My Ántonia was written in 1918 by Willa Cather about a young girl whose family immigrated from Bohemia to Nebraska. The story is told by Jim Burden, who met the Shimerda family just after they moved and became friends with Ántonia.
My Ántonia is a book about friendship, courage, and the struggle to thrive in a new environment. When the Shimerdas immigrated, Ántonia was the only one in the family who spoke any English at all, and she only knew a few words. They were taken advantage of by a fellow Bohemian, who sold them their land at a greatly inflated price and then continued to live with them because he was their only means of communication with the rest of the community. Mr. Shimerda was a musician, not a farmer, and found himself unable to cope with the changes in his life. Ántonia became the family's rock, working in the fields and hiring out during harvests and plantings. She later became a "hired girl" in the town, working as a housekeeper and nanny. By the end of the book, Ántonia has become a strong, independent woman with the ability to make her dreams for her children come true. Her own struggles and heartaches have made her into a formidable woman.
Ántonia is a beautiful picture of the quintessential pioneer woman. She is strong but sometimes trusts the wrong people, loving but disappointed several times by those she loves, and always passionate about life. Though her life was difficult, she made the best she could of it and turned out beautifully in the end. I hope that I am able to face life's trials as bravely and see them come out as well. I was encouraged by My Ántonia and enjoyed it very much.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Fields of Bannockburn
This is a book for history lovers. It's a novel based on the legends and lore of Christian Scotland, all about how Christianity came to Scotland and the country's struggle for freedom. It has a modern-day setting, but the characters are searching for the truth about the Stone of Destiny - the Lia Fail. While doing so, they meet a sennachie (storyteller) whose tales take the reader back in time to "experience" the events of the past. It's a fun read.
The Lia Fail originally came to Scotland with Saint Columba in the 6th century, according to legend. He was the priest who brought Christianity to Scotland, standing up to the druids and baptizing hundreds into the faith. The Lia Fail has been called, in other places, the stone that holds Great Britain together - its lodestone, so to speak. It is the stone on which Scottish kings were crowned. During the coronation of a new king, each lord would bring soil from his own land to place under the king's foot, symbolically showing the king's lordship over it. Through the centuries this practice eventually resulted in the king's mound, a small hill on which the kings were crowned. The Stone of Destiny was immensely important to the Scottish people because of its symbolism.
When Edward I invaded Scotland and subjugated the people, he took the Lia Fail back to England with him and had a coronation throne built to hold it. (I have seen this throne, and the stone, in Westminster Abbey.) However, many Scots claim that the stone they sent away with Edward was not the true Stone of Destiny - after all, how was he to know one stone from another? - and that they still have the Stone, though they've never since tried to break away from England. The story is that as long as English kings are crowned with this stone in the chair (and they always are), Scotland will remain under their rule because their loyalty is bound up in the Stone.
The legends are many and impossible to verify, but it's a fascinating story. Crow does a wonderful job interlacing the history of Christian faith in Scotland, the history of the Scots, and the story of the modern characters searching for the truth of the Stone and finding instead the Truth of Christ. It's a bit of a daunting book to pick up - it's just over 700 pages long - but it's well worth the time to read. If you love history, legends, and stories that grip the imagination, this one is for you.
The Lia Fail originally came to Scotland with Saint Columba in the 6th century, according to legend. He was the priest who brought Christianity to Scotland, standing up to the druids and baptizing hundreds into the faith. The Lia Fail has been called, in other places, the stone that holds Great Britain together - its lodestone, so to speak. It is the stone on which Scottish kings were crowned. During the coronation of a new king, each lord would bring soil from his own land to place under the king's foot, symbolically showing the king's lordship over it. Through the centuries this practice eventually resulted in the king's mound, a small hill on which the kings were crowned. The Stone of Destiny was immensely important to the Scottish people because of its symbolism.
When Edward I invaded Scotland and subjugated the people, he took the Lia Fail back to England with him and had a coronation throne built to hold it. (I have seen this throne, and the stone, in Westminster Abbey.) However, many Scots claim that the stone they sent away with Edward was not the true Stone of Destiny - after all, how was he to know one stone from another? - and that they still have the Stone, though they've never since tried to break away from England. The story is that as long as English kings are crowned with this stone in the chair (and they always are), Scotland will remain under their rule because their loyalty is bound up in the Stone.
