The Curious Critic

Meditation on Virtues & Trials

It is better to be burdened and in company with the strong than to be unburdened and with the weak. When you are burdened, you are close to God, your strength, who abides with the afflicted. When you are relieved of the burden, you are close to yourself, your own weakness; for virtue and strength of soul grow and are confirmed in the trials of patience.
St. John of the Cross

Friends, remember that virtues are mountains: with the pinnacle being the pinnacle of perfection, and on either side of the mountains there being two valleys of vice: the vice of excess, and the vide of deficiency. So on the mountain of courage there lies rashness on one side and timidity on the other. On the mountain of hope there lies presumption on one side and despair and despondency on the other. When trials occur, we have the chance to climb the mountain, but also we should, in humble self-knowledge, recognize the particular dangers of our situation and dispositions: what vice do I have a habit of? Which valley do I tend towards, or might I fall into now without God’s help? God disciplines and chastises His children, but do not forget that by Baptism you are His child whom he loves, His son or daughter whom He receives. (Heb. 12:6) “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant; later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” (Heb. 12:11)

Reading Experiment Update

In my previous post, admittedly some time ago, I explained a reading experiment I had begun. In short, it was to read only one book at a time, with some exceptions such as audiobooks, short stories, essays, etc. I actually forgot to mention the audiobook rule, but part of why I kept that rule is for long car rides, and because I don’t like podcasts very much, and because I have a rather long audiobook on the cultural history of Russia that I want to read but don’t want to only read. Perhaps I should. But I digress. My proposed experiment was for February and March. It is, according to some authorities, now April. So how did my experiment go?

An Experiment in Reading

I have begun an experiment. Years ago, I used to think that my habit of reading many books at one time was due to my lack of self-control. Then I decided: No, this is just what I like doing—I like to read different books at a time—who says that you have to read only one book at a time? Two months ago I concluded I was right in the beginning: It is a lack of self-control. At least, for me it is. Let me provide the prompt for this change, and some clarification.

Book Review: Starlight

I enjoyed this collection of short stories by Hannah Lee Kidder. It includes 11 short stories, six of which are flash fiction. The flash fiction was excellent. Kidder rarely uses exposition, and all of her stories in this collection unfold gradually with little to no expositional setup, leading the reader along through intrigue. Whether her stories end in a twist or not, there is almost always an excellent “drop” at the end—an “Oh, crap” realization either of plot (as in The Swamp Witch or Margrove) or in theme (as in Warm, which might be my favorite). All of her stories start right where they should, in the middle of a scene which she sets well. As for the endings, the flash fictions don’t necessarily have one—and often deliberately so (which makes sense, given the nature of flash fiction, which I am new to and which seem to me almost as “scenes” or even parts of scenes). Several of stories end so as to enlighten the whole story, or to shift the reader’s perspective. For instance, the last line of Ink shows what everything preceding it really entailed, and the end of Mother shows the illusion that misled both the reader and protagonist throughout the story. Or in Bruising and Warm, the end begs new questions: When does violence end and healing begin, and how does violence impact our view of the world (disillusioning us, or warping our understanding); or how might an act of self-defense impact our view of ourselves?

Book Review: The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey (#2)

Almost as delightful as the first one! Again, Trenton Lee Stewart delivers a book as wonderful as his name. The pacing was a little more varied than that of the first book, which I think I enjoyed more (I get anxious easily and use books to help regulate my emotions; so when a book is constantly tense, so am I HAHAHAHAHA [cries]). There is the constant urgency that exists in all but the first and last chapters, but there are more periods of rest for the reader’s heartbeat than the first book contains. The tone of the pre-internet modes of communication remains captivating and fun in a world where four children can go off on their own to save the world. Even so, adults are necessary in the story. The protagonists cannot do everything on their own, but their efforts matter and their dignity equals an adult’s.

Coraline: A Fun, Eerie Read

Spoilers!

I really enjoyed this book! At 30,826 words I think it makes more sense to call it a novella than a short story. I think my favourite aspect of Gaiman’s writing in this work is the tone (I’m now on my third Gaiman book, and that seems to be one of his foremost skills). Our world is shown in all its mundanity, and Gaiman lets the action and dialogue speak for itself, communicating a small, rather dull world wherein Coraline’s parents leave her, somewhat neglectfully, to her own imagination. I find it hard to communicate boredom in a way that isn’t boring, but Gaiman did a good job of it. Maybe it was the ever present conflict in relation to Coraline that made the boredom so interesting. Coraline wants to explore, but is soon confined to her flat. She wants her parents to spend time with her, but they are consumed by chores, work, etc. She wants the neighbours to pay attention to her, but Ms. Spink and Ms. Forcible are too busy rehashing the past to remember her name, and Mr. Bobo is too focused on his work to pay attention to her name. This conflict also helps us understand her wandering into another world (but honestly, who wouldn’t?), and enhances one of the main themes: that this world and its inhabitants are imperfect, yet still real—and when something is real then there is more to it than meets the eye. Her parents do care for her, and not just superficially—her father’s ‘recipe’ meals are acts of love, and he learns to show more affection toward her, picking her up and carrying her, by paying attention to her affection towards him (I also loved that she learns to show affection to others—her parents, Ms. Spink and Ms. Forcible—without them needing to be perfect in love towards her).

