Lazy Post, Funny Link

i think i'm going to snort diet coke out of my nose.
This site is that funny.

Throwing Inkwells

This week I had the great privilege to pray with a friend who shared a prayer from Beth Moore's book, So Long Insecurity. I haven't read the book, but that prayer was intense. We were there before God's throne, confessing our deepest fears -- the secret failures to believe His promises to us.

Where does insecurity come from? Why do I protect myself from relationships? Why am I afraid to be known? Why am I so afraid of conflict?

Satan sitting on my shoulder with a pocket mirror, showing me my own face. I know who I am. I don't deserve to be loved. I don't deserve to be happy.

Thomas Merton writes, "The beginning of the fight against hatred, the basic Christian answer to hatred, is not the commandment to love, but what must necessarily come before in order to make the commandment bearable and comprehensible. It is a prior commandment, to believe. The root of Christian love is not the will to love, but the faith that one is loved. The faith that one is loved by God. That faith that one is loved by God although unworthy--or rather, irrespective of one's worth!

"In the true Christian vision of God's love, the idea of worthiness loses its significance. Revelation of the mercy of God makes the whole problem of worthiness something almost laughable: the discovery that worthiness is of no special consequence (since no one could ever, by himself, be worthy to be loved with such a love) is a true liberation of spirit. And until this discovery is made, until this liberation has been brought about by the divine mercy, man is imprisoned in hate.

"Humanistic love will not serve. As long as we believe that we hate no one, that we are merciful, that we are kind by our very nature, we deceive ourselves; our hatred is merely smoldering under the gray ashes of complacent optimism. We are apparently at peace with everyone because we think we are worthy. That is to say we have lost the capacity to face the question of unworthiness at all. But when we are delivered by the mercy of God the question no longer has a meaning." (New Seeds of Contemplation)

Or to put it more simply, "We love because He first loved us."

Who do I listen to? The devil showing me what i deserve? Or the God who tells me i am His precious possession forever?

If God has called me beloved, who am i to disbelieve Him?

Lord, grant me the trust in Your love to go forth boldly. To live boldly, to love freely, to serve without fear. To live every moment delighting in the relationship You have brought me into.

Jesus didn't die to save the person I wish I was

Who do you want to be?

Since I was young, I was told that I was brilliant. For a while I believed it. This is who I wanted to be, the creator of astonishing beauty. This is much of what drove my efforts in artwork, music, words. 


I wanted, also, to be a good person. To be self-sacrificing, honourable, strong.

It's hard to confront the fact that the person I thought I was doesn't really exist. That I am a lover of beauty, but not a creator. That I am much more selfish and frightened and weak than I wanted.

How much of my life has been running away from that confrontation? I've poured so much energy into staying thin enough to "feel like myself." Does looking at my thin or not-thin self in the mirror keep me busy enough not to have to look at my character, my true self?

God tells us throughout His word that we are created to show forth His glory. He made me to reflect Himself.

Thomas Merton writes,

     "Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self. This is the man that I want myself to be but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him. ... My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God's will and God's love--outside of reality and outside of life. And such a self cannot help but be an illusion. 
     We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones we cherish about ourselves--the ones we are born with and which feed the roots of sin. For most of the people in the world, there is no greater subjective reality than this false self of theirs, which cannot exist. A life devoted to the cult of this shadow is what is called a life of sin. 
     All sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my own egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered. Thus I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honour, knowledge and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real. And I wind experiences around myself and cover myself with pleasures and glory like bandages in order to make myself perceptible to myself and to the world, as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface.
     But there is no substance under the things with which I am clothed. I am hollow, and my structure of pleasures and ambitions has no foundation. I am objectified in them. But they are all destined by their very contingency to be destroyed. And when they are gone there will be nothing left of me but my own nakedness and emptiness and hollowness, to tell me that I am my own mistake.


