The Best Book of 2010

In July I began reading Michael O’Brien’s Island of the World. Thirty pages in I knew this book was extraordinary. At one point in the middle of the night I got up and Googled Josip Lasta, the protagonist’s name, convinced he was a real person.

When I finished reading it, I couldn’t stop discussing it.  I gave copies to friends. But I shrank from writing about Island.  It is a big book in every sense of the word. How can I express its power in a short review? A friend read it and said, “It changed my life.”  Island of the World has 18 reviews on Amazon; all are 5 stars.  Laura, whose review began with these words “Best book ever.”, bought every book written by O’Brien after reading this.

So what is it about?  Light and darkness, loss and blessing, deep interior wounds, survival, sanity after trauma, crucifixion, resurrection.  Grief mingled with inexplicable joy.  All condensed in the life of a single Croatian man named Josip Lasta. 

Yet there is a difference between insightful commentary
about culture and the actual creation of culture.

I am intrigued by the cultures portrayed in O’Brien’s book: the rustic mountain village northwest of Sarajevo with an interdependent community and a faithful priest; the heady high culture of academia discussing philosophy and experiencing art; the tight grip on the edge of sanity, clinging to a vestige of humanity in a labor camp; the incremental rebuilding of a life in an Italian hospital; the life of a solitary janitor in New York City. 

If he had been given a choice, would he have chosen to be
a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief? Never.
It was given. It is gift and cost–and in time the cost may
become entirely gift. It is hard to know if that will be the
end of all this striving, impossible to guess when the next
blessing or blow will fall.

I had read a third of the book when I saw a young man, a friend and former student who shares my love of reading thick, chunky, excellent books.  I stopped him as he walked by my office and told him about Island. Scott listened with interest and thanked me.  I made him wait while I printed out the synopsis from Amazon.  Two days later he was killed in a car accident.  The printout was on his nightstand.  Reading this book in the throes of grief impressed its words on my soul. This book is unforgettable.

I can’t be sure, but I suspect that Michael O’Brien is my new Wendell Berry.  That is the highest compliment I can offer. 

Get this book.  Burrow into it.  It will change you.

Friends’ reviews:  Laura, Janie  Another review: Rabbit Room

I added a post of quotes from this book here.

I love this book so much, I want one of you to win a free copy. 
Enter a comment and I will have a drawing.  Let’s say December 4th. 
Post a link, tweet about it, email a friend (and let me know you did)
and I’ll enter your name twice!
You can have choose between paperback or Kindle version.
International entries are welcome.

For the Bach Lover on your list

I wrote this book because I have always loved Bach’s
music and always wanted to know the man who made
it. But I was also drawn to investigate the opposition
of reason and faith. ~ James R. Gaines

“I have just finished a book that I am going to count among my favorites of all time. It is that good. You have GOT to read it.”  After Gene Veith’s emphatic review, I had to read James Gaines’ Evening in the Palace of Reason.  It is the best non-fiction book I’ve read in 2010.

Evening in the Palace follows two trends: first to tether an entire book around a single piece of art, as in Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring or Vreeland’s Luncheon of the Boating Party; the second to interweave two biographies, á la Plutarch’s Lives or Julie and Julia.  Gaines writes an overview of the lives of Johann Sebastian Bach and Frederick the Great but focuses on a confrontation between the two men and the music that resulted from it.

What Gaines does exceedingly well is to illustrate the difference in Medieval / Reformation assumptions and those of the Enlightenment. 

[A]mong the Enlightenment’s least explicit legacies to us is a common understanding that there is a gulf, a space that defines a substantial difference, between spiritual and secular life. For Bach there was no such place, no realm of neutrality or middle ground that was not a commitment to one side or the other in the great battle between God and Satan.

What most divided him [Bach] from them [the next generation] was their motive for making music at all, of whatever sort.  The new “enlightened” composer wrote for one reason and one only: to please the audience.

[Carol sets up her soapbox and mounts it. The shrill voice emerges.]

People!