Book Review: Six of Crows

Spoilers!

World-building: Renaissance Fantasy

I have thought to myself that it would be interesting to read or write a renaissance fantasy story, and I think Bardugo did a fine job making one. Her originality in the combination of magic and guns, as well as in making a world that deliberately resembles our own (Amsterdam, Russia, China, etc.), makes up for her unoriginality (making a world that deliberately resembles our own). The book takes into account how Grisha magic would affect economics (tide-makers keeping Ketterdam isolated from the mainland), and it allows for a host of differing views or treatment of Grisha magic (Grisha who hide their powers, Fjerdan witch-hunters, Ravka’s second army, and slavers), and how that impacts both countries on a grand scale and her characters on a deeper level. Her decision to have a sea in the middle of the main countries, and to portray her world in maps only as a “known world” where apparently many countries could lie outside of it, creates an intriguing world with many unexplored places and with real obstacles like a vast body of water. I think that in my own worldbuilding and in some of the worlds I see others make, places like Europe, Great Britain, Australia, the US, etc. have influenced us so that we imagine countries surrounded by water (Middle Earth; Narnia, Archenland, and Calormen; Prydain; Roshar). I have never read any fantasy from the eastern hemisphere, but even then I imagine many of them would be influenced by the geographical aspects of China, Japan, Russia, etc. Bardugo’s world, however, resembles the Mediterranean, with a sea at the centre of the interacting countries, and much more land beyond those countries which may be unexplored. This was new and fresh for me. I realise that A Song of Ice and Fire has two main land masses divided by water, so that’s cool. And in Six of Crows, everything takes place either on the island of Ketterdam (which is only an island by magic tidebending) and the landmass in which lie Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han. A character is from Novyi Zem, but we never go there. So it’s not so much about where the characters go—it’s the fact that this is the world in which the story takes place. Also, unlike in A Song of Ice and Fire, the sea occupies almost the centre of the map, which reminds me of the Mediterranean.

Thoughts on The Count of Monte Cristo

I may at some point write a short essay on a certain aspect or scene in this book (e.g. Dumas’ expert use of subtext in dialogue—UGH he’s so talented like how will I ever write that good); for now, I’ll just say yes, it’s one of those classics worthy of the label. However, I felt different upon finishing it than I did upon finishing The Brothers Karamazov or The Lord of the Rings. After each of those, I felt spiritually enlightened, was fairly sure I had ascended to another level in the nine stages of the spiritual life, and could possibly interpret dreams. The Brothers Karamazov was nearly as mystical as it was an excellent work of literary art. And no book ever has nor will do what LOTR did (it basically generated the fantasy genre, which now no book can do—and only rarely does a book create a genre, or even a subgenre). I’ve prayed rosaries through both those works. But CMC is, for all its interwoven subplots, more simple: it is a great story. Whereas LOTR endeavoured to be a mythology for England, and The Brothers Karamazov—although only intended as exposition for another book which Dostoevsky didn’t live to write—is basically the fiction version of an Orthodox mystical text, CMC seems like the fruit of Dumas’ thinking, ‘What if these terrible misfortunes happened to a good-natured man, and then these subsequent and great fortunes—what would happen? What would he do? And what would then happen?’* As had been told me before I read it, it is not—unlike the 2002 film version—a revenge story. It is a story about Divine Providence, humility, and hope. I don’t know that I’ve read another book which does such an excellent job expressing nuance in human affairs, particularly moral ones, while resting on a firmly Christian morality. That is to say, every character makes realistic, understandable, often pitiable choices, sometimes deliberately based on their moral understanding; yet none but God, the most active person in the whole story, does so without erring. The reader is free to judge, encouraged to empathise, and taught to hope without presumption or despair. While the themes are perhaps less varied than those of The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, or maybe LOTR, that is simply because all it endeavours to do is tell a good story about a man and his sorrows and hopes, relating a few deep themes. At least, that’s how it appeared to me. I don’t mean there aren’t many layers or themes one might notice (‘theme is pretty vague)—I mean I don’t think Dumas meant to deeply explore more than a few, and the story is much more of a plot-driven story than the character-driven Brokers Karamazov or Anna Karenina, or the mythological LOTR.