     "The secret of my identity is hidden in the love and mercy of God. ... Ultimately the only way that I can be myself is to become identified with Him in Whom is hidden the reason and fulfillment of my existence.
Therefore there is only one problem on which all my existence, my peace and my happiness depend: to discover myself in discovering God. If I find Him I will find myself and if I find my true self I will find Him."  (New Seeds of Contemplation, 31-36)


"In order to become myself I must cease to be what I always thought I wanted to be, and in order to find myself I must go out of myself, and in order to live I have to die. The reason for this is that I am born in selfishness and therefore my natural efforts to make myself more real and more myself, make me less real and less myself, because they revolve around a lie." (47)

After regeneration, Merton says, "life becomes a series of choices between the fiction of our false self, whom we feed with the illusions of passion and selfish appetite, and our loving consent to the purely gratuitous mercy of God." (41)

Christ didn't die to save the beautiful person I want to be.

He came to save the person that I am. He looked at me -- me -- and called me His beloved bride.

So do I keep trying to believe I am the person who I want to be, the sad and shining heroine of my own lifestory? Do I distract myself from existence entirely?


Or do I take what I am -- what I really am, so much less than I desire -- and bring it to God? Humbly, gratefully, forget my own desires and seek only to know Him? Forget about the genius I wanted, and take up the small talents He gave me, and say, "Here am I for Your service"?

Me, Darth Maul, and Other Fugitives (Long)

Sleeping in, dates at Starbucks, and just plain going grocery shopping together. I am loving DH’s spring break! My admirable husband is keeping up with his studies, but we're still taking advantage of the extra free time. We've even started re-viewing the Star Wars hexology. Yes, all six movies. Even Episode I. (What WAS George Lucas thinking? Then again, I can see how the brain that came up with Ewoks, after several years' slow decline into senility, might think that Jar Jar Binks was actually a hilarious idea.)

Regardless of its strengths or weaknesses as a movie, I have a secret fondness for Episode I. You see, it features two of my favourite characters. My fondness for these two has nothing to do with their role in the story or the skill with which their actors portray them.

I like Queen Amidala. Not Padme, the emotive "handmaiden"; not the sensual, inexplicably older-but-apparently-grown-completely-STUPID Senator of Episode II, but the padded and painted Queen. I like her because of her outrageously voluminous, outrageously numerous ceremonial costumes. You could stick Jabba the Hutt in those gorgeous robes, paint his face, and tie on a thirty-pound headdress, and call him Queen Amidala, and as long as he spoke in an emotionless monotone no one would be able to tell the difference.

And I like Darth Maul. You see, he's got a full set of armor, tattooed in red and black stripes across his face. He could be giggling uncontrollably, grimacing in fear, or weeping with the tortuous weight of guilt he's accumulated from his years of Sithly deeds. And all anyone would be able to see would be Tattooed Scary Evil Guy.

Why do I like those characters? Because they're safe. Nobody can see anything but the functional role they have assumed. Padme's heart can be broken (although really - Hayden Whatsisname acting like a thirteen-year-old Artistic Soul?) -- Queen Amidala's heart is invisible. Unassailable. All that is there is the even performance of her function as Queen.

Kind of a long and nerdy intro, I know. I've been reading this book, by Ed Welch. As the title suggests, it's about what's up when other people become more important to a person (viz, me) than God. When other people become the focus of idolatry.

Do I define myself by who I am in Christ?

Or do I feel insecure when I can't compete with or measure up to others? Am I afraid of being laughed at? Of not being liked? Am I unable to say "no" when people ask me for commitments? Do I feel responsible for helping others and fixing their problems? Do I tell "little white lies" to smooth over difficult situations? To avoid offending people? Do I need to prove my independence from others? Do I avoid people? Do I feel that my "low self-esteem" is holding me back?

Do I fear God, or do I fear people?

This is a scary, scary book. It is a book that is not afraid to shine the light of truth into the scariest corners of our hearts. Reading it, I am confronted with my heart. It's not fun. I feel exactly like Eustace. Like God is peeling off all my makeup. And then my clothes. And then my skin.

