(Disclaimer: This series of posts is about fiction alone. Nonfiction is a whole other cup of tea.)
It's pretty easy to judge books. This one's good, that one's bad, the other is so-so. But, when asked to define a good book or a bad book, we often cannot come up with anything really intelligent. Some people say it depends on the characters... but then, who hasn't read a good book that also has rotten characters? Or what about a plot? Again, there are many good books that have indifferent plots. Bad books mirror good ones; they can have good characters or plots. So what really separates the good from the bad? The short answer is: A little bit of everything. But, since this is a blog and not a twitter account, I'll expand on that. This first post will focus on the most important thing a good book must have: A good moral foundation.
Nothing that is rotten at the core can be good. Books are no exception. For example, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series is about as rotten as they can be. From what I remember, they are fairly well written. I certainly enjoyed them... right up to the moment when I realized he was attacking my faith. Ultimately, the whole rancid trilogy is about how God doesn't really exist. He is a myth that has been invented to keep people in chains, blah, blah, blah. And kids should escape from His "tyranny" by... having sex. Well, at least by breaking the moral boundaries set by God. Since Chrisian ideas of the sacredness of sex are the things on which most atheists are fixated, having sex is the easiest (and most shocking) way for the kids to break away. The ultimate message of the book is rotten, and, by extension, whether it is well written or not is entirely irrelevant.
On the other hand, good books are built around a good core. Just one example of this is Michelle Buckman's Rachel's Contrition. In this story, a young woman with a dark past is troubled by depression and a host of other problems. But, with the help of other broken souls, she finds her way to a better place. Through the murky depths of addiction, loss, suffering, and sexual abuse of many kinds, the bright light of redemption shines through this book like a beam of sunlight on a rainy day. This beam casts a rainbow, reminding readers that God has promised to help all who seek His face. Now, this book is definitely well written. But, as has been established, it is its beautiful core that is the ultimate factor in whether or not it is a good book.
In short, where Pullman attempts to pull readers away from God, Buckman bucks them up with reminders of the vastness of God's mercy and of the beauty that exists in even very troubled souls. (Forgive the puns; I couldn't resist.) Whereas the one book is built on a foundation of hatred and lies, the other is supported by the strong arms of love and truth. Regardless of whether a book is well-written or not, it must have a good moral foundation in order to be good.
Friday, March 30, 2012
What's in a Name?
So here's a list of names that Disney was considering for the dwarfs in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Some of them are hopelessly dated; Dippy, Neurtsy, Sappy, and Jaunty are a few that would never fly nowadays. Daffy never would have worked (although I love that name, and the word is fun), but Dizzy and Hungry would have made funny characters.
Interestingly enough, neither of the additional dwarf names from ABC's Once Upon a Time - Stealthy and Dreamy - are on the list. (For the record, I think Dreamy is a really stupid name. Particularly for a dwarf.)
Interestingly enough, neither of the additional dwarf names from ABC's Once Upon a Time - Stealthy and Dreamy - are on the list. (For the record, I think Dreamy is a really stupid name. Particularly for a dwarf.)
Friday, March 23, 2012
What Wonderful Timing...
... Considering the war for religious freedom that is going on right now.
The lack of internet information about this movie is really disappointing. I've been trying to follow its progress for almost a year but have found very little. Since Eduardo Verástegui and Andy Garcia are in it, it may actually be well done - something that is a rarity in Christian/Catholic films these days. Furthermore, it's a seemingly realistic look at the Mexican Revolution, which (naturally) established an anti-Catholic regime. That sort of treatment of revolutions and their subsequent governments is very unusual. People often ignore the French Revolution and whitewash the Spanish Revolution, two bloody revolts that were anti-Catholic as well as anti-regime. For Greater Glory looks very promising, indeed.
The lack of internet information about this movie is really disappointing. I've been trying to follow its progress for almost a year but have found very little. Since Eduardo Verástegui and Andy Garcia are in it, it may actually be well done - something that is a rarity in Christian/Catholic films these days. Furthermore, it's a seemingly realistic look at the Mexican Revolution, which (naturally) established an anti-Catholic regime. That sort of treatment of revolutions and their subsequent governments is very unusual. People often ignore the French Revolution and whitewash the Spanish Revolution, two bloody revolts that were anti-Catholic as well as anti-regime. For Greater Glory looks very promising, indeed.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Except the Dying
(Written by Maureen Jennings. First book in the Murdoch Mysteries series.) Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary has quite a case on his hands. A servant girl was found dead in the snow - sans clothing. To make matters more complicated, she was pregnant. Where was she going on such a bitter night without a carriage? Why did she just lie down and die? Doesn't anyone know anything about her last few hours? And, most importantly, did someone help her to her death?