There is one and only one way to read this book: that is while listening to  The Art of Fugue Musical Offering (or here or here) while you read. When Gaines brilliantly exposits the complexity of this particular fugue, you must have the notes in your head. Listen while you commute, listen while you cook, listen while you clean. 

I highly recommend this book.  I highly recommend Bach.  Even if you have no musical background, no previous exposure to his music, Bach’s music will seep into your soul and water the parched places. If you love someone who already loves Bach, get him or her the book and the CD.   

We can talk about his brilliantly melodic part writing,
the richness of his counterpoint, the way
his music follows text the way roses follow a trellis,
in perfect fidelity and submission but at
not the slightest sacrifice of beauty.
Finally, though, one comes up against the fact that
the greatest of great music is in its ability
to express the unutterable.

Perishable

I don’t understand Korea.  Why it is divided, why we fought a war, what distinguishes it from other Asian countries.  Helpful books are waiting on my shelf; If I Perish, by Esther Ahn Kim (Ahn E. Sook) was the first one I picked up. The setting of the book is Japanese-occupied Korea during World War II.   

Kim tells the compelling story of her six years of imprisonment for refusing to bow to a shrine. Like holocaust memoirs, it is incredible to fathom what a body and spirit can endure.  Her courage is huge, but so is her honesty: she was resolved to die a martyr’s death, but she was horrified at the thought of being cold.  She was, in short, perishable. 

The readiness is all. (Hamlet)  After her first escape from prison, Kim found refuge in an abandoned country home.  Expecting future imprisonment, she began a systematic preparation for persecution.  Did you read that last sentence?  She prepared for persecution

She memorized more than one hundred chapters of the Bible and many hymns.  She fasted to train her body to live without food and drink: first three days, then seven, then ten.  She barely survived the ten day fast.  The role of food in her life fascinated me.

Thoughts of food never left my mind. 146

The thought that I might die of hunger
and not be able to join the martyrs
made me gloomy.  Didn’t I even have
a little of a nature, or did I only have a
beggar’s stomach? 147

The only way I could show her my love, I decided,
was to give her my meals. However, determined as I
was, all the food went into my mouth when it was served.
What a despicable, ugly person I was.
I was upset and sickened at myself.
I rebuked and insulted myself more than I
had ever done before, but when the mealtime
came, I was again finding excuses. The battle
continued for several days, but each day I lost.
Then when I was praying, a ray of light touched my spirit.
“I will offer my meal to Jesus!”
I carried my food quickly to Wha Choon.
“This is Jesus’ meal. I have offered it to Him.
And He wants you to have it, so thank Him and eat it.”
192 (abridged)

Ahn’s mother is a great study.  She kept the view of eternity on the dashboard of her life.

“Whatever might happen to you,” she cautioned me,
“you should never forget the moment when you shall
reach the gate of heaven. Be faithful,” she said. 176

Mother couldn’t sing a tune, made some funny linguistic mistakes, but she could work. This next quote is going into my file on working to the glory of God:

Because her heart was pure, she always worked diligently
to make her surroundings clean, too, by washing, sweeping
and polishing the house. She was truly a living testimony of
God’s grace, strong spiritually, and very dependable. 128

Who wouldn’t desire to be described this way?

Wherever Mother was, it was like a
chapel of heaven around her. 129

Esther Ahn Kim’s faith was vibrant, vocal, bold.  Amazingly, she lived when many others died.  My favorite quote from this book illustrates the active nature of that faith.

I looked out the window and saw a bird trembling on a bare bough
that had long ago withered. I was just like that bird. Suddenly I shook
my head to the right and left vigorously. That courageous bird was
playing in a swirling snowstorm, ignoring her enemies. I had to be
such a bird. If she only perched on that withered bough with her
head stuck beneath her wing and feared the wind, snow, heaven,
earth, and everything else that might challenge her, she would only
freeze and die when night came. 135

The Abolition of Britain

 


But I think it is important that Anglophiles, especially those
in North America, begin to understand that the imagined,
ideal Britain which they have treasured for so long has
been swept away and is being replaced by an entirely
different country-a place of shrinking liberties, of
increasingly arbitrary authority, of bad manners and
violence, of illiteracy and ignorance, of cringing conformism.
As the culture disintegrates, the physical, political,
diplomatic and military entity formerly known as
Britain is also breaking up, and is likely to be
incorporated into a new European superstate.