My heart wants to be like Queen Amidala or Darth Maul. No, I don't want to rule the galaxy via the Dark Side of the Force. But, almost more than anything, I want to be functional -- unassailable -- in the ways those characters are. I want "people" to perceive me as someone who fulfills her role. Smoothly. I don't want them to see the inadequacies, the fears, the petty self-indulgences. I want a mask in the shape of my own face -- a mask that doesn't let through pouts or tears.

Why is it so important that others think of me -- not as someone extraordinary -- but as someone "functional"? So much so that, in the vast majority of my relationships, I exchange superficiality for real love and service?

Mr. Welch suggests that my tendency to hide from "people" is an indicator that I want to hide from God. Or perhaps, worded differently, a way to distract myself from the terror of that (inescapable!) Knowing.

Has anyone else read this book? What did you think?

And Here's A World Of Beauty

"When Death Comes." By Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems. Beacon Press, 1992. 10-11.


When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder-blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

WHen it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited the world.


"Goldenrod." Oliver, 17-18.


On roadsides,
    in fall fields,
        in rumpy bunches,
            saffron and orange and pale gold,

in little towers,
    soft as mash,
        sneeze-bringers and seed-bearers,
            full of bees and yellow beads and perfect flowerlets

and orange butterflies.
    I don't suppose
        much notice comes of it, except for honey,
            and how it heartens the heart with its

blank blaze.
    I don't suppose anything loves it except, perhaps,
        the rocky voids
            filled by its dumb dazzle.

For myself,
    I was just passing by, when the wind flared
         and the blossoms rustled,
             and the glittering pandemonium

leaned on me.
    I was just minding my own business
        when I found myself on their straw hillsides,
            citron and butter-colored,

and I was happy, and why not?
    Are not the difficult labors of our lives
        full of dark hours?
            And what has consciousness come to anyway, so far,

that is better than these light-filled bodies?
    All day
        on their airy backbones
            they toss in the wind,

they bend as though it was natural and godly to bend,
    they rise in a stiff sweetness,
        in the pure peace of giving
            one's gold away.

Book Recommendation

Salvage, by Jane Kotapish.

We meet two sisters in the novel's first chapter: the protagonist, and her sister, whom she names Nancy, and who talks to her unnamed sister in her bedroom closet. Nancy, miscarried by their mother, is full of persistent questions about the world she never saw; rejected by her mother's womb, she is obsessed with finding a home.

Nearly 30 years later, transplanted to New York and far away from her childhood home and Nancy, the protagonist takes part in a tragic, pointless accident. In an attempt to salvage what she can of her sanity, she moves back to Virginia and buys a house of her own. Makes a friend of the harried housewife next door. Tries to figure out how to relate with her quirky (probably delusional) mother. Tries to remember, and tries to forget.

Salvage doesn't offer solutions to the difficulty that is living in this world. What it does offer is a sometimes humorous, always haunting exploration of the puzzle. Kotapish's prose reads like a poem -- the novel is sheer joy to read -- and she wisely crafts a protagonist who does not take herself too seriously. This is a book worth remembering.

 

Find it here on amazon.com.

A Lot About Austen

A friend invited me over yesterday to watch Sense and Sensibility (the BBC verison, not the Ang Lee). I'll admit it--I love Jane Austen. I've read her novels and watched the film adaptations multiple times, and they never get old! 

My husband, on the other hand, is not a huge fan. Like my brothers--OK, like most males--sees Jane Austen as something to be endured for the sake of "the girls." I remember Movie Night bartering growing up. A war movie was definitely cause for a "girl movie" like Sense and Sensibility the next weekend, but it took a LOT of "boy movies" to equal the six-tape-long Pride and Prejudice!

Although a few men do appreciate Austen's characterization and wit for its own sake (Dad, you are a rare jewel!), I can understand why her novels and the film adaptations appeal mostly to women. Her interest is in the experiences and perspectives of women of her own class, and the expectations and limitations placed on them by society. She writes of domestic concerns, primarily love and marriage.

