Another medieval gumshoe

I was telling my friend Sharon about Margaret Frazer's medieval mystery series featuring Dame Frevisse, and she asked if I'd discovered Candace M. Robb's medieval sleuth, Owen Archer.

Now I have! Book 1, The Apothecary Rose, was a delight, and Sharon tells me it's only a warm-up for the rest of the series. I'm looking forward to many pleasant winter evenings with the next six books.

Unlike Dame Frevisse (early 1400s) and Brother Cadfael (early 1100s), Owen (late 1300s) is not a member of a religious order. St. Mary's Abbey (York) is, however, significant to this story, and its resident herbalist, Brother Wulfstan, plays an important role.

Like Frazer and Ellis Peters, Robb mixes actual historical characters--in The Apothecary Rose, that would be primarily John Thoresby, Lord Chancellor of England and Archbishop of York--with invented villagers, monastics, miscreants, victims, and villains. All three authors show meticulous attention to historical detail without allowing it to overwhelm the story.

And what is The Apothecary Rose about? Well, of course, someone has been murdered. Two people, in fact. And more before the story ends. As the story unfolds, people undergo terrifying events. Someone falls in love. Eventually the truth comes out and justice is restored. This is a medieval mystery, after all.

The puzzle is important--I suppose it's the mind of the mystery. The mystery's body is equally important. In this case, the body includes a comfortable inn next to a well-stocked apothecary, an archbishop's furs and a medicine woman's rags, monks and highwaymen, mud and cobblestones, home-brewed ale and herbal potions, a wise pariah and an evil churchman...

Time to quit writing and go to the library. Book 2, The Lady Chapel, is on the shelf.

Garrison Keillor's "Liberty": a woeful Wobegon novel

If, like me, you laughed your way through Garrison Keillor's Pontoon (2007), you might be thinking about grabbing Liberty (2008) off the new-books shelves just as soon as I return it to Wheaton Public Library. Let me save you some time.

The first-sentence test is instructive. Pontoon begins thus: "Evelyn was an insomniac so when they say she died in her sleep, you have to question that."

By contrast, Liberty's first sentence is a flatulent, overblown description that runs on to page 2 before sliding to a halt. At least it's cheerful--unlike Clint Bunsen, the book's protagonist.

Sure, the book has plenty of funny moments. But mostly it's the story of a 60-year-old man's late-life-transition crisis, which involves a lot of grumbling and a good deal more, um, explicit writing than Keillor usually indulges in. I appreciate a comment left on the web site goodreads: "If I were married to Garrison Keillor, I'd be a wee trifle concerned by his sudden fascination with adultery."

By the end of the book, small-town values reassert themselves (I think), but not too convincingly. Irene Bunsen's sudden gutsiness fails, not only because it's out of character, but also because she stops short of sending Clint to the Promised Land. As a 60-year-old woman, I was cheering her on.

Especially when girl-toy Angelica sententiously proclaims, "I love your husband. I don't need to own him, I believe that everything we do for love enlarges us and makes us free."

And Irene, who is holding Clint at gunpoint, cuts in and asks him to choose: "Butt, foot, or ear?"

Stanley Fish on Roland Burris and St. Augustine

In today's "Think Again" column, Stanley Fish refers to St. Augustine and the Donatists in arguing that Roland Burris deserves to be seated in the U.S. Senate.

Think ex opere operato, history buffs. Your priest may have been ordained by a heretic or scoundrel, but he's still a priest and the sacraments he administers are still valid. (Heave a sigh of relief, loyal Catholics.) As Fish points out,

The legitimacy of an appointment can be either a procedural or a moral matter. If it is a procedural matter, authority is conferred by the right credentials, and that’s that. If it is a moral matter – only the good can be truly authoritative (this was John Milton’s position) – authority is always precarious, and the structures of government and law are always in danger of being dissolved.

Fish does not tell the rest of the Donatists' story, however. Though St. Augustine acknowledged the validity of their appointments, he also called for civil penalties against them. The Donatists were wrong, he wrote, and if they could not be persuaded to return to the true church, they should be forced to do so. With his encouragement, churches were closed, adherents were fined, and leaders were exiled.

Presumably St. Augustine, while supporting Roland Burris's appointment, would have no objection to impeaching and imprisoning Governor Rod Blagojevich.

2008 Books: The Ten Mosts

Here are some books I enjoyed in 2008. I've listed 10 categories but over 20 books: anytime books get together in my house or on my computer, they multiply. Some titles are new, but most were published before 2008. The links will take you to their Amazon pages.

I read mostly for fun, though occasionally a serious book sneaks by my inner censor. I think you'll enjoy these, unless you're seriously committed to that kind of literary fiction where depressed characters relentlessly and interminably examine their inner states of being. I didn't include any of those.

I often choose books that friends recommend. Please let me know your Mosts!