Any Anglophile will say his or her love began with British literature: Austen, Tolkien, Trollope, Pym; Thackeray, Herriot, Chesterton, Milne; Lewis, Eliot, Stevenson, Read; Bronte, Wodehouse, MacDonald, Grahame.  Page by page we are drawn to the customs and manners and mores of Britain.  We take trips to find the Britain of our literature. We search for pockets of preservation, places that match the geography of our imagination. 

If you want to hold on to that Britain, if a look at modern reality will dispel your dreams, stay away from this book.    

A nation is the sum of its memories,
and when those memories are allowed to die,
it is less of a nation.

What Morris Berman does in The Twilight of American Culture–describes what he calls a cultural massacre in America–Peter Hitchens does in The Abolition of Britain.  Hitchens outlines the changes that have taken place within one generation, between the death of Sir Winston Churchill in 1965 to the death of Princess Diana in 1997.  Morris’ view is from the left; Hitchens’ is from the right.

The face of Britain has undergone radical plastic surgery
so that it can no longer recognize itself in the mirror.

Hitchens recapitulates themes from Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death; the decline in literacy, curiosity, imagination, and the ability to think for oneself. He examines the effects of television and computers, the decline in education, the rise in divorce and single parenting, the ignorance of history, the rejection of great literature, the loss in one generation of religious sensibilities.  

Anyone trained from his earliest years in the television
habit is likely to become extremely passive,
because his ability to imagine, to hold conversations,
to think without prompting, has already been
weakened and withered.  He does not need them.

We welcome into our homes the machines that
vacuum the thoughts out of our heads
and pump in someone else’s.

Blunt as his brother Christopher, but conservative and unrepentant of his politically-incorrectness, Hitchens exposes the inconsistencies and unintended consequences of present policies.  One weakness I see in this book is that Hitchens ignores the failures of the British Empire; there is a reason that it came down. While he decries the direction England is going, he doesn’t delineate a solution.  As a journalist, Peter Hitchens’ thoughts are accessible at his blog.  A few random quotes from the book:

The universal conscription of women
 into paid work has emptied the suburbs…

Home death is becoming as rare as home birth.

…fewer and fewer children have two parents,
and where more and more women are
married to the State.

The most significant change for the majority
is that life is no longer so safe, so polite or
so gentle as it once was.

Letters to an American Lady

I’m sorry to say that my initial response to Letters to an American Lady was one of annoyance.  The book contains thirteen years of letters from C.S. Lewis (Jack) to a woman who kept writing him back.  Only Jack’s letters to Mrs. ——– (Mary) are published, but from his we get an idea of hers. She had many distressing circumstances, medical and financial.  

Lewis was from the old school of manners: for every letter he received, he wrote a reply. Jack doesn’t disguise his opinion: responding to mail was tedious and difficult and, at times, dreadful.  The daily letter-writing I have to do is very laborious for me. (May 6, 1959)  He asks Mary –nearly every year–not to write at holiday times. Will you, please, always avoid “holiday” periods in writing to me? (April 17, 1954)  And always remember that there is no time in the whole year when I am less willing to write than near Christmas, for it is then that my burden is heaviest. (January 29, 1955)

A majority of the letters have some explanation/apology from Lewis about the length it took him to respond.  (You have, you know, recently stepped up the pace of the correspondence! I can’t play at that tempo, you know.) (October 5, 1955)  I get on my righteous indignation and want to reproach Dear Mary to please quit bugging one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century. 

Don’t get me wrong: there are some gems in these letters between the in great hastes and all good wishes.  All the best quotes from this book will be found in The Quotable Lewis if you’d like to skim the cream off the top.
 