The legends are many and impossible to verify, but it's a fascinating story. Crow does a wonderful job interlacing the history of Christian faith in Scotland, the history of the Scots, and the story of the modern characters searching for the truth of the Stone and finding instead the Truth of Christ. It's a bit of a daunting book to pick up - it's just over 700 pages long - but it's well worth the time to read. If you love history, legends, and stories that grip the imagination, this one is for you.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Northanger Abbey
Well, it was really only a matter of time before something by Jane Austen showed up on my blog! She is one of my favorite authors, and perhaps is my favorite. I think the reason I love her so much is because her insight into human nature is so vivid and her characters seem to just walk off the page. I'm convinced that if I were to meet Emma or Catherine or Elizabeth I would recognize them almost immediately.
Northanger Abbey was Jane Austen's first full-length novel and is unique among her works because she wrote it from her own perspective. We're familiar with novels written from first- or third-person points of view, but this one is written by the author to her audience about the events happening. She often comments on what is happening and critiques her own story or stories written at the same time. She monologues about why authors often create characters who criticize the very kinds of works they are writing - heroines who would never pick up a novel except to scoff at it. I feel like in this book I get to know Jane a little bit, and I love it for that.
Catherine Morland is the heroine of the story, and a more unlikely one you'd be hard pressed to find. She is not particularly pretty and after reading the story again, I'm convinced she is not particularly bright, either. She is far from stupid, but she's a bit "blond". Catherine is very trusting, innocent, naive, has a good heart, and sees the best in everyone. Those are excellent traits in themselves, but she lacks judgment and insight and is therefore taken advantage of by people she considers friends.
I also am amazed at Catherine's parents. Granted, they have ten children and are a bit busy, but they play such a small role in the story as to be almost completely inconsequential. Catherine is 17 years old, and they send her off to Bath with an older couple without telling her anything more than to "wrap herself up very warm about the throat...at night; and...try to keep some account of the money you spend..." Honestly, if I had a 17-year-old daughter I was sending off like that, I'd have a bit more to say! Then when Catherine finally comes home eleven weeks later (having been allowed to spend several weeks with people she had just met), they hardly even ask her about her trip. When she is dejected and depressed for days, they have no thought of her having met anyone of consequence and to perhaps be pining after him. I ask you, what 17-year-old girl, away from home eleven weeks, would not have met someone, or at least thought she had?! I cannot be impressed with their parenting skills.
Overall, Northanger Abbey is a very enjoyable book. It is quite short - less than 200 pages - so is great for a weekend or trip. It is lighthearted, funny, and touching all at once. As silly as Catherine can be, I still root for her the whole time and am nothing but pleased at how things turned out for her.
Northanger Abbey was Jane Austen's first full-length novel and is unique among her works because she wrote it from her own perspective. We're familiar with novels written from first- or third-person points of view, but this one is written by the author to her audience about the events happening. She often comments on what is happening and critiques her own story or stories written at the same time. She monologues about why authors often create characters who criticize the very kinds of works they are writing - heroines who would never pick up a novel except to scoff at it. I feel like in this book I get to know Jane a little bit, and I love it for that.
Catherine Morland is the heroine of the story, and a more unlikely one you'd be hard pressed to find. She is not particularly pretty and after reading the story again, I'm convinced she is not particularly bright, either. She is far from stupid, but she's a bit "blond". Catherine is very trusting, innocent, naive, has a good heart, and sees the best in everyone. Those are excellent traits in themselves, but she lacks judgment and insight and is therefore taken advantage of by people she considers friends.
I also am amazed at Catherine's parents. Granted, they have ten children and are a bit busy, but they play such a small role in the story as to be almost completely inconsequential. Catherine is 17 years old, and they send her off to Bath with an older couple without telling her anything more than to "wrap herself up very warm about the throat...at night; and...try to keep some account of the money you spend..." Honestly, if I had a 17-year-old daughter I was sending off like that, I'd have a bit more to say! Then when Catherine finally comes home eleven weeks later (having been allowed to spend several weeks with people she had just met), they hardly even ask her about her trip. When she is dejected and depressed for days, they have no thought of her having met anyone of consequence and to perhaps be pining after him. I ask you, what 17-year-old girl, away from home eleven weeks, would not have met someone, or at least thought she had?! I cannot be impressed with their parenting skills.
Overall, Northanger Abbey is a very enjoyable book. It is quite short - less than 200 pages - so is great for a weekend or trip. It is lighthearted, funny, and touching all at once. As silly as Catherine can be, I still root for her the whole time and am nothing but pleased at how things turned out for her.
Friday, May 8, 2009
The Silver Hand
The Silver Hand is the second book of the Song of Albion trilogy. Like most mid-trilogy books, it's a bit darker than the other two (I have actually finished the whole thing now - I couldn't put the third book down until I was done!), but still a very good book. I don't want to give away the story, so I'll just continue my look into the characters themselves.
