Call Me Cheap

 Here’s what I think I think:

I have discovered that the best way to get “into” a prolific author is AFTER that author has already been established and gotten a good number of books published. If you can manage to get “into” them a decade after they hit the scene, then you’re really going to be able to have an inexpensive, enjoyable, relaxed time reading their books. If you read them a decade later and they stink, then they were probably stinky to begin with. You just aren’t all caught up in the hype. Which is a good thing in my book.

Example:

Last fall I started reading the John Grisham books. In case you live under a rock and don’t know, John Grisham is a best selling writer of “legal thrillers” who almost single handedly turned the genre into a huge industry. His first big book was his second book, “The Firm,” which they made a movie out of. In fact, they made movies out of most of the books he wrote over the first ten years of output. The movies were pretty much in the category of “just okay” because they could communicate the plot lines and story ideas of Grisham (which is not his greatest strength), but they can not communicate the flair, simplicity, smoothness and readability of his writing (which are his real strengths). Movie makers have the same problem with writers like Ray Bradbury and Stephen King. John Grisham could write about pretty much anything, I think, and make it readable. In fact, I wish he’d try some other things more often. I’d love to see him team up with a horror writer and see what happens. Or just write a novel about monsters and see what happens. But that’s just me.

The point here, though, is that I didn’t start reading his books until this past fall. I started with his first (and one of his best) books, called “A Time To Kill.” This book was published in 1989, 24 years before I started reading Grisham’s books. I finally just decided to see what all the hub bub was about.

I didn’t give thought to this at first, but I really liked the book and have been progressively reading through his canon, like you would do with any author you really like. But, because I’m behind the times, I have been getting these books very cheap, on discount racks, at the library, or loaned to me by people who’ve had them sitting on the shelves for years, collecting dust since they read them years ago. As a result of this, when his new book came out last fall, called “Sycamore Row,” which happens to be a sequel to the first novel, “A Time To Kill,” I was not at all tempted to jump into the “gotta have it now” fray. I’m still way back at “The Broker” (2005). I’ve got plenty of time to kill (ha ha) before I get to the new one. And I’m happy to work my way to it, watching the price drop and drop as time goes by. Why? Because I am not a rich man and I think it is stupid of me to get something NOW for reasons that don’t make any sense.

I have stopped buying books when they first come out. That, I have determined, is for rich people.

So, you do what you want. I won’t interfere. I won’t judge you. But I’m going to go ahead and let those other people out there, hustling through the hurley burley, worry about reading the latest and greatest book by their author of choice. Let them pay top dollar to read it the day it comes out. There are plenty of those people and their obsessive nature will always provide retailers with big income and all the rest in our gotta have it now world. And when those readers finally give decide to clean house and donate that book to a book sale, where it will probably sell for a quarter, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.

And I’ll enjoy it just as much.

Maybe more.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2014

Meeting Margaret

Did I happen to mention the time I met former Prime Minister of England Margaret Thatcher? No?

I am remiss.

So here’s how it went down. And, yes, this is a completely true story that really happened.

One day I was driving a delivery truck and had a little time to kill while waiting to be called back. With this particular job, I would deliver a package and, if it was fairly far away, they would have me wait to see if a pickup came in before heading back. It saved a lot of time and money, except when no pick up came in.

But I digress...

One day I had a little time to kill, so I stopped at a Border’s Bookstore. I liked this store. It was one of the early ones. It had the aroma of coffee and new books about it. One of the finer scents the human race has managed to manufacture over the centuries. And, as I was browsing around, I became aware of some Men in Black.

Seriously.

First I saw one, and then I saw another and another. Men in black suits, sun glasses and ties and white shirts with shiny black shoes. Just like Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones. But before that movie came out. My curiosity was immediately piqued, of course, so I looked around and noticed a line of people. I made the natural assumption that the Men in Black had something to do with it, so I joined the cue.

Just call me “Mr. Adventurous.”

Everyone was being really quiet. The place was in a real hush. It was a little odd, but I went with the flow and waiting silently with no idea of what we were waiting for. I figured I’d just get out of line if it turned out to be something stupid.