As for wrinkles–pshaw! Why shouldn’t we have wrinkles?
Honorable insignia of long service in this warfare.
(October 30, 1958) 

The great thing with unhappy times is to take them bit by bit,
hour by hour, like an illness. It is seldom the present,
the exact present, that is unbearable.
(June 14, 1956) 

A man whose hands are full of parcels can’t receive a gift. (March 31, 1958)

: :         : :        : :

The second time through this short book (124 small pages) I had a better sense of its value. In short, it is a primer on helping people who are in pain. 

He prays for her.  From the first letter, I will have you in my prayers (October 26, 1950) to a letter written on behalf of Lewis by Walter Hooper, He is much concerned for you and prays that you may have courage for whatever may be yours both in the present and future. (August 10, 1963) there are assurances of prayer.

His words of sympathy are simple: May God comfort you. (October 20, 1956)  May the peace of God continue to infold you. (June 7, 1959)  I am most sorry to hear about…

Lewis writes about the daily stuff of life:  I love the empty, silent, dewy, cobwebby hours (September 30, 1958)  A big tree and a still bigger branch off another came crashing down in the wood yesterday, in windless calm–purely for lack of internal moisture. (August 21, 1959)  In these short snippets he offers a piece of his personal life, which, I’m certain, was received as a valued gift and a pleasant distraction.

If you love Lewis and want to read everything he wrote, this is a book for you.  For the rest of you, get The Quotable Lewis.

What is your favorite C.S. Lewis title? 
Which book would you recommend to a reader unfamiliar with C.S. Lewis?

Wherein I Read a Twilight Book

I’ve never been an enthusiastic participant in pop culture.  So when the Twilight rage hit, I was unmoved.  A friend tried to persuade me to borrow her book.  “Carol,” she promised, “after you’ve read Twilight I guarantee that you will want you very own vampire.”  I perfected my noncommittal hmmmm.  No. That’s wrong.  I laughed “I’m having difficulty even imagining that!” So why did I read a Twilight book?

Because it was Morris Berman’s The Twilight of American Culture. Published in 2000, this book describes what he calls a cultural massacre.  Berman’s antidote is a way of cultural preservation he calls “the monastic option”.  Stick with me. The idea isn’t to become a monk, but to act like the monks by holding tight to the treasures and exposing the emptiness of the corporate/commercial, prefabricated way of life.

What Roman culture had discarded,
these monks treated as valuable;
what the culture found worthwhile,
they perceived as stupid or destructive. p.8   

Berman outlines four factors that are present when a civilization collapses.

1. Accelerating social and economic inequality
2. Declining success of organizational solutions to socioeconomic problems.
3. Rapidly dropping levels of literacy, critical understanding and general intellectual awareness.
4. Spiritual death–the emptying out of cultural content and the freezing (or repackaging) of it in formulas–kitsch, in short.
The exploration of kitsch, its definition, and its pervasiveness in our culture was the theme I most enjoyed reading.  Berman defines kitsch :”something phony, clumsy, witless, untalented, vacant, or boring that many Americans can be persuaded is genuine, graceful, bright, or fascinating.” (p.33)  In contrast, quoting Todd Gitlin,

Amid the weightless fluff of a culture of obsolescence,
here is Jane Austen on psychological complication,
Balzac on the pecuniary squeeze.
Here is Dostoevsky wrestling with God,
Melville with nothingness,
Douglass with slavery.
Here is Rembrandt’s religious inwardness,
Mozart’s exuberance,
Beethoven’s longing.
In a culture of chaff, here is wheat.

I was put off by Berman’s focal point of the Enlightenment as the locus for cultural renewal. While he admires the preservation of culture found in medieval monasteries, he completely misses the fact that their work was a form of worship.

If you find yourself a bit of an oddball, one who resists the passive acceptance of consumerism around you, if you care about craftsmanship and critical thinking, I recommend this book.  Favorite quotes:

Our entire consciousness, our intellectual-mental life
is being Starbuckized, condensed into a
prefabricated designer look.


I’m not talking about putting
Great Books on the web,

because the Great Books program
is really a way of life,

not a database.

America has become a gigantic
dolt-manufacturing machine.

