Three Fantastic Sentences

My friend bought me Reamde for Christmas, a massive 1,044 page techno-thriller written by Neal Stephenson. It is brilliant. I am only 169 pages in and loving it. I had to stop and write this post, because on pages 168 and 169—an open book without turning pages—were three brilliant sentences. The first two are brilliant without explanation. The third is brilliant because I have lived in the the Pacific Northwest and smiled knowingly as this fabulous description of a precise problem one has with slow, constant drizzle and adjustable wiper speeds.

Oddities due to the choices made by players were attributed to “strange lights in the sky,” “eldritch influences beyond the ken of even the most erudite local observers,” “unlooked-for syzygy,” “what was most likely the intervention of a capricious local demigod,” “bolt from the blue” or, in one case, “an unexpected reversal of fortune that even the most wizened local gaffers agreed was without precedent and that, indeed, if seen in a work of literature, would have been derided as a heavy-handed example of deus ex machina.”

The “Meat” were there because of REAMDE, which had been present at background levels for several weeks now but that recently had pinballed through the elbow in its exponential growth curve and for about twelve hours had looked as though it might completely take over all computing power in the Universe, until its own size and rapid growth had caused it to run afoul of the sorts of real-world friction that always befell seemingly exponential phenomena and bent those hockey-stick graphs over into lazy S plots.

“Just wanted to bend your ear a little,” C-plus explained, fussing with the intermittent wiper knob, trying to dial in that elusive setting, always so difficult to find in Seattle, that would keep the windshield visually transparent but not drag shuddering blades across dry glass.

Thank you, Matt. I am truly enjoying this book on every level.

Andy Naselli

BCS recently announced that we are hiring Andy Naselli as our new Assistant Professor of New Testament and Biblical Theology. I am very excited about him coming on staff and his family being a part of our community at BCS. I really like Andy and look forward to years of service together for the furtherance of our mission.

Nevertheless, I laughed out loud when I read the following sentences on his blog, where he was describing five reasons why he was coming to BCS.

On Christmas Day 1998, I read The Pleasures of God. I was riveted.

Riveted? I’ll say. I would have been starving. And tired. And late for work. Probably a week late.

An Aid to Reflection

“Fiction is, among other things, an aid to reflection: a means by which we can more vividly and rigorously encounter the world and try to make sense of it, to confront ‘the problems of being’ as freshly as we can. But we vary in our interpretative needs: the questions that absorb some of us never occur to others. Each of us has her own labyrinth. Every genre of fiction puts certain questions in brackets, or takes their answers as a given, in order to explore others. Not even the greatest writers can keep all the balls in the air at once: some have to sit still on the ground while the others whirl. People who come to a book by Murakami, or Neal Stephenson, or even Ursala K. LeGuin with the questions they would put to a Marilynne Robinson novel are bound to be disappointed and frustrated. But if we readers attend closely to the kinds of questions a book is asking, the question it invites from us, then our experience will be more valuable. And the more questions we can put to the books we read — in the most generous and charitable spirit we can manage — the richer becomes our encounter not just with the books themselves but with the world they point to.”

— Alan Jacobs, Reverting to Type: A Reader's Story, (location 523 of 550 when viewed on an iPad in Kindle).

Another Reason Not to Blog

“What might be delicate or unseemly in normal life, however, is daily meat for the butt-wiggling exhibitionists on the Internet; otherwise there would be no blogs.”

— Andrew Ferguson, Crazy U, p. 159.

The Art of Play

Jennifer Trafton is an author of children’s fiction. Her book, The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic, was read aloud by yours truly across many evenings with the Abell six. We laughed and enjoyed this unpredictable book, squealing with its silliness. She recently wrote an essay for The Rabbit Room, titled “The Art of Play,” which is worth a read...

That is what I mean by a holy silliness. Yes, there is a profound need for art that plumbs the depths of human depravity and suffering and shows that redemption is possible within that darkness. But there is also a profound need for art that creates spaces of innocence—innocent play, innocent joy, innocent beauty—in a world where innocence is violently stripped away from even the youngest children, and where adults have spent so long choking in the smog of corruption that they have forgotten what it is like to breathe pure fresh air. 

I will defend and defend the belief that the deepest reality of human life that we must impress upon children is not that life is hard and death is inevitable and they need to get used to sadness and darkness and make the best of it. The deepest reality is joy. The prize hidden under the scratch-and-win card of life is a beauty so big that no happy ending in a story can even come close to approximating it. War is a horrific stain on the floor of an extravagant ballroom. Tears are temporary; laughter is eternal.

Read the whole thing.

Read Well

Alan Jacobs:

The other day a homeschooling parent, whose child is in the ninth grade, wrote to me to ask what books I thought are essential for a young person to have read before coming to college. My reply:

For what it's worth, I don't think what a young person reads is nearly as important as how he or she reads. Young people who learn to read with patience and care and long-term concentration, with pencil in hand to make notes (including questions and disagreements), will be better prepared for college than students who read all the "right" books but read them carelessly or passively.

