Lory
Beautiful, necessary, vital, honest, full of both blood and joy, this is the manual I wish I had had for the last twenty years to help me navigate the confusion and pain of a world in transition. Thank goodness we have it now, in a time that needs revolutionary love more than ever. Heartfelt thanks to Valarie Kaur, a prophet of the new world that we need to be birthing.
This was less powerful than The Choice, Eger's memoir and introduction to her philosophy of life that informs her psychotherapy practice. In The Gift she details more of the latter, in 12 chapters focusing on different thought patterns we can use to change ourselves and meet our lives with more courage and inner strength. Not much was new, it's all good psychological advice, but coming through her perspective as a Holocaust survivor it's particularly valuable; one can't say that she herself has not known adversity. Missing is any awareness of more recent advances in neuroscience and trauma therapy that go beyond talk and cognitive therapy alone. I would really like to know Dr. Eger's thoughts on this field - maybe in the next book.
This short novel is a beautifully written, dreamlike monologue, a rant by the purported brother of the “Arab” killed by Meursault in Camus's novel L'étranger. Daoud imagines the latter as a nonfiction account written by Meursault himself, who subsequently has become acclaimed for his writing and philosophy, while the Algerians of the tale sink further into degradation and anonymity following a violent war of independence. The “Investigation” author questions nearly everything about the famous book, asserting that nearly all the details are wrong even as he seems to channel Meursault-like qualities, almost in a state of possession. It's a strange, idiosyncratic narrative that left me as bemused as the narrator's bar acquaintance must have been. What really happened under the sun? What is life, what is fiction? Can we ever know?
The title of this book is a misnomer – it's not really about ritual in general, which would be an immense topic, but about the sources and some selected manifestations of Christian religious ritual, with particular reference to the communion service of the Christian Community, the movement within which the author is a priest. I think the book will be mainly of interest to readers who are familiar with that service; others might be confused or simply uninterested unless they have some experience of what Baan is talking about. For those who do seek a deeper connection to this service, known in English as The Act of Consecration of Man, the book is invaluable.
Franny Billingsley writes like a dream. If only she would write faster – but the wait was worth it. Following The Folk Keeper and Chime, another story of feminine re-membering and empowerment, in brilliant, vivid language that juxtaposes simple words in surprising, enlightening ways while slowly unfolding a tale made of secrets hidden in plain sight. This one also contains probably my favorite character ever that is an inanimate object: The Dagger.
Another 2021 reread of a childhood favorite. I always loved this exciting adventure story, illogical though it may be. My favorite part was when Ellen puts the crown on in the cave lined with glittering quartz stones and feels peacefully entranced, as if by beautiful silent music. Nowadays, I still find the story powerful as an image of ego development, which can achieve mastery of lower forces and mechanistic elements – “who wears the black crown, I rule; who wears the silver crown, rules me.” Not that much character development happens in the story; Ellen just innately has this ability (as stated in the very first sentence, although we don't yet fully understand its significance: “Ellen had always known she was a queen, and now the crown proved it”). But in the end she is tested by the temptation of absolute power, and does prove herself a real ruler by giving it up.
The exposition of the Hieronymus Machine's plot to rule the world is a chilling counterpart to enterprises now underway ... the seemingly harmless devices that invade everyone's homes and make them into tools of the machine. Maybe if enough people read this book they won't be fooled.
“Emotional nurturance is an absolute requirement for healthy neurobiological brain development” - Ch. 17
I have many thoughts in connection with this book and plan to post a fuller review soon on my blog, Entering the Enchanted Castle.
The basic idea is that it's useless to address addiction as an isolated individual problem or moral issue, or even as a “disease.” We have to uncover and address the underlying causes, the reasons why people embark on such a self-destructive path. This involves understanding how our social environment affects our brains and enables us to become aware, emotionally mature, self-determining individuals who are not pushed around by unconscious mental programming – or, more often, how it does not help us to do this, due to adverse experiences early in life. The true cost of childhood trauma MUST be revealed, and new paradigms created that enable us to prevent and to heal it, without blaming, judging, and condemning the victims, making them into the opposition side in an unwinnable, deeply harmful war. A fascinating topic that gets to the heart of our human crisis today.
I felt like reading another Burnett after rereading A Little Princess, and this was sitting on my e-reader. I had read it long ago, in what I recall was an abridged edition. Perhaps it was abridged to tighten up the story and make it drag less for younger readers ... in this version, compared to the snappy theatrics of Princess, it was notably lacking in dramatic tension, with a possible villain who totally disappeared in the middle, and an excruciatingly looooooong period during which the reader knows the “secret” the protagonist unbelievably never seems to have guessed. Odd, when Burnett's other books are much more satisfyingly constructed.
In the end, I wondered if it was really an allegory of the Second Coming. The returning prince is described in such overtly religious terms that he hardly seems human, and his mission will be to bring his people “the way” and “the law” (meaning a spiritual law, not a civic law). Interesting, but heavy-handed.