The line was long, winding around book shelves, so you couldn’t see where it ended. But then I could tell I was getting close because there were large stacks of books on the floor, hundreds of the same book. And just on the other side of the stacks, where you couldn’t quite see, was an author of some kind, signing books. I could see the signing table. I could see people at the table, but not the person signing. So I picked up one of the books on the big stack. It was Margaret Thatcher’s autobiography, the second part. Apparently the first part was a huge success, and now she was touring the States, signing copies of the second part. Here I was, about to meet Margaret Thatcher.

Why not...

Now, what brings this to mind is that I watched the movie called, “Iron Lady,” a few days ago, about Margaret Thatcher. Which is very good in it’s way, though it presents her in extremes in the sense that she is either old and suffering from dementia/Alzheimer's, or young and over zealous/naive, or middle aged and working too hard to be too tough for too much of the time. You would get the impression from the film that her entire 11 year stint in office was spent huddling away from either screaming, angry mobs trying to kill her, or screaming ecstatic mobs who were getting rich during the eighties, all of whom had nothing better to do but to bang on her car windows and scream every time she left the house.

Aside from these overdone tones, the exceedingly liberal Meryl Streep, of all people, does a superb job of playing the very conservative Margaret Thatcher. Meryl is a marvel to watch, let me tell you. That woman can act. She absolutely becomes Margaret Thatcher.

How do I know? Because I met Margaret Thatcher. Yes I did.

I walked up to the signing desk with my book in hand. I had nothing much to say because I knew very little about her at the time. But she was very quiet and nice and asked me how I was doing today. I said very well, thanks. And she signed the book and handed it back to me. I said, "thank you," and she said, very distinctively:

“Thenk Yewww.”

That was one seriously British woman, let me tell you. And Meryl Streep was the mirror image of her. It was uncanny.

I would be willing to show you the book to prove my story, but I gave it away, a long time ago, to a good friend who I thought would appreciate it.

So you’ll just have to trust me.


Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2012

Unfinished

Okay. I’m a little ashamed to admit it. But there are some books I haven’t finished. Books that are supposed to be “classics,” part of the pantheon of supposed greats. And yet, I’ve found them very hard to finish. I keep trying. I hit a page or two every few months or years. I don’t get rid of them. In fact, they sit on the shelf, mocking me with their density and agonizingly slow prose. They baffle me with the fact that there are people out there who believe these are great books. I agree that they are incredibly complex, and they work to tackle questions about identity, faith, free will (or the lack there of), and the nature of good and evil, and so on. I get it. I can see that much in short order as I’m slugging my way through them. But I just haven’t been able to appreciate these books. Or finish them. Or, sadly, even really want to finish them. For instance:

Moby Dick.

If you haven’t read it, then you don’t know that there are large sections of this book that completely abandon the narrative and focus on details of whales and the whaling trade that are more appropriate for an entry in an encyclopedia than a “novel.” At least in my opinion. If it were done as a movie, then the screen would go black for long periods of time while a voice read information to you about whales from an encyclopedia. Yep. Time to go get some popcorn.

To be honest, as I read Moby Dick, I feel like I’m simply being toyed with by an intellectual who likes to make other people feel stupid. The imagery and symbolism are everywhere, with no real clues or keys as to what any of it is supposed to mean. And, in fact, it’s hard to care anyway. At least that's how it reads for me. So I haven’t finished it, and I’m not sure I ever will. But I will try. And hopefully I’ll eventually get what all the hub bub is about.

And then there is Ulysses, by James Joyce.

Ah yes. I have my obligatory English major copy of Ulysses. I found it for a quarter in hard back years ago and began working my way through it. And almost from the very beginning I was asking myself, “Why?” Why are you reading this? It is purposely obtuse and distant. It is more like an experiment of a novel than a genuine attempt at trying to write something anyone would actually want to read.” Sort of like Shyamalan’s “Lady in the Water” was an experimental film, about film and story telling, that is interesting and even entertaining for people who are into the craft side of those things, but it fails miserably to actually be a meaningful film in it’s own right. It’s too clever for it’s own good, so it ends up being kind of stupid, if that makes any sense. And it’s all in spite of Paul Giamatti, who is always great.