A Reason Not to Blog

“The task of adding new lines and sentences and paragraphs to one’s collection can become an ever tempting substitute for reading, marking, learning, and inwardly digesting what’s already there. And wisdom that is not frequently revisited is wisdom wasted.”

—Alan Jacobs, Wayfaring, p. 11

I Read Them Stories Because...

A former classmate, Nick Nowalk, wrote this post, which has much to do with all that I have been writing and thinking lately. The post is titled, “Why I Read Fantastical Stories Full of Make-Believe To My Kids.” Here is an excerpt...

Most of all, I read them stories because I desperately desire—insofar as it depends on me—to shape their consciousness and baptize their imagination with categories, experiences, and longings that will one day respond to the Gospel with the cry: “Yes! Of course this is what it was always about. What else could possibly account for the way things are in this world?” I want to ruin them early for cheap, disconnected sex and trivial ambitions (when they are ultimate) like going to Harvard, making millions, or becoming the president. I want to expand their souls and make them impossible to satisfy or stuff with creation alone. And I aim to to do all this damage because I want Jesus Christ crucified and risen to have the compelling ring of truth when they begin to think and choose for themselves as they leave home to find their own place in the Story. Every moment I spend reading aloud to them is subordinated to the hope that Jesus would be recognized as the ultimate source and inspiration of every late night chill, tear, laugh or inconsolable yearning as my fiction stories ring true once more in their bedroom. Because I want them to understand that all of the gallant virtues they have come to admire and love through these stories are summed up in the daily act of taking up their cross to follow this Jesus into a kingdom that will triumph over all evil and sadness, and which will reign forever and ever and ever in the happy ending to end all happy endings.

Nick was light years ahead of me in class. He is an excellent writer and thinker. I thank God for giving men like Nick the mind and ability that he has.

Questions from Harry

Now that our family’s friendship with Harry Potter is public knowledge, I can begin to move into what I really want to write about. In previous posts, I wrote the story of how we came to enjoy the Potter books, but my real point in doing this was so I can work through questions that have been rattling around in my head.

Having read the Potter series, faced my own prejudices, and met some similar prejudices in others, I have the following questions…

1)  Why do so many Christians have such a negative view of Harry Potter, and is this view justified?

2)  Why does the magic in Harry Potter pose a problem for Christians, or does it? Should it?

3)  Is it OK for Christians to read Harry Potter?

4)  More broadly, is it OK for Christians to read non-Christian fiction? In other words, is it OK for Christians to read anything but Christian theology and other related Christian-living books? If yes, then why do those of us who do often get sideways glances from other Christians?

5)  What exactly is literature, and could Harry Potter be considered literature?

6)  What is escapist fiction and can it be read, too?

7)  What other questions should I be asking and thinking through?

Don't Judge a Man by His Books (Or Arrangement Thereof)

I have been writing quite a few posts regarding books, reading, and specifically Harry Potter. Since our family started reading Potter, we have encountered strange looks from people we love and respect. There is in many Christian circles a derision of these books. My aim, as I write these posts, is to get at the falsity of this derision, to understand in my own family why it is OK to read Potter, and to strengthen my children’s faith and ability to discern what they can or can’t do in the world. I want them to think for themselves regarding what they should read, and not simply be beholden to what those around them think.

So, my purpose in posting about Harry Potter is to work through these things thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, I want to collect other people’s wisdom about reading. My amazingly talented missionary friend reposted Sean Lucas today. Click through to read the whole quote, but here is a key part...

“But I, for one, would not want to live in a world or a church where the thought police scanned my book shelf and told me what I could or could not read. I would not want to live in a world or a church that mirrored George Orwell’s 1984. And I suspect most of my friends, regardless of theological position, feel the same way. We need the freedom to explore the world in which God has placed us; we need to trust our brothers are guided by Word and Spirit, confession and polity; and we need to believe that neither we nor our church is threatened by such exploration.”

If you are wondering about being criticized for arranging books, check this out.

Reading for Pleasure

Alan Jacobs quotes the following in his recent post. As he says, it is a “wonderful passage from Edward Mendelson’s book The Things That Matter.” I re-quote it here because it pertains to much I have been writing about.

Anyone, I think, who reads a novel for pleasure or instruction takes an interest both in the closed fictional world of that novel and in the ways the book provides models of examples of the kinds of life that a reader might or might not choose to live. Most novels of the past two centuries that are still worth reading were written to respond to both of those interests. They were not written to be read objectively or dispassionately, as if by some nonhuman intelligence, and they can be understood most fully if they are interpreted and understood from a personal point of view, not only from historical, thematic, or analytical perspectives. A reader who identifies with the characters in a novel is not reacting in a naïve way that ought to be outgrown or transcended, but is performing one of the central acts of literary understanding.

(HT: Alan Jacobs)