This book is written from Tegid's point of view, instead of Llew's. Tegid is the chief bard in Albion, and is Llew's main councilor. Lawhead said that he had to write this book from another point of view because there was no way he could show what a great king Llew was any other way. If he'd tried to show it from Llew's point of view, Lawhead said he'd have come off as a stuck-up megolomaniac, which is definitely true.
The job of a bard in Albion is very complex. They are storehouses of information on every subject - they study plants, animals, medicine, politics, culture, music, art - they are basically walking universities. Their most important role, though, is in holding the sovreignty of the nation. Kings rise and fall, but sovreignty - the ideal of kingship and leadership - remains forever, and it is the role of a bard to keep that sovreignty and bestow it on the most able man. It's a different way to look at what makes a leader and where their authority comes from. Ultimately, it comes from the people (a leader can't lead if no one follows), who trust the bard to make their choice for them. Tegid is an incredible man in that while holding this unbelievable authority, he is completely trustworthy and honest, wanting the best for the people and for Llew himself, and giving himself totally to making that happen. He literally is the power behind the throne, but is a man of such integrity that he is never even tempted to misuse that position.
The struggle between Llew (Lewis) and Siawn Hy (Simon) is still a central theme. I was completely blown away to see just how far Simon had let his desire for power take him. After the brief glimpse we were shown of him in our world at the beginning of The Paradise War, I picture him as lazy and careless. Now he is, quite simply, evil. But he's also sneaky and conniving and has a silver tongue. When he gets the chance to talk to Llew and his leaders, he almost convinces them that he was right to do what he did, even though they all know how wrong it was - and how it nearly destroyed Albion itself, not just the people. He's the smooth politician type who can make genocide sound like the right and noble thing to do, and it's scary to watch him do it.
Then there's Llew, who is driven to try to make things right in Albion but struggling to find the way to do it. Tegid wants to make him king, but Llew thinks that's a terrible idea - partly because he feels unworthy, and partly because he knows that he ultimately does not belong in Albion at all, but in Britain. Llew is a very "real" person - Tegid is almost too good to be true, and Simon is so horrible you don't want to think he could be true, but Llew is someone you can hold on to. He wants to do the right thing, struggles with his inadequacy, questions everything, worries, loves, hopes, dreams, fails, and succeeds.
Lawhead claims this series is about sovreignty and others say it's the classic struggle between good and evil. Those are both true, but I would also submit that it's a character study. The characters Lawhead has created are so clear and so beautifully made that just watching them is perhaps my favorite part of this series.
This book is written from Tegid's point of view, instead of Llew's. Tegid is the chief bard in Albion, and is Llew's main councilor. Lawhead said that he had to write this book from another point of view because there was no way he could show what a great king Llew was any other way. If he'd tried to show it from Llew's point of view, Lawhead said he'd have come off as a stuck-up megolomaniac, which is definitely true.
The job of a bard in Albion is very complex. They are storehouses of information on every subject - they study plants, animals, medicine, politics, culture, music, art - they are basically walking universities. Their most important role, though, is in holding the sovreignty of the nation. Kings rise and fall, but sovreignty - the ideal of kingship and leadership - remains forever, and it is the role of a bard to keep that sovreignty and bestow it on the most able man. It's a different way to look at what makes a leader and where their authority comes from. Ultimately, it comes from the people (a leader can't lead if no one follows), who trust the bard to make their choice for them. Tegid is an incredible man in that while holding this unbelievable authority, he is completely trustworthy and honest, wanting the best for the people and for Llew himself, and giving himself totally to making that happen. He literally is the power behind the throne, but is a man of such integrity that he is never even tempted to misuse that position.
The struggle between Llew (Lewis) and Siawn Hy (Simon) is still a central theme. I was completely blown away to see just how far Simon had let his desire for power take him. After the brief glimpse we were shown of him in our world at the beginning of The Paradise War, I picture him as lazy and careless. Now he is, quite simply, evil. But he's also sneaky and conniving and has a silver tongue. When he gets the chance to talk to Llew and his leaders, he almost convinces them that he was right to do what he did, even though they all know how wrong it was - and how it nearly destroyed Albion itself, not just the people. He's the smooth politician type who can make genocide sound like the right and noble thing to do, and it's scary to watch him do it.
Then there's Llew, who is driven to try to make things right in Albion but struggling to find the way to do it. Tegid wants to make him king, but Llew thinks that's a terrible idea - partly because he feels unworthy, and partly because he knows that he ultimately does not belong in Albion at all, but in Britain. Llew is a very "real" person - Tegid is almost too good to be true, and Simon is so horrible you don't want to think he could be true, but Llew is someone you can hold on to. He wants to do the right thing, struggles with his inadequacy, questions everything, worries, loves, hopes, dreams, fails, and succeeds.