I have never met anyone who finished Ulysses. And it's telling that there are lots of "guides" available for a tidy sum to help you make any sense of the book as you read it. Please. I know some people have finished it, and they are the ones writing the books, trying to explain to the rest of us why it’s a good book. But it’s frankly just too much work.

And there are others as well. I’m still picking my way, page at a time, through a history of the Civil War. It’s good. But too much detail. It’s like reading an encyclopedia. Melville would have loved it, I’m sure.

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Missing Surprises

 I recently read a movie review. It was like many modern film reviews. It was annoying. I’m not talking about whether or not the reviewer liked the movie. I’m talking about this trend to do a long Cliffs Note on a movie, followed by a short, perfunctory explanation about how the movie did or didn’t “impress” the reviewer in the way the reviewer wanted the film to. They can tell you if they liked it. They can tell you what kind of bugged them about the film. But they can't much tell you why.

This is the trend. It's been going on for a while. Out of six paragraphs, four are spent recounting the film, followed by a mindless blurb about whether or not the movie made a good impression. Was it too gory or too silly or too whatever? Theme? What's that? Cinematography? What's that? Subtext? What's that?

And the teasers for the films are the same. Mindless. These advertisements for the movies that reveal the entire, tired, plot in 30 seconds, leaving you no real reason to actually see the movie. Gotta review that movie. Don’t have much to say. Guess I’ll spend a bunch of time spoiling the thing with a pointless description of the plot so I can get this review over with and get to what I really want to do.

The reviewers spend more time talking about the plot of the film than the merits/weaknesses of the film. It happens all the time these days. And they seem to be operating under the assumption that you won’t understand their review unless, what? Unless you’ve already seen the movie? Which you haven’t? So they have to tell you all about the movie so you can understand their shallow review?

And books are the same these days. A lady gave my wife some books she thought I would like. Some paperback “thrillers” which is a genre spearheaded by Tom Clancy and John Grisham. Some people call them “suspense” novels. Military thrillers. Medical suspense.Whatever. So I have this “thriller/suspense” book in my hand, I’m looking it over, and on the back it says this:

“As Tony and Anne begin to peel back the layers of Marissa Fordham’s life, they find a clue fragment here, another there. And just when it seems Marissa has taken her secrets to the grave, they uncover a fact that puts Anne and Haley directly in the sights of a killer: Marissa Fordham never existed.”

Oh. Really. And this element was so non essential to the enjoyment of this “suspense” story and how it played out that we could reveal it on the back of the book? And how long do we have to wait for the people in the story to find out this little tidbit? Well. Even if it's unimportant to the plot, it's dumb to print what even looks like a major plot point on the cover of a book. Especially a “suspense” book. It makes you feel like there’s not going to be any suspense.

It seems to me that the people promoting these movies and books and such either think we’re really stupid and need to be led along on a string, or they are the ones who are really stupid and somehow, unaccountably, don’t realize that they are ruining the experience for a lot of us. But, whichever it is, there is definitely some stupid going on somewhere.

Anyway. Bye now, and...

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Caroling With Dickens

I’ve been reading Dickens’ A Christmas Carol again for the umpteenth time, and this book never gets old. Never. It’s a masterpiece, and Dickens himself was really happy with it. He paid a lot out of his own pocket to have it specially bound and illustrated, then he set the price really low so low income people could afford to buy a copy. Which means he made very little profit on the release.

But it was a passion for him because it was an expression of his heart.

When Dickens was twelve years old, his Dad and family were put into a debtors prison. Only young Charles avoided prison, because they put him to work in a factory that made boot polish. It was nasty work, especially for a twelve year old. But it gave Charles Dickens a compassion for the poor and for children that was rare in his lifetime.

Hard times really do shape our character.

There’s that scene early on in A Christmas Carol, where the man collecting for the poor is mistreated by Scrooge. They want a little donation from the skin flint, but he refuses, of course. And Scrooge tells them the poor will have to go to the “prisons” or the “workhouses” if they want help. So the man replies by saying, “'Many can't go there; and many would rather die.”

Here’s what I think: When Dickens wrote that, he knew what he was talking about. I think it’s how he felt about it. The shame and helplessness he had been through as a twelve year old boy was still with him. He had experienced true poverty first hand, and his response was great personal generosity to the poor and the broken, throughout the rest of his life.