So, in a way, any Jane Austen is a sort of "chick lit" or "chick flick." One thing that sets her far above the mass of romantic movies and novels aimed at women, though, is the kind of relationship she portrays as desirable. After growing up with Jane Austen, I find it difficult to believe in or care about romances that follow what I'll call the "Disney Formula" -- where True Love is an undeniable, static, often instantaneous Feeling. You know: instant attraction, plot complications, realization that you are Soul Mates, cue violins, Happily Ever After, The End. The focus is on the attraction, that undescribable connection between the principal characters.

In Austen's novels, however, the relationships that follow the Disney pattern usually prove unreliable. The perfect example is Sense and Sensibility's Marianne and Willoughby, who, after only a few days together, feel that they are "one soul in two bodies." Both characters "follow their hearts" instead of being guided by convention or practicality--yet their relationship turns out to be a false one. Instead, the relationship that is validated at the end of the story (by marriage, of course!) pairs Marianne with the more reserved and conventional Colonel Brandon. Although Marianne at first disregards Brandon as old and boring, she learns to feel respect and gratitude for him, and finally to appreciate that his passionate, devoted personality is married to a commitment to virtue and wisdom. By the time she accepts Brandon's offer of marriage, Marianne is deeply in love with him.

I love this about Jane Austen! Her romantic heroes, the ones who "get the girls," are as different as their partners. They may be witty and charming or proud and reserved; older, younger, poorer, richer. But without exception, they are admirable. Austen's heroines are all matched up with men with whom they are deeply, sincerely, and passionately in love. Yet their love is grounded on more than whoosh-and-gush, violin-drenched Feelings. Mr. Darcy, Edward Ferrars, Colonel Brandon, Edmund Bertram, Mr. Knightley--all of them are men whom Austen's heroines can respect and trust.

I think that's a much more realistic picture of love than the Disney model--maybe even a more Biblical picture? To return to Sense and Sensibility--Austen never portrays feelings as bad. Marianne remains Marianne, of deep "sensibility" and strong passions. Yet she finds true happiness not with Willoughby, her romantic other half, but with Brandon, who deserves her true affection and whom she can trust to protect and cherish her "sensible" love for him.

OK, this post has turned into a monster! I've read a couple of frustrating "chick lit" novels over the past week, and watching S and S with Jody set me off, I guess. What do you think?

Church Cookbook, Part II

So I had another Drama Drama weekend (been having a lot of those lately) and did not update Tuesday. Instead you get another Wednesday Recipe.

CHURCH COOKBOOK TREASURES:

CREAMED TUNA

      6 T. butter, melted

      6 T. flour

      1 tsp. salt

      1/8 tsp. pepper

      2 c. milk

      1 can tuna

      Into melted butter, blend flour, salt, and pepper. Cook over low heat until smooth and bubbly. Remove from heat, and stir in milk; stir until thickened. Add tuna and serve over biscuits.

This recipe is actually from my Grammy. She still makes it occasionally. We had this a lot in my parents' house growing up because it is super super cheap. It is actually not too terrible a dish, just not good. It is one of the strangest meals I have ever eaten--probably because it is very bland and very tuna-y at the same time. If you should desire to recreate this dish at home, DO NOT put as much salt in as the recipe directs. You may also have better results if you stir the milk into the flour paste over low heat until it thickens. My mom served this over rice instead of biscuits.

In other news, I am reading Michael Horton's Putting Amazing Back into Grace. It has been on my to-read list for over a year, so I am stealing my husband's copy to read during my lunch break at work. If you haven't read it, I highly, highly recommend it. It is a great, thoughtful introduction to the basics of Reformed theology -- what they are, and why they even matter -- and it is just full of the Gospel.

I am also super excited because my girls (Mom and two younger sisters) are coming for a visit this weekend! I even took a day off work to enjoy them for longer!

Three Things

1. He loves me

2. He love me

 3. He loves me

And if you don't know what I'm talking about, read this book. No, seriously. Go read it.

How Not To Clean A Bathroom in Seven Days Flat

I think it says something about me that I will finish 3 of what I used to call "chapter books" before cleaning my bathroom ONCE. And NOT something good! Labour Day was a great chance to catch up on housework and feel like I can start the work week really on top of things. Our apartment is LOVELY and clean (my wonderful husband vacuumed, because he knows it is not my favourite chore :) Clean floors, my friends, are HAPPY floors.