On a "Good Book" scale of one to ten, this ranks at about a two. The only reasons it doesn't reach lower are: Its good Victorian flavor and its lack of sex scenes. Other than that, there is really no reason why someone would want to read this book. The characters are generally either boring or annoying, the story is very much a cliché, and there is enough innuendo to stuff a mattress.
First, the characters. Now, I've seen most of the episodes from the first season of the Canadian television adaptation of this series of books. During that time, I fell in love with every one of the regular characters: Awkward but hard-working Constable Crabtree, gruff and humorous Inspector Brackenreid, professional and ladylike pathologist Doctor Ogden, and especially Murdoch, with his strong Catholic faith, shy nature, and head in the clouds of science. Then I read this book. Murdoch is totally different; none of the words I used to describe him would really apply. He's Catholic, though not particularly faithful, more disapproving than shy, and doesn't seem to be quite as involved in science. Constable Crabtree, instead of an awkward little bachelor, is a youngish married man with three kids. The Inspector, who hates politics in the shows, is fond of kissing up to various people in high places in the book. Doctor Ogden isn't even a character yet, although I am told she comes into the series later. In short, the characters were very much improved upon in the television series.
Next, the very straightforward story. Well, a young servant girl gets pregnant, and, although the culprit is unknown, it's pretty obvious that the man involved is the killer. Might it be the stable boy? Don't be ridiculous. What about the housekeeper's husband? Wrong again. Nope, it has to be someone from one of the city's more affluent families. It's not the son, either; he naturally has to be gay (something I saw from a mile off). In fact, I guessed the culprit almost from the outset, and the red herrings throughout the rest of the story turned out to be only mildly distracting.
Finally, the innuendo got a bit much. Or much too much. The victim was an unmarried mother and two key characters in this murder are prostitutes... and although the innuendo is written in Victorian language, it's still fairly clear. Page after page after page of sexual references gets very tiring, especially when there's really no humor, likeable characters, or interesting story to have as a counter-balance.
Though Jennings did a good job of using language and expressions that fit the Victorian time period of this historical novel, she did a very poor job of constructing a clean book with an interesting story and characters. Murdoch and Co. are fairly cardboard, the story is embarrassingly simple, and the innuendo is just too much. If you ever see this book on the shelf at the library, don't even waste the energy it takes to read the back cover.
My Rating: MT (constant innuendo, veiled homosexual reference, mild sexual content)
On a "Good Book" scale of one to ten, this ranks at about a two. The only reasons it doesn't reach lower are: Its good Victorian flavor and its lack of sex scenes. Other than that, there is really no reason why someone would want to read this book. The characters are generally either boring or annoying, the story is very much a cliché, and there is enough innuendo to stuff a mattress.
First, the characters. Now, I've seen most of the episodes from the first season of the Canadian television adaptation of this series of books. During that time, I fell in love with every one of the regular characters: Awkward but hard-working Constable Crabtree, gruff and humorous Inspector Brackenreid, professional and ladylike pathologist Doctor Ogden, and especially Murdoch, with his strong Catholic faith, shy nature, and head in the clouds of science. Then I read this book. Murdoch is totally different; none of the words I used to describe him would really apply. He's Catholic, though not particularly faithful, more disapproving than shy, and doesn't seem to be quite as involved in science. Constable Crabtree, instead of an awkward little bachelor, is a youngish married man with three kids. The Inspector, who hates politics in the shows, is fond of kissing up to various people in high places in the book. Doctor Ogden isn't even a character yet, although I am told she comes into the series later. In short, the characters were very much improved upon in the television series.
Next, the very straightforward story. Well, a young servant girl gets pregnant, and, although the culprit is unknown, it's pretty obvious that the man involved is the killer. Might it be the stable boy? Don't be ridiculous. What about the housekeeper's husband? Wrong again. Nope, it has to be someone from one of the city's more affluent families. It's not the son, either; he naturally has to be gay (something I saw from a mile off). In fact, I guessed the culprit almost from the outset, and the red herrings throughout the rest of the story turned out to be only mildly distracting.