Fiction

Most significant: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Half of a Yellow Sun

Sprawling yet sensitive novel set in Nigeria during the Biafran revolution in the late 1960s. PW's starred review calls it "a dramatic, intelligent epic," characterizing it as "a searing history lesson in fictional form, intensely evocative and immensely absorbing."

Most surprising: Ken Follett, The Pillars of the Earth

It's an Oprah choice, but it's not depressing. It's a potboiler, but it's full of interesting historical detail about cathedral architecture, 12th-century English political and military struggles, and the daily life of common people in the high Middle Ages. Oh yes, and it's a page-turner.

Most hilariously (and intentionally) bad: Mark Schweizer, The Baritone Wore Chiffon, The Alto Wore Tweed, The Soprano Wore Falsettos

A friend got Mr Neff started on this series because the protagonist is organist/choirmaster at a St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. There the resemblance ends. If you are Episcopalian and have a juvenile sense of humor, you'll love these dreadful books, of which there are now at least six.

Most fun to read on the beach: Elizabeth Buchan, Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman, Wives Behaving Badly, The Good Wife Strikes Back

Buchan's hen-lit is not as vindictive as it sounds. Her characters--British women of a certain age--have been hurt, but the emphasis is on how they put their lives back together. Pleasant and life-affirming with just the right touch of schadenfreude.

Most prolific and always my favorite author: Alexander McCall Smith, Portuguese Irregular Verbs, The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs, At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances, The Miracle at Speedy Motors, The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday, Love Over Scotland , The World According to Bertie

McCall Smith writes almost faster than I can read. These are from four series: Professor von Igelfeld, Isabel Dalhousie, 44 Scotland Street, and of course The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Three of the books were published in 2008. I was happy to learn that the 10th Mma Ramotswe book is due in April 2009: Tea Time for the Traditionally Built.

Nonfiction

Most significant: Peter Brown, The Body and Society

The reissue, with lengthy and important new introduction, of Brown's magisterial 1988 work. What did early Christian writers believe about the human body, especially about sex? And how could they be so different from us?

Most reassuring: Brian Kolodiejchuk, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light

You don't have to read even half the book to get the point: Mother Teresa's life involved a whole lot more duty than rapture. Most of the time she didn't feel God's presence at all. Critics who confuse faith with feeling have suggested this means she was a fraud. Another interpretation: her fierce obedience shows that feelings are but a small part of real faith. I'm guessing I'm not alone in seeing this as good news.

Most disappointing: Kathleen Norris, Acedia & Me

I like Norris, though perhaps not as devotedly as the 95% of first-time memoirists who write in their cover letters that their manuscripts are a lot like hers. This book should warn them that even Norris may not be as good as Norris. Here are interesting glimpses of her difficult marriage along with helpful thoughts about acedia (sloth), but I was hoping she would help cure me of acedia rather than induce even more of it.

Most good sense: Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food

Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. How hard can this be? A good (and quick) read for people who loved The Omnivore's Dilemma or who are feeling mildly guilty about the aftereffects of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Most fun: Dorothy J. Gaiter and John Brecher, Love by the Glass

She was a black Christian. He was a white Jew. Both were newspaper reporters. They fell in love with each other and, soon enough, with wine. But not just the drink--they love the role wine plays in enhancing everything from daily meals to marriage proposals. Nowadays they write the wine column, "Tastings," for the Wall Street Journal. This is their story. And if you want to meet them before reading it, click here.

Santa, Aslan, Harry Potter, and God

It's C-day minus 6. Are the decorations up? Presents bought and wrapped? Meals planned? Cookies baked? Sugar-high children restrained?

In all the rush, has Christ gone missing again?

You might want to make a pot of spicy tea, settle down in an overstuffed chair, and read a fairy tale.

That approach would make sense to Tony Woodlief, a management consultant and writer who, in his wonderful op-ed piece in yesterday's Wall Street Journal (thanks, Molly, for the tip), pits Chesterton, Lewis, MacDonald, Rowling, and St. Paul against "puritans and atheists" who prefer their truth straight up.

St. Paul?

There's "a seeming paradox in St. Paul's letter to Roman Christians," Woodlief writes:

"For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. . . ." How does one see "invisible attributes"? Only people raised on fairy tales can make sense of that. It belongs in a terrain where magic glasses can illumine what was heretofore hidden, where rabbit holes open into wonderlands. No wonder some atheists like Mr. Dawkins want to kill Harry Potter.

Many years ago my daughter Heidi was walking home from school when she overheard this earnest exchange between two first-graders walking a few paces behind her:

First Child: Did you know that there are people who don't believe in God?
Second Child: That's nothing. I know people who don't believe in Santa Claus!

That child would be in her thirties now. I hope she still believes in magic.

Tapas vs tuna noodle casserole

Yesterday Mr Neff wrote about the value of small. Confidentially, I thought his article could have been smaller. But I really liked these paragraphs. Maybe because they involve food.