Now that I'm no longer a guilty home-not-maker, I would love to share some book recommendations, though. What I've read in the past few weeks:

The Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan. This book has been around a few years, and I have actually read it several times--it is that good. The book is told from the perspectives of 4 mothers and 4 daughters; the novel begins with the death of one mother, triggering a chain of memories divulged to the reader by each woman. The centre of this book, I would say, is the impact of past history -- even unknown history -- on the present, and the disconnect between the Chinese born mothers and their very American, very modern daughters. The language barrier between Tan's generations is a literal (!) one, but I think it will resonate with any reader. Is this true for you, too? That what our mothers don't tell us sometimes is as important in our lives as what they do say. The Joy Luck Club ends on a happy note, with reunion, but always leaves me wondering how truly one person can ever understand another, however loved.

Hard Times, by Charles Dickens. One of Dickens's shorter and less-famous works, still full of his trademark, strongly outlined characters who, as exaggerated as they are, somehow manage to be believable instead of simple caricatures. Definitely not a masterpiece, this novel introduces several interesting themes -- including the disastrous effects of an education that disallows any development of a child's imagination or soul -- but simply is not long enough to develop any of them fully. This is not a happy novel -- the central characters may be redeemed morally, but few have a "happy ever after" at the end of the brief tale. As usual for Dickens, there are several central stories, all interrelated -- primarily, the unhappy marriage between an old banker who boasts of his rags-to-riches history, and the young woman who longs for something more than the practicalities and rationalities on which she has been brought up; and the ostracization of an honest mill hand who refuses to join a labour union. I would recommend this story to anyone interested in Dickens or in the period; despite its flaws it is absorbing, thought-provoking, and (for Dickens) a quick read.

Deep Secret, by Diana Wynne Jones. OK, this is a fluffy book beyond compare. DWJ remains one of my all-time favourite fantasy authors, and is one of the reasons I can still often be seen in the children's section of my local library. What makes this book especially fun for me is that the alternate-universes/magic/royal intrigue of the story occurs right in the middle of the craziness of a fantasy/sci fi convention. And does DWJ ever capture the convention crowd! So many scifi/fantasy fans manage to be both awkward misfits and, at the same time, almost pitifully mundane. (You must understand I am speaking from inside a group and not at it!) I wonder, sometimes which comes first. Which creates the other -- that sense of not-quite-fitting, or that thirst to be part of some Story, something high or deep or bright or dark, something epic and vital? I love how Wynne Jones realises that about us--that the colour and carnival of the convention world may be ridiculous, but that it's an attempt to capture something ...

Anyway, this is a Fun Book, but please be advised that it is not a Christian Book. I would rate it a PG13, meaning don't give it to your 8year old who will absorb the story like a sponge without discernment. Readers who object to stories that are witchy and/or worldly had better stay away altogether, as Deep Secret is both.

Mr. Crawford would censure me, I am sure, but NEXT week I am setting aside my beloved novels to read some improving History, in the form of Dennis's highschool text.

Straight from Facebook ... The 15 Books

I like to think of myself as a discerning person ... someone who likes to reflect on life and its meaning, has intelligent conversations, and avoids inane TV shows. Really, though, the truth is that (while I don't watch TV) I have an unconquerable fondness for really fluffy books with no philosophical dimension whatever ... and I am a compulsive Facebook quizzer. If you tag me in a note, I will gladly reveal with my three greatest fears, describe my life according to my iPod, and tell you which Mr. Darcy I think is the real thing (Colin Firth, FTW). I know that my Japanese street fashion style is Gothic Lolita (didn't see that coming ... NOT), and have discovered that the colour of my soul is PURPLE (but my aura is GREEN).

So here you are ... straight from Facebook ... the 15 books quiz. In no particular order, 15 books from my childhood / Teen Angst years that have directed my thoughts, informed my imagination, or simply stuck with me through the years.

I seem to have read a lot of fantasy.