What this makes me think of is the reality that empathy is often earned through hard times. Generosity is sometimes learned through poverty. It’s when we experience our own hard times that we learn how important it can be to show kindness to others.

At least, that’s my experience.

Bah, humbug?

Galatians 2:10
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Energy

Just finished another book that was supposed to be a simple explanation of quantum mechanics. All I can say is that if it’s simple, then I’m really in trouble. But, From what I gather...

Everything is energy, or something like that. Or, more precisely, “particles” (or fields) that have energy. And what exactly is a particle? (This is where all the honest scientists just shrug their shoulders and leave the room in search of a good cup of coffee to share with all the other scientists who don’t honestly even know what gravity is.)

This is what I take from my readings in science: Everything is held together by energy. Quantized, wave packets of electrons, neutrons, protons, nucleons, photons, phonons, blah blah blah, in relationships that manage to pull together and make something of themselves.

Opposites really do attract.

These things pull together to make up molecules, which pull together to make up stuff, including people, who try to pull it all together to make something of themselves.

Things are made up of smaller things that are made up of even smaller things, until you get so small that no one can imagine or think of those things being made up of smaller things. We just call them “particles” (or you could make up your own word, who's to stop you) and hope for the best. What’s a scientist to do?

Well, there you go. Life is energy.

So why don’t I have any?


Psalm 139:14
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Post Confessional Blues

So. I confessed here at Signify back in October (2010) to the strangely large number of books that I read all at the same time. The sad thing is, I found another stack of three or four more books that I failed to round up in my counting, so it’s even worse than I confessed at first.

Since then, I have honesty been trying to do better. My usual MO is to have about six or seven books, constantly jumping between them, with a backup bunch of nine or ten that I can switch in and out of the "current" reading if I feel the need, with a bunch more in strategic places like the car, for instance, which I read while waiting for the kids or whatever. And I have some larger books that are almost like textbooks, on history and art and such, that I often read in bits and pieces. And then I have the things I read for my work, which are many.

But I have been trying to do better. I have stacked up all the books in one spot. I selected three of them. One for next to the bed, which I think of as my “fun” read: a novel or biography, that kind of thing. Another one to go with me wherever I am around the house, which I think of as my “learning” read, which is the science or art or whatever book. And then one current “read for work” book, which is tough because I have a lot of things I need to keep up on with my work. Three books maximum. And I’ve really been trying to stick with this. I’m trying very consciously to NOT read the other books in the stack until I’ve finished one of the three. I’m trying to keep it at three, which seems reasonable.

I’m serious about this. But it’s hard to do.

I honestly find myself almost accidentally taking a book from the stack, you know, almost by reflex. They haunt me. So I have to stop myself. Sit it back down. Move on. And, on top of that, I just got a new book that I have to wait to read, which I don’t want to do. I just don’t. And if I choose to read it next, that means the things in the stack stay in the stack even longer.

Sigh.

I’m going to try to stick with this, but I know it’s not going to be easy. And I don’t even have a compelling moral reason to do it. I wish I did, as that helps me most of the time. I have no problem at all with the idea of doing some things simply because they are the right thing to do. There is a lot of peace in that. But in this case it's just about trying to discipline myself and be more productive and less scatter brained than I already am.

Oh, the humanity.



Romans 7:14-8:4
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Confession

I notice that there are a lot of what I would call “confessional” blogs on the blogosphere. These are blogs where people feel compelled to reveal intimate, personal things about themselves to complete strangers for the sake of being honest. Or something. Which is fine. Perhaps it has a kind of healing aspect to it, like confession can have. This is why they have support groups in AA, right?

I have to confess, I’m not big on this kind of thing unless I know the person. I do a lot of confessing myself, on a daily basis, to God. And I have some people very close to me who I talk to about what’s going on in my life. I try to make them aware of my struggles without milking them for sympathy. I believe in being honest, and I like sharing my experiences with people, but everyone does not need to be all up in my laundry all the time, ya know? That's just me.