* * * * * * * * * *

From "A Perfect Pearl: A small gospel can be a beautiful thing" by David Neff

Last January, Mark Labberton began this final series of Christian Vision Project essays by comparing the gospel many of us live by to a bland bowl of lima beans. "Many have the impression," he wrote, "that the gospel is small, smooth, and tasteless."

When I re-read Labberton's essay, I began to think of a different kind of "small" food. I thought of tapas, the small portions of intensely flavored dishes that have long served as appetizers in Spain. Over the last quarter century they have become an entire cuisine in some American restaurants. The first time friends invited me to a tapas restaurant, I was not intrigued. It was the 1980s, and American culture still celebrated the all-you-can-eat buffet. The idea of going to a restaurant to eat small portions didn't seem special to me. But my first tapas bites were a revelation. An epiphany. The intense tastes of garlic or cumin or chilies brought such a rush of flavor that it reoriented my whole approach to eating. This was food that could not be wolfed down unthinkingly, like the 1950s American cuisine of my youth: tuna noodle casserole, Jell-O salad, mashed potatoes. These little dishes demanded that I nibble slowly, chew thoughtfully, and savor.

Hear the parable of the tapas menu. God offered us something that could have been small, obscure, and forgettable. He didn't offer us some grand universal principle. His gift was the life and death (and resurrection!) of just one person in a small country repeatedly crushed and occupied by foreign powers. He does not give us love or peace or brotherhood. He gives us Jesus, who died like a common criminal.

But when we pay attention to the small thing God gives us, it changes our entire approach to life. We see the world differently. What had seemed insignificant now demands our full attention. What had seemed ordinary now seems interesting. What had seemed a dead end now promises great potential—the redemption of the whole world.

(c) 2008 by David Neff
Used without the author's permission or even awareness

Vinita Hampton Wright on presents and presence

Vinita Hampton Wright is a dear friend, publishing colleague, and exceptionally wise woman. She is the author of many books, fiction and nonfiction, including the just-released Days of Deepening Friendship: For the Woman Who Wants Authentic Life With God.

This article by Vinita will be posted on Loyola Press's web site next week. It's a wonderful meditation on Christmas joy in a crumbling economy.

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Presence in the Midst of Crisis

Of all times for the financial health of the world to end up in Intensive Care—just as the holidays entice us to splurge, to buy a little beyond ourselves because gift-buying and gift-giving are expressions of care, appreciation, even remembrance. We bake richer foods at Christmastime. And wrap things in shinier paper. And we like to spend a little more, just because this time is special. It is a time for feasting and lingering. It is a time for extravagance.

There is some justification for extravagance at this time of year. We are celebrating the love of an extravagant God. The Christ Child is the ultimate gift. God’s love is lavish, overflowing. God did not hold back from us, in sending Jesus, the son of God. In that birth we were given God’s very self.

And so, this year in which money is especially the focus of stress and strategy, perhaps we should think in terms of giving the self instead of stuff. God gave God’s self in fairly plain wrapping—the infant of two pilgrims with limited resources. No fine blankets or silky bassinet for Jesus. No huge basket of Ghirardelli’s chocolate treats for his parents. But the presence of that child was so rich and fine that poor shepherds, great intellects from far countries, a pious widow, and an old prophet were all drawn to him with tears and joy.

What kind of presence am I to those I love? If I can’t give a hefty gift certificate or even a nice set of bathroom towels this year, how can I be more present to that person for whom I’ve been willing to pull out an overextended credit card in years past? If I can offer no great cash value, then what is left? My stories? My welcome? My precious time for a phone conversation? My visit that lasts longer than it takes to exchange wrapped boxes?

This has been a stressful autumn for my husband and me. Unemployment, then underemployment, then major house repairs, and family too far away to travel to easily. And what we are discovering is that, to come home in the evening and eat a simple meal together, to give a long hug and a word of encouragement, to spend a little more time with our dogs and cats doing nothing but petting and cooing—all of that is lavish enough for us. There will be no expensive dining out this year, no big party thrown for friends. There will be cooking together in the kitchen, looking for the best price on clementines. There will be one trip to a family wedding and brief stops at other relatives on the way back. On each stop we will enter the home and be there with smaller gifts but a bigger sense of us—us coming in the door, giving hugs, having a relaxed conversation, enjoying the presence of those we don’t get to see very often.

We tend to forget, don’t we, that God’s presence is enough. God’s grace is sufficient. We forget that and follow after the big pay-off, the nicer car, the gadget that will make life more convenient, the vacation that will be more romantic and exotic than all the others. We hanker after finer and pricier presents, when the only answer to our real desire is that awesome Presence.

This Christmas seems like a great time to spend more time in that Presence. And more time exploring the power and wonder of our own presence with others.

(c) 2008 Vinita Hampton Wright
Used by permission