1. Best Loved Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm, illustrated by Anastassija Archipowa.
This huge, gorgeous book has been part of my life for as long as I can remember ... it is practically falling out of the binding. Classic fairy tales are retold in simple language that is easy for a child to read ... the delicate, luminous watercolour illustrations are what make this book so breathtaking. I credit this book with inspiring my lifelong love affair with "pretty ladies." I would not change much about my childhood, but I WOULD like to go back and choose NOT to scribble vengefully all over Cinderella's stepsisters in angry pink marker.

2. Saint George and the Dragon, retold by Margaret Hodges, illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman.
A favourite version based on Spenser's Faery Queene. I still look in the library children's section for books illustrated by TSH -- she has done several Arthurian legends and fairy tales, always with the most beautiful earthy illustrations. I am a firm believer that picture books are not only for young children!

3. The Faery Queene, by Edmund Spenser.
This book is so full of brilliant images and adventures that it doesn't need illustrations -- it just fills your head with curls and colours. When I first read Book I, I missed most of the allegory -- I just fell in love with the knights and monsters and enchantments. Spenser creates a beautiful, dense landscape in which every detail is there for a reason. Most British literature classes offer a sampling of Books I and III, but do yourself a favour and read ALL of it ...

4. The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis
Lewis loved Spenser! And it shows! This fantasy series is deceptively simple. I believe my first encounter with the books was at the age of 7 or 8. I have read them many, many times since then and they only get better. If you have not read these books, READ THEM NOW. Don't worry about trying to decipher the "Christian message." Just let Lewis's world -- which IS built on a beautiful and honest faith -- sink into your imagination.
It has been so much fun as an adult literature student to discover Lewis's literary criticism ... he liked the Middle Ages! Like me!

5. The Blue Sword, by Robin McKinley
A determined heroine, a desert world, beautiful horses and swords ... this young adult fantasy has everything to make a young teen girl happy. Actually, I'm past the swords-and-horses phase, but I STILL love this book for its achingly true realisation of the world and characters -- you are THERE in the middle of the adventure. I have NEVER been able to read this book without reading straight through it. McKinley is a well-known author with lots of good books. She is not a Christian, so read with discernment ... but really an excellent, excellent writer.

6. "A Good Man is Hard to Find," by Flannery O'Connor.
Flannery O'Connor IS a Christian author, and a perplexing one. I read this short story as a young teenager. I'm sure most of you have read this in a high school class, and are familiar with the way it starts out wickedly funny and ends swiftly, brutally ... it made a vivid impression on my mind, but I couldn't figure out what it MEANT. After several years' more exposure to O'Connor's writing, I understand a bit better, and have the greatest respect for this author. I love the way that her Christian worldview infuses and fuels everything she writes, yet in such a startling way.

7. The Tricksters, by Margaret Mahy.
Another YA favourite, by a New Zealand author who has won (deservedly) many awards. This novel -- like many by Mahy -- features a large (as in numerous), vivid, intelligent, unorthodox family at the point of crisis. During a summer holiday, they encounter the ghost (literally) of another troubled family; secrets come to light, buried conflict ignites, but ultimately relationships are strengthened. Some of my Christian friends may hesitate to read this book because of the supernatural element, and some of the situations (tastefully) described within the book, but I would recommend it anyway. Mahy's books are always full of emotional truth--she never simplifies or shies away from things--described in intelligent and luminous prose.

8. The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Once my Dad bought Mom a HUGE, thick, paperback edition of all of ED's poems, and over the years, I read through the volume many times. The great thing about this particular edition was that it includes all the mess-ups, failures, and experiments -- it gave me an insight into how a poet works. I had been used to reading Elizabethan poetry, and was intrigued by ED's spare, full lines. And I love Emily's vision of the world; the same kind of spiders live in her brain, I think, as live in mine.

9. Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card
OSC is one of my favourite fantasy/sci-fi writers, and this was the first book of his that I read. A very exciting adventure story -- brilliant child must defend Earth against alien invaders -- but so much more. Card is never afraid to ask the big questions -- about love and faith and the world and humanity as a whole -- at the same time that he creates realistic individuals in close relationships with one another. His more recent books reflect on current developments in society. Card is an ethical writer in a way that few authors are ...