I reread this after enjoying Laurie's review – whose first-time read as an adult made me want to revisit one of my childhood favorites. I still love it, although the classism of the story, as with all of Burnett's books, is grating for modern readers. However, its ultimate message for me is about the wealth to be found in inner development. Sara is a rich girl because she gives generously to others, and a princess because she is master of her own soul. She is not constrained by outer circumstances, but knows how to transform them through her inner attitude and activity. Thus she is free, even when treated like a slave. The images of this 20th century fairy tale are simple and appealing for children, but still ring true to me today.
I read this after reading Constance's 1976 Club review, remembering I had read it long ago as a child and not liked it much. It seemed like something I should adore (Wales, harps, magic) - I couldn't recall why I had disliked it.
Upon starting the reread, I immediately understood why. The first half of the book is incredibly depressing. Wales is cold and wet. The family in the story is sad and dysfunctional. Neither Peter nor Jen, the two main viewpoint characters, are very sympathetic, although I feel sorry for them and their plight. Their bereaved father is frankly in need of therapy and advice as to how to be a parent (hint: you don't do it by blaming your son for being unhappy at being torn away from all his friends and familiar surroundings immediately after his mother dies, nor by expecting your 15 year old daughter to step into the role of caregiver and confidante).
The “magic” consisted of Peter finding a harp tuning key from the 6th century bard Taliesin, and having visions of his life that also sometimes bled into the present day. However, it was all very static and lacking in interactivity or tension, like Peter was watching Taliesin TV. Even when things happened in the present, it did not affect anyone in any lasting way.
Peter's depression and anger eases through his magical experience, though it's not really clear why, unless it's just that it distracts him from obsessing over his negative feelings. And the family grows into a new kind of relationship, mostly through the children realizing they have to be the grownups and take care of their father. “I can't help thinking of you as my children,” he says near the end. Um yes ... maybe you should treat them that way and actually give them some care and attention?
The descriptions of Wales are sometimes interesting, although clearly drawn from the author's trips, which seem to have inspired her to take her travel journal and turn it into a novel.
Overall, a pale imitation of Susan Cooper's The Grey King, which won the Newbery the previous year, and includes many of the same elements, including a grieving bereaved man, a troubled father-son relationship, and a dramatic hunt for a sheep-killing canine. And harps, of course.
Entertaining and full of action, it kept me turning the pages but overall I think I liked Scaramouche better. The racism and colonialism was distasteful–while it's considered absolutely horrific for Blood and his white compatriots to be enslaved, there is never any questioning that for black slaves this treatment is fine for an inferior and naturally subject race. Etc.
I enjoyed this overall, but I was expecting something on another level based on the rave reviews. Ada at times seemed more of an object lesson in trauma response than a real person, and Mam was simply a cartoon character. Wish that she in particular had received a more nuanced treatment, as she surely had pressures and traumas of her own that made her the way she was. I also wonder if characters at this time and place would really say “okay” as much as they do.
Reread sparked off by the 1976 Club blog event - this is one of my favorites from DWJ's early period, a quietly brilliant little tale about prejudice and the sacrifice needed to produce true change. It seems to me ever more timely, as our walls get ever thicker and our refusal to see or listen to one another stronger.
Wonderful book for lovers of books and libraries (aside from the trauma of reading about a horrible library fire), which has now provided me with a reason for wanting to go to Los Angeles, a place I never had the slightest wish to visit. Some sections, especially towards the end, were a bit thin and could beneficially have been filled out more. And Orleans's personal distaste for the lower classes does come through, as other reviewers have noted (she herself baldly states that she's afraid of homeless people), although the librarians don't generally seem to share her prejudice. Aside from these drawbacks, I found it full of fascinating information and stories and would gladly gobble up more “library books.”
A very brief novel, more of a novella, about two lonely young people who find it hard to figure out how to love each other, while guarding and fostering the light within themselves. I'm not entirely convinced by the voice purporting to be of a 17 year old boy, but as usual Le Guin provides some lovely quotable passages and a thoughtful, richly human story.
I read rave reviews about the book after watching the John Wayne movie (I've not seen the more recent remake), and I expected it to be fabulous. However, although the narration by Mattie does add something to the reading experience, aside from the ending that was softened for the movie the plot is exactly the same and so held little in the way of suspense or surprise for me. Barring that element, there was not much else to it, so I'm a little baffled by all the praise.
Lovely book exploring the intersections between Buddhism and Christianity, which I think benefit greatly from the interchange. Christianity could use a good dose of Buddhism to bring it back to its original emphasis on love and compassion and away from its current status as a tool of domination and oppression. And I'd venture to say that when handled rightly, the individual consciousness fostered by Christianity can help to bolster what can become formless and impotent, through an overdose of Buddhist non-self.
My personal belief is that all religions should be seen as windows on a common spiritual reality and that the historical wars between them now have to be overcome, so that we can better understand that multidimensional reality from many sides. Books like this are a help in that endeavor.
Love the overall theme of spiritual training in a vaguely Celtic setting. The ending was a bit rushed, as with Wise Child. From former readings, I remembered most vividly the fact that Juniper's leaving a flaw in her Doran cloak that she thought no one would notice, resulted in her being injured by her enemy - a powerful image that stuck with me.