Still, I have decided on this day, for no apparent reason, to confess something about myself that I find a little troubling? Disturbing? Maybe just unusual? I don’t see it as a huge problem. Maybe it is, I don’t know. I know it’s not “normal.” Perhaps you will decide. I’ve hinted at it in the past, which I do a lot. I’m a big hinter. It’s part of my passive aggressive personality disorder. If you really want to know me, you are going to have to pay attention. (See, there’s some more confession, but that’s not the thing I’m confessing.)

The thing I’m going to put out there today is the disturbing number of books I read at the same time. I’m simply going to list them here, to show you how twisted it is, and you can think what you will. Offer support? Identify with me? Think I’m nuts? But I will have confessed it and we’ll see if it makes me or anyone else feel any better. Frankly, I doubt it. But I’m willing to try. For the sake of brevity, whatever, I’ll only list the books that I have read at least two chapters of. If I’ve only read one chapter, I won’t include it, but they are there, waiting in the shadows of my own personal Little Library of Horrors. “Read me, Seymour, read me!”

Okay. Here’s the list, compiled from what I think of as my different “reading stacks” strategically placed throughout our house (and in my car) in no particular order. Sometimes I finish a book in a few days, sometimes it takes years, but I’ve finished reading practically every book I’ve ever started, except for a few that I found, well, unreadable.

Please don’t hold it against me:

1. I Walked the Line - Vivian Cash
2. This Perfect Day - Ira Levin
3. Mister Slaughter - Robert McCammon
4. The Book of Lost Things - John Connolly
5. Rediscovering Church - Lynne and Bill Hybels
6. The Koran - Muhammed
7. The Strong Willed Child - Dr. James Dobson
8. A Brief History of Time (rereading) - Stephen Hawking
9. Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era - James M. McPherson
10. Mountains of the Mind - Robert MacFarlane
11. The Bible (rereading) - God
12. Ray Harryhausen, An Animated Life - Ray Harryhausen
13. The Dark Pond - Joseph Bruchak
14. Raising Your Child, Not Your Voice - Dr. Duane Cuthbertson
15. Gordon Ramsay Makes It Easy - Gordon Ramsay
16. Eyewitness to Power - David Gergen
17. Celebration, U.S.A. - Frantz/Collins
18. Gregor and the Prophecy of Bain
19. Calvin’s Institutes - Calvin
20. I Was Right On Time - Buck O’Neil
21. So You Want to Be Like Christ - Chuck Swindoll
22. Fit Bodies, Fat Minds - Os Guinness
23. Shadowplay - Tad Williams
23.Until I Find You - John Irving
24. Blessings In Disguise - Alec Guinness
25. Mr. Darwin’s Shooter - Roger McDonald
26. Art: A New History - Paul Johnson

Read anything good lately?



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Bibliophobia

I stumble across a lot of facts while looking for other facts. For instance: According to some medical dictionaries, there are people out there who have bibliophobia. They have an unreasoning fear of books. Which means, apparently, that if they drive by a library or accidently stumble across Amazon.com they will break out into a cold sweat with heart palpitations and want to run home to their mommies.

Seriously?

I imagine the conversation. The psychologist with his little notebook, sitting next to the couch where a nervous looking man is twiddling his fingers together with anxiety.

The Doc: Dzo, idz it dat you are afdddraaid of boooks, or idz it dat you joost hab no deezire to rdddread zem?

The Patient: Who me? Well, honestly, I just like to wait for the movie.


Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Second Hand

There’s a big neighborhood yard sale going on today in our neighborhood. Cars everywhere, people getting in and out. We’re not participating this time, but I’ve been people watching out front a bit, and I don’t see much merchandise getting moved out.

People don’t really want to buy things at yard sales anymore. What they want to do is make a token payment of, say, fifty cents, and then drive away with your car and your youngest child and give you a dirty look on their way out for not giving them a good enough deal.

We tried selling things at the last city-wide yard sale and we didn’t sell much. No one wants what we don’t want anymore. And I’m amazed at how used books don’t sell. You can hardly give them away. I don’t know if people just don’t read anymore or what.

Which reminds me.

