "lite" anecdotes as with a series of short stories meant to heighten our awareness of what the faith is all about.  When he relates the story of the courage of Amish schoolgirl Barbie Fisher, who asked to be sacrificed so that the other girls might be spared, we're moved by this almost otherworldly behavior. Or he tells the older story of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor who, though he could have stayed safely in America, went back to Nazi Germany to be among his people and ultimately die because of his faith.  Then there was a story I did not know, that of Jesus Amado Sarria, a man who headed up a network of assassins on behalf of the Cali drug cartel in Columbia and yet came to faith and forgave those who murdered his wife.  Colson offers these stories of love, courage, and forgiveness to demonstrate the practical outworking of the faith in our lives.

His purpose in writing the book is to combat the growing and pervasive ignorance about the Christian faith --- even among Christians --- in an era of anti-theism, neo-paganism, and a resurgent Islam.  It's a primer on basic truths of the faith for Christians who, while they may focus on a relationship with Christ, have not come to understand how the faith is a comprehensive view of the world and our place in it.  Colson moves through chapters on God and the Faith, where he covers themes like Creation, Fall, Redemption, Revelation, Truth, and the Trinity, and on to Faith and Life, where he discusses Reconciliation, the Church, Sanctification, the Sanctity of Life, and Last Things.  It's a highly readable, non-controversial "mere Christianity," fleshed out in the many stories that no doubt co-author Harold Fickett helps him tell so well. 

I recommend this book for new Christians, as an inspiring and yet meaty introduction to a Christian worldview.  For those already schooled in Christian worldview, the book may not only be a good reminder of what we believe but the stories will remind us why we believe as we do and why and how it matters.  As Colson says: "The orthodox Christian faith is the one source that can renew culture because it relies on a wisdom far beyond humankind's own that can yet be known by reason.  It constantly calls people to the practice of virtue and charity guided by this greater wisdom."  The challenge, as always, is living out what we say we believe.