Finally, the innuendo got a bit much. Or much too much. The victim was an unmarried mother and two key characters in this murder are prostitutes... and although the innuendo is written in Victorian language, it's still fairly clear. Page after page after page of sexual references gets very tiring, especially when there's really no humor, likeable characters, or interesting story to have as a counter-balance.
Though Jennings did a good job of using language and expressions that fit the Victorian time period of this historical novel, she did a very poor job of constructing a clean book with an interesting story and characters. Murdoch and Co. are fairly cardboard, the story is embarrassingly simple, and the innuendo is just too much. If you ever see this book on the shelf at the library, don't even waste the energy it takes to read the back cover.
My Rating: MT (constant innuendo, veiled homosexual reference, mild sexual content)
Friday, March 16, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The Handmaid's Tale (1985)
(Written by Margaret Atwood.) Offred is a handmaid to Serena Joy, the wife of a Commander. But this isn't biblical times, and it isn't even as far east as Europe. Following a disaster of almost apocalyptic proportions, a group of heavily armed rebels has destroyed the government of the United States. The country is now called Gilead, and it is ruled according to fear and distrust. Women are taken out of the workforce and are assigned various rigid roles in society. Some are housekeepers called "Marthas." Some are the "Wives." Still others are "Handmaids" - childbearers who are not married to the children's fathers. In a society almost bereft of fertility, the burden of producing the next generation falls to these.
This book is very puzzling. At first, it seems very anti-organized religion - particularly anti-Catholic. The way the Handmaids are required to dress seems nearly identical to the habit the Daughters of Charity used to wear. The distorted view of sexuality - for procreation only - is one often attributed to the Catholic Church. The Gileadean regime uses the Bible to put a moral price tag on what it's doing. Those are only a few examples. But deeper into the book, it's revealed that things are not quite as they seem at first glance.
Gilead seems to be more interested in using vague hints and trappings of Christianity rather than any real form of Christianity itself. For example, the Bible is used as moral backup for what the regime wants to do. But the Bible is not made available to most of the people - and many "quotes" are either distorted or borrowed from another source. In short, the regime alters the evidence (the Bible) to fit its arguments, not the other way around.
So Gilead uses a vague idea (again, the Bible) that is typically considered to have moral weight in order to justify what is being done. For the most part, the regime gets away with this because no one has the tools to argue with them. Only trustworthy people in high places even have access to the Bible. In other words, the regime's argument is built on a foundation that is unassailable only because it is simply unavailable. That sounds more like relativism than Christianity, which has the widely available Word of God as its backup.
Any relativist moral argument eventually breaks down because it cannot have real evidence on which to build its foundation. Arguing that "what's okay for me doesn't have to be okay for you" is totally illogical. Not because it's false per se, but because, by its very nature, it has nothing to back it up. Think about that for a second. To what moral authority can relativists appeal in order to back up their claim that "good" is, in truth, relative? They have none; the whole point of relativism is to do away with moral authority entirely. Unlike modern relativists, the Gileadean regime in The Handmaid's Tale understands this need of evidence. Its response is to obfuscate and mutilate a known, trusted source. However, the essentials still remain the same. Relativists have no authority on their side, and the Gileadeans have only an invented authority.
Whether Atwood intended to weave this speculation on relativism into her book or not, the parallel can certainly be drawn. She is apparently an agnostic, and might possibly be anti-organized religion. But whatever her attitudes on religion, the complexity of her invented world and the interesting way in which Atwood deals with its problems make this a worthwhile read.
My Rating: MT (sexual content and references, sex scenes (not too graphic), reference to homosexuality, violence)
This book is very puzzling. At first, it seems very anti-organized religion - particularly anti-Catholic. The way the Handmaids are required to dress seems nearly identical to the habit the Daughters of Charity used to wear. The distorted view of sexuality - for procreation only - is one often attributed to the Catholic Church. The Gileadean regime uses the Bible to put a moral price tag on what it's doing. Those are only a few examples. But deeper into the book, it's revealed that things are not quite as they seem at first glance.