This is how it works: I was with my dad at the doctor’s office for his regular check up last week and they had some books for sale there. Seemed weird, but it was some kind of fund raiser. Besides, it was more interesting than the magazines. What’s with the magazines? They used to have good magazines in doctor’s offices. Now they just throw their used medical journals out and who cares if you pass out from boredom by the time they call your name.

Anyway. In this little book sale, I found a book by Ira Levin, who is the author of Rosemary’s Baby. I read Rosemary’s Baby years ago, and I felt the book and the movie were a bit over rated. But that’s just me. Whatever. The book I found is called “This Perfect Day,” which just happens to be a dystopian fantasy in the order of Orwell’s 1984 and Huxley’s Brave New World and Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. And, so far, This Perfect Day is WAY better than Rosemary’s Baby, even though I had never even heard of it before. No movie, that I know of, has been made from it. It was not even on my radar screen. But it’s very well written so far and kind of creepy. We’ll see how it ends up, as I’m only about fifty or so pages into it so far.

Never heard of it. It cost me one dollar, in hardback, original print from 1970. It’s in rough shape, but still. I have a book to read that I’m enjoying reading. It’s so good that all my other reading has been put on the back burner. And that’s how it works sometimes.

So. You reading anything good?



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Reading List (07.10)

So. Whatcha been reading lately?

It would be hard for me to confess to you how many books I actually read at one time. It’s frankly embarrassing and I think it reveals that something must be wrong with me. But whatever. I have been reading some interesting things, and I thought I’d share some of them with you.

I recently finished book one of the new Tad Williams Shadowmarch series. It was supposed to be a trilogy, but Tad can’t help himself, and now it’s looking like it’s going to be four or five books by the time he’s finished.

Also just finished Quantum, by Manjit Kumar. It’s about the history of quantum physics/mechanics. It actually makes this stuff somewhat understandable, which is a major achievement, and it also covers some of the personal stuff between the different physicists. It doesn’t get into string theory and such, but I’m guessing that will be the sequel.

I am about a quarter way through an old book by Pastor Bill Hybels called “Redefining Church,” which I have been meaning to read for a long time, and I am about a quarter way into a book recommended to me by my friend Ray, called “Bowling Alone,” written by a sociologist from Harvard University, named Robert D. Putnam, who has been studying what he calls “Social Capital.” It’s about how people have been moving away from meaningful social interaction for the last 30 to 40 years, why it’s happening, and what can be done about it. So far it’s great.

I’m also about halfway through book one of Lloyd Alexander’s "Black Cauldron" series, The Chronicles of Prydain.

There are some others, but that's enough for now, wouldn't you say?


So. You reading anything?

Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

The Great American Novel

I have too many books. Literally. I have no place to put them. The shelves are full. They overflow with stories, stacked in every direction, crammed into every corner. I’ve given away lots of books, but not enough, so I tell myself to give away some more. But I’m kind of attached to them. It’s hard to let them go.

I have this very simple journal I’ve used since I was young. I use it to keep track of what I’ve read, I list out the book and author, then I rate the book on a scale of 1 to 6. Why 1 to 6? I don’t remember, but I can’t change it now. I’ve been doing this practically forever. I don’t even know exactly when I started it. I don’t want to mess with the system.

When I go into the journal to add a book, I see some of the old books I’ve read. I look at the ratings, and there are times when I’m tempted to change a rating. What seemed like a great book 20 years ago does not always seem so great today. I feel foolish for having thought so highly of this one or that one and I’m tempted to correct my foolishness. But I don’t. I let it stand.

And, besides, I’m impressed with the fact that someone – anyone – could finish a book in the first place. I admire the effort. I have tried and it’s not easy. At least not for me. Even a bad novel is a powerful act of discipline and will. And while good writing is a big mountain to climb, great writing is like getting to the moon and back. Still, it can be done.

In university we talked a lot about the “Great American Novel.” Has it been written yet? Was there one novel by an American that stood out as the definitive work from a writer in the U.S. of A.? No one could say for sure. I’d probably vote for Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, but what do I know?

Perhaps you are meant to write that Great American Novel? Why not? Why not try? I’ll find a way to make room on my shelves. I might even beat you to it. At least we can die trying.

Toni Morrison, author of the amazing novel called “Beloved” said, “If there's a book you really want to read but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”

Yathink?


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010