10. King Lear, by William Shakespeare
I think Shakespeare is why I'm an English major. I've always loved to read, and to write, but when I first encountered Shakespeare it was like ... WOW ... I didn't know that the English language could DO that. King Lear was the first play I read -- I think we had watched a Masterpiece Theatre version at home, and it ripped my guts out. I was devastated. So naturally I had to go to the library and get the print version and go through it all again -- and it was even worse. And then I read pretty much the Complete Works. SHAKESPEARE IS AWESOME.
(Despite what some people assume, however, he is NOT the God of British Literature. Take my word for it, Titus Andronicus and the Rape of Lucrece SUCK. No, really. They do.)

11. Charlotte's Web, by E.B. White
I can't believe I only thought of this at #11! Charlotte's Web was the first chapter book I ever read ... I think I was 6. Small enough to still fit into the kitchen cabinet. I was sitting under the sink and then I got to the end and Charlotte DIED and I cried and cried and cried. I would like to believe that Charlotte's web skills (ha!) were some kind of metaphysical, metaphorical introduction to the power of words, inspiring me to my lifelong love of literature and writing, but really I think I was just sad because Charlotte died.

12. Matilda, by Roald Dahl.
Surely everyone has read this book. If not, READ THIS BOOK. It is all about the power of being smart and reading things! Plus it is completely hilarious. Roald Dahl totally remembers what it was like to be a kid in a world of adults. When I was 7, I thought I WAS Matilda. I even tried to move things with my eyeballs (it didn't work).

13. All those Poets in my British Lit Book
I know this is cheating, but they won't fit otherwise! I love the metaphysical poets -- George Herbert ("Love Bid Me Welcome" -- YES), John Donne (Holy Sonnets -- YES) and the modern ones (T.S. Eliot's complex buildup of images and allusions remains an inspiration to me) ... there are too many to list! If you aren't a big fan of poetry, buy an anthology that includes a lot of newer writers. Browse through ... if you take your time, I promise you will find something that just takes your breath away with its beauty or honesty or brilliance. WORDS ARE AWESOME, PEOPLE.

14. The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkein
... yeah, I couldn't in all honesty leave this one off! I actually started in the middle of The Two Towers (found a lonely volume at my Grammy's house). I was probably 11, and at the age to adore Tolkein's sad, beautiful Elves. This series really captured my imagination ... Tolkein's world is so HUGE and EPIC and SHINING. It really touched some deep longing for adventure, to be a part of a Grand Story--and, perhaps, some sense of a lost world ... Epic is not so much my favourite genre anymore -- I like my world in smaller pieces -- and reading critically, Tolkein's writing is technically not all that great. But his vision can still wake up that huge deep longing ...

15. A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking
I figured I had better include at least ONE non-fantasy book, so here it is. I have never been a huge science/math person, but when I was thirteen or fourteen I checked this slim little book out from the library because I liked the pictures. AND IT MADE MY BRAIN EXPLODE ... in a good way. Hawking is not at all a Christian, but he really has a gift for explaining ENORMOUS ideas comprehensibly. I had such an expanded sense of God's sovereignty and power and general AWESOMENESS after reading this book. I was madly in love with SH for two years, and briefly considered a career as a theoretical physicist (I changed my mind after high school physics). I still don't understand string theory, though!

Well, there you are, folks. You may wonder at the number of FANTASTIC books I've left off -- the truth is, I read about 15 books a week for much of my childhood, so this list is sadly, sadly, sadly incomplete! There are SO MANY good books in the world, people. Don't let your kids veg out in front of other people's creations -- send 'em to the library and let 'em create their own worlds together with a good book. IT'S GOOD FOR THE BRAIN. At least I always made good grades!

That's all I've got for now -- some of the aforementioned "fluffy books" (an Agatha Christie and InuYasha) from the Altoona Public Library are calling my name :) Don't worry, I have plenty of "smart books" on my reading list as well!

Love,
Emily Pritzel
(or, if you prefer my Native American Indian Name, "Rain Pebble")