Christmas Reading List

Why, on the 30th of December, am I publishing a post on Christmas literary recommendations? Firstly because, in the words of Bob Cratchit, I was making rather merry—and still am! Hence the short post, as well. Secondly because (and this is for another post), Christmas has not ended! In the Church (outside of which Christmas is in vain), it is an Octave celebration, and so the highest day of Christmas is in a sense actually the 8th day of Christmas: January 1st, the Feast of the Mother of God. Furthermore, in the West we have the tradition of the twelve days of Christmas, and on top of that, Christmastide traditionally goes until February 2nd, the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus, or Candlemas. It is true that under the new calendar Christmastide has been shortened, but I prefer to celebrate using the old calendar, not only because I know of no reason why it should have been changed, but because it is important that, just as Eastertide is always longer than Lent, so Christmastide ought always to be longer than Advent. This has obvious spiritual and eternal implications. All this is to say: You may well, and possibly ought to, celebrate Christmas until February! Certainly for another couple weeks or so. And for me, one of the ways I avail myself of the Spirit of Christmas is by what I read. Without further ado, here are some stories I like to read every year:

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. You cannot beat this, in my opinion. This story was the first of Dickens I read, and led me to fall in love with his writing. Clever, lovely, wonderful. The old 1951 Scrooge film was very good, but the book is so much better. This would be a great story to read aloud as a family. If you prefer to listen, Tim Curry’s audiobook production is amazing, and I have listened to it twice. The story goes into what it means to be a human being among our fellow men, what mortality demands of us, and what our earthly endeavors ought to consist of.
The Burglar’s Christmas by Willa Cather. Not a long story, and it gets right to the point. It is, in essence, the story of the prodigal son, but with the father’s role replaced by the mother’s. It has great insight into the maternal nature of the Holy Spirit, whether Cather knew it or not.
The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, by E. T. A. Hoffman. This is the original story, whence came the ballet. It is delightful fantasy. Alexandre Dumas, author of The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo, adapted it as well. I am currently reading his version, and much enjoying it! Also, if you haven’t seen the ballet, I highly encourage you to! It is truly beautiful.
The following I found through the audiobook collection entitled: A Vintage Christmas: A Collection of Classic Stories and Poems. I recommend all of the stories therein (the narrators vary in skill in this particular collection), but will list some of my favourites, separating them by author. First, my favourites were those by L. M. Montgomery, author of Anne of Green Gables. The three I most enjoyed were: Christmas at Red Butte, A Christmas Inspiration, and Aunt Cyrilla’s Christmas Basket. These are all short, and lovely, sweet, delightful.
Lousia May Alcott’s (author of Little Women) A Country Christmas and A Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be True. These, along with the next author’s, contain more clear morals and values being impressed upon the reader, which isn’t always my preference, but they are done well. Alcott’s writing is lovely. A Country Christmas contains good values that many of us have lost, and the other story, if taken to heart, would make our Christmas celebrations much richer and happier.
Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Christmas; or, The Good Fairy. Much like Alcott’s A Christmas Dream, but I didn’t prefer it as much as Alcott’s. Christmas in Pogunac is another that I enjoyed. I think it is better and more interesting than The Good Fairy, partially because it is more nuanced. Still, I don’t know quite what to think of it. Read it, and let me know what you think.
Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Dinner. This precedes A Christmas Carol, and contains one or two of the same themes. But it is barely a story—more of a sketch. And that was one of Dicken’s strengths. It’s short and delightful. It reminds me of what I want Christmas celebrations to be like in my home.

Finally, the following poems:

Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Christmastide by Eliza Cook.
Music on Christmas Morning by Anne Brontë.
Ring Out, Wild Bells by Alfred Lord, Tennyson.

Clay & Steel: Differences between Children’s Stories, Young Adult, & Adult

A while back I was trying to determine what distinguishes children’s books—specifically for older children, say age 10 on average—from young adult, and young adult from adult novels. I think it may consist partly in the following. The protagonists in children’s books are generally not on a path of self-discovery, but rather have a practical goal (saving the Princess in The Tale of Despereaux), and on the journey thereto they come to better understand the world and/or grow through experience. Many of the lessons they learn aren’t too particular to them, but rather are lessons everyone must learn. For example, in The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander, Taran learns to accept his own weakness and to empathize with others. While these are vital lessons to learn, they are general enough that they apply to everyone—everyone is imperfect, none matters more than another, and we often share the very weakness which we despise in others—and they pertain less to his discovering his identity or place in the world, which is where I think YA novels tend to focus. This is why, I would argue, the later Prydain Chronicles tend more toward the young adult genre, given the themes of discovering one’s identity and place in the world, and preparing for marriage—it’s not just a story with a boy and girl in love, which could easily be in a children’s book, but the protagonist is focussed on preparing for marriage and knowing his birth so that he might be viewed, and view himself, as worthy of his beau—and this I think more pertains to the young adult.

In a young adult (YA) novel, the characters are reaching or have reached manhood or womanhood, and are not only learning about the world, but trying to find their place in it. I will say, as an aside, that I don’t think their age truly matters as much as their maturity and place in society—Despereaux isn’t portrayed as a child, yet I’d say his story targets a younger audience. Moreover, what constitutes a “young adult” changes. I think that part of why the YA genre appeals to such a wide age range—from 12-year-olds to people well into adulthood, even in their thirties—is that we now mature so late and so slowly. Thus, I haven’t really defined the genre. More on that later.