Gilead seems to be more interested in using vague hints and trappings of Christianity rather than any real form of Christianity itself. For example, the Bible is used as moral backup for what the regime wants to do. But the Bible is not made available to most of the people - and many "quotes" are either distorted or borrowed from another source. In short, the regime alters the evidence (the Bible) to fit its arguments, not the other way around.
So Gilead uses a vague idea (again, the Bible) that is typically considered to have moral weight in order to justify what is being done. For the most part, the regime gets away with this because no one has the tools to argue with them. Only trustworthy people in high places even have access to the Bible. In other words, the regime's argument is built on a foundation that is unassailable only because it is simply unavailable. That sounds more like relativism than Christianity, which has the widely available Word of God as its backup.
Any relativist moral argument eventually breaks down because it cannot have real evidence on which to build its foundation. Arguing that "what's okay for me doesn't have to be okay for you" is totally illogical. Not because it's false per se, but because, by its very nature, it has nothing to back it up. Think about that for a second. To what moral authority can relativists appeal in order to back up their claim that "good" is, in truth, relative? They have none; the whole point of relativism is to do away with moral authority entirely. Unlike modern relativists, the Gileadean regime in The Handmaid's Tale understands this need of evidence. Its response is to obfuscate and mutilate a known, trusted source. However, the essentials still remain the same. Relativists have no authority on their side, and the Gileadeans have only an invented authority.
Whether Atwood intended to weave this speculation on relativism into her book or not, the parallel can certainly be drawn. She is apparently an agnostic, and might possibly be anti-organized religion. But whatever her attitudes on religion, the complexity of her invented world and the interesting way in which Atwood deals with its problems make this a worthwhile read.
My Rating: MT (sexual content and references, sex scenes (not too graphic), reference to homosexuality, violence)
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
A Wrinkle In Time (1962)
(Written by Madeleine L'Engle. First book in the Time Quintet.) Meg Murry is not like other girls. In fact, she's not like other people, period. In the first place, her scientist father disappeared several years ago while working for the government. Second, her teachers - and the whole village - think she's an idiot. Well, moron, actually. Her little brother Charles Wallace is supposed to be the idiot. Meg is really a very intelligent girl, but she's a bit of a late bloomer. Charles Wallace is almost unbelievably intelligent, but he developed the reputation of an idiot as a baby, and reputations are hard to shake. Into this little nest of idiots and morons comes three strange old ladies. Their names are Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which, and they are not exactly human. Also, they have the ability to use the fifth dimension to travel around the universe fighting evil. And they know where Meg and Charles Wallace's father is.
One of my pet peeves is that there are too few really acceptable children's books written nowadays. Kids graduate to teen books long before they are really ready. But that just means that they graduate from innuendo to more explicit sexual content. Looking back on some books I read when I was about eleven, I'm very glad that I was... shall I say not exactly up to speed on innuendo and other semi-sexual content? At the time, I knew somehow that there was something wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on what. About the only safe harbors were Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, and Redwall.
A Wrinkle in Time, however, is completely appropriate for children - and challenging as well. Its story is easy enough to follow, but there are parts where kids need to stretch their imaginations. The universe can be stretched in and out of shape by anyone, given the proper training and experience, and there are fanstastic things like centaurs - with wings! - and brains separated from bodies. Mind control makes an appearance as well. But this sort of imaginational stretch should be pretty easy for anyone weaned on Disney movies or the Narnia books.
Finally, L'Engle makes it a point that kids don't all grow up and/or learn at the same rates. Everyone has their own schedule, she seems to say. Just because some kid is "behind," don't assume that kid is a moron. Even those who might very well have some sort of learning disability also have a special talent. This is a great message that kids need to hear: God has a plan in mind for you, and you're not going to be left behind.
My Rating: Borderline AGC/OK (frightening ideas (e.g. the brain), slight parent/child conflict)
One of my pet peeves is that there are too few really acceptable children's books written nowadays. Kids graduate to teen books long before they are really ready. But that just means that they graduate from innuendo to more explicit sexual content. Looking back on some books I read when I was about eleven, I'm very glad that I was... shall I say not exactly up to speed on innuendo and other semi-sexual content? At the time, I knew somehow that there was something wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on what. About the only safe harbors were Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, and Redwall.