Lawhead claims this series is about sovreignty and others say it's the classic struggle between good and evil. Those are both true, but I would also submit that it's a character study. The characters Lawhead has created are so clear and so beautifully made that just watching them is perhaps my favorite part of this series.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Wormling
The Wormling is actually a 5-book series which I'm putting together in one post, which is why it's been a few days! The five books are The Book of the King, The Sword of the Wormling, The Changeling, The Minions of Time, and The Author's Blood. The series was written by Jerry Jenkins and Chris Fabry and is an allegorical story.
The Wormling was a fun read and brought up some interesting questions. Since it is an allegory there are obvious similarities to the Gospel, but there are points in which it is also very different (the Son makes mistakes - which Jesus would never do). At the beginning of the series, Owen is given a book and told that he must find the Son of the King, who will restore Owen's world and the unseen world (which Owen very soon gets to visit). Basically, the unseen world and the visible world are two halves of a whole - every person in the visible world has a counterpart in the unseen world. When the Son makes things right, the two will be united and made whole again.
Owen's quest, then, is to find the Son who was stolen as a baby. His only help in this quest (besides some friends he makes along the way) is the "Book of the King". This Book contains the writings and prophecies of the King of the world (and is very often recognizable as scripture-based) which Owen must interpret to find out what he needs to do. Near the end of the series, Owen does finally find the Son (I'm trying not to ruin the suspense for you!) which brings me to one of the questions I sometimes ponder:
When did Jesus realize who He was? In this series, the Son does not know his own identity for a long time. Obviously this story is not meant to be a deep theological discussion, but the question is still there. I don't believe that the infant Jesus had any idea who He actually was (infants don't, as a rule) - so when did He know? Surely Mary told Him the story, but when did He really know for Himself that He was actually God? Perhaps the knowledge was there all along, and He learned to understand as He got old enough. He seems to have known at a young age, which is evidenced by His questioning the teachers at the temple and His surprise that His parents couldn't guess where He would be. Or, since God was still God and not just a baby in a manger, was there a connection and communication between them - Him? - sort of a vast consciousness? It's all very confusing to me, which I suppose it is meant to be. If I understood God, He wouldn't be worthy of worship, in my opinion.
Let me know your opinion on the subject. This series was written for young adults, and has lots of dragons and sword fighting in it - perfect for young boys! - so it's not something that everyone would enjoy, but I'd still like to hear your opinions on the question of Jesus' "God-knowledge".
The Wormling was a fun read and brought up some interesting questions. Since it is an allegory there are obvious similarities to the Gospel, but there are points in which it is also very different (the Son makes mistakes - which Jesus would never do). At the beginning of the series, Owen is given a book and told that he must find the Son of the King, who will restore Owen's world and the unseen world (which Owen very soon gets to visit). Basically, the unseen world and the visible world are two halves of a whole - every person in the visible world has a counterpart in the unseen world. When the Son makes things right, the two will be united and made whole again.
Owen's quest, then, is to find the Son who was stolen as a baby. His only help in this quest (besides some friends he makes along the way) is the "Book of the King". This Book contains the writings and prophecies of the King of the world (and is very often recognizable as scripture-based) which Owen must interpret to find out what he needs to do. Near the end of the series, Owen does finally find the Son (I'm trying not to ruin the suspense for you!) which brings me to one of the questions I sometimes ponder:
When did Jesus realize who He was? In this series, the Son does not know his own identity for a long time. Obviously this story is not meant to be a deep theological discussion, but the question is still there. I don't believe that the infant Jesus had any idea who He actually was (infants don't, as a rule) - so when did He know? Surely Mary told Him the story, but when did He really know for Himself that He was actually God? Perhaps the knowledge was there all along, and He learned to understand as He got old enough. He seems to have known at a young age, which is evidenced by His questioning the teachers at the temple and His surprise that His parents couldn't guess where He would be. Or, since God was still God and not just a baby in a manger, was there a connection and communication between them - Him? - sort of a vast consciousness? It's all very confusing to me, which I suppose it is meant to be. If I understood God, He wouldn't be worthy of worship, in my opinion.
Let me know your opinion on the subject. This series was written for young adults, and has lots of dragons and sword fighting in it - perfect for young boys! - so it's not something that everyone would enjoy, but I'd still like to hear your opinions on the question of Jesus' "God-knowledge".
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