A Wrinkle in Time, however, is completely appropriate for children - and challenging as well. Its story is easy enough to follow, but there are parts where kids need to stretch their imaginations. The universe can be stretched in and out of shape by anyone, given the proper training and experience, and there are fanstastic things like centaurs - with wings! - and brains separated from bodies. Mind control makes an appearance as well. But this sort of imaginational stretch should be pretty easy for anyone weaned on Disney movies or the Narnia books.
Finally, L'Engle makes it a point that kids don't all grow up and/or learn at the same rates. Everyone has their own schedule, she seems to say. Just because some kid is "behind," don't assume that kid is a moron. Even those who might very well have some sort of learning disability also have a special talent. This is a great message that kids need to hear: God has a plan in mind for you, and you're not going to be left behind.
My Rating: Borderline AGC/OK (frightening ideas (e.g. the brain), slight parent/child conflict)
Friday, March 2, 2012
Another Slippery Post
Warning: Somewhat mature content is contained in this post.
"The fact that it was a lesbian encounter didn't really bother me. What creeped me out was the difference in their ages. Laura's seventeen and Janet's, what, thirty-eight?"
This sentence (or something much like it) was spoken during a casual discussion of The Female Man by Joanna Russ. I and the others in the group had all just read the section where Janet, with the help of a mechanical device, has "sex" with Laura. The others in the group were offended and put off by the twenty-year difference in the two women's ages. My reaction to that (in my head) was, and I quote, "Why the hell not?"
Speaking from a morally relativistic approach, there is absolutely no reason why these two women shouldn't do anything they pleased. Laura was at the age of consent. This is the age of free love, right? Of sexual perversions taken as lightly as a doodle? If there's nothing morally wrong with homosexual acts (I say acts, not people with same-sex attraction), then there's certainly nothing wrong with a thirty-eight year old having sex with a seventeen year old.
But the inconsistency of my fellow group members' logic isn't what disturbed me. I'm very glad that people who look with an approving eye on things considered unthinkable just a hundred years ago would still have some sexual boundaries. No, what disturbed me is the thing that they didn't mention: Laura lost her virginity to a mechanical device. Let's think about this for a minute. Sex is an extremely intimate act wherein a man and a woman become one flesh. This has been so perverted that a woman can now share this sort of intimacy with a metal device, pretending she is having sex with another woman - and no one objects. Maybe I'm naïve, but that strikes me as bone-chilling. Maybe I'm naïve, but that strikes me as dangerous. Maybe I'm naïve, but people who express opinions like mine will find themselves subject to heavy fines and/or imprisonment just a few decades from now. Abnormal behaviors accepted by society become protected by law, and those who oppose things protected by law are persecuted.
"The fact that it was a lesbian encounter didn't really bother me. What creeped me out was the difference in their ages. Laura's seventeen and Janet's, what, thirty-eight?"
This sentence (or something much like it) was spoken during a casual discussion of The Female Man by Joanna Russ. I and the others in the group had all just read the section where Janet, with the help of a mechanical device, has "sex" with Laura. The others in the group were offended and put off by the twenty-year difference in the two women's ages. My reaction to that (in my head) was, and I quote, "Why the hell not?"
Speaking from a morally relativistic approach, there is absolutely no reason why these two women shouldn't do anything they pleased. Laura was at the age of consent. This is the age of free love, right? Of sexual perversions taken as lightly as a doodle? If there's nothing morally wrong with homosexual acts (I say acts, not people with same-sex attraction), then there's certainly nothing wrong with a thirty-eight year old having sex with a seventeen year old.
But the inconsistency of my fellow group members' logic isn't what disturbed me. I'm very glad that people who look with an approving eye on things considered unthinkable just a hundred years ago would still have some sexual boundaries. No, what disturbed me is the thing that they didn't mention: Laura lost her virginity to a mechanical device. Let's think about this for a minute. Sex is an extremely intimate act wherein a man and a woman become one flesh. This has been so perverted that a woman can now share this sort of intimacy with a metal device, pretending she is having sex with another woman - and no one objects. Maybe I'm naïve, but that strikes me as bone-chilling. Maybe I'm naïve, but that strikes me as dangerous. Maybe I'm naïve, but people who express opinions like mine will find themselves subject to heavy fines and/or imprisonment just a few decades from now. Abnormal behaviors accepted by society become protected by law, and those who oppose things protected by law are persecuted.
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