The Lost Heart of Asia

 


[Publishers] realised that travel writing could also be literature.
~ Colin Thubron

What made you interested in reading The Lost Heart of Asia?
I read Colin Thubron’s Where Nights Are Longest this spring; I needed to read more.  His travel memoirs carry no touristy weight; his concern is to understand how the region’s culture is translated into lifestyle, art, architecture, literature and religion. 

Why do you like Colin Thubron? 
Thubron is particularly gifted at meeting people and making them comfortable sharing their thoughts and feelings.  A humble polyglot–I say humble because this fact is invisible in his writing–, Thubron can communicate with many different people groups in a native or near-to-native tongue.  He travels alone and strikes up conversations. People tell him compelling parts of their lives. 

So what, exactly, is the Lost Heart of Asia?
The five Central Asian republics: Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, and Kirghizstan.  These countries sit between Russia, China, India and Iran.  The book was written after their independence from the Soviet Union.  In short, the book explores the tensions between the two dominant ideologies, Communism and Islam, played out in this region. 


I’ve never even heard of some of those countries!   
In that sense it was a challenging book to read.  Nothing was familiar.  Uzbekistan’s capital, Tashkent, reminded me of Tashbaan in C.S. Lewis’ book The Horse and His Boy.  That was the extent of my familiarity!  The book has two good maps which I used often.  The other challenge was the vocabulary: Thubron used more than a dozen words I’ve never before seen.  (That is not a criticism; it makes me want to read more.)

There must have been something else that pulled you into this book…
If someone writes well, the unknown becomes interesting.  Listen to this:

frothy muslin ribbons
his curtained politeness
a sunny robustness
a callow charm
his Brezhnev eyebrows
a reticent evangelism
an alto sanctimoniousness
a measured unraveling of pride
veil of splintered sunlight
a rumpus of old women
a strenuous happiness

And sentences like these:

The woman was violently silent.
He seemed perpetually stooped, not physically but emotionally stooped.
Somehow, for years, she had seen her nation bifocally.
Their decor dithered between cultures.

Learning for him was a process of accumulation.
I was entering the fringes of a formidable solitude.
Their Islam was like the Kazakhs’, drawn lightly over nomadic shamanism.

Favorite story from the book?
The story of the beginning of a Korean Baptist church in the capital of Kirghizstan was unusual.  A Korean Christian came from Los Angeles and asked the Korean community what they were.  They thought they might be Buddhist but weren’t sure.  He replied, No you are Christians.  And they became Christians.  He preached; they came out of pity for him, and then started believing.  

A favorite quote?
A girl in the capital of Kazakhstan, Dilia, who dreamed of becoming a conductor said, “If I didn’t become a musician, I’d starve inside.”

Do you want to read more Thubron?

Definitely.  Behind the Wall: A Journey Through China is on my shelf, in my queue.  In Siberia, Shadow of the Silk Road Mirror to Damascus, and Journey into Cyprus all interest me.  I’ve only read one of Thubron’s novels, Falling, and didn’t care for it.  I think my next read should be Shadow of the Silk Road,  another trip through Central Asia, while some residual geography of the region remains with me.
  

Home Below Hell’s Canyon

After Five Five-Star Books in a row, I didn’t expect to read a sixth stellar book.  A friend loaned me this book, and I decided I’d better read and return it.  We had swapped books of local pioneer stories and the one I sent her wasn’t really that good.  I approached Home Below Hell’s Canyon with a neutral attitude. 

Well.

This book whirled me around.  During the Depression Grace and Len Jordan bought a sheep ranch in Hell’s Canyon.  With their three young children, they worked to make a go of it.  Danger, isolation, toil, trials were daily companions.  Jordan does not resort to high drama, nor does she syrup the narrative. 

Our determined frugality did not ease much, even at Christmas.  In the youngsters’ stockings there would be something practical and something they had longed for, with a treat of candy and apples.

The life of the Jordan family was so foreign to a typical family’s life in 2010.  Risks had to be taken, decisions had to be made, chores had to get done…all without a husband a cell phone call away.  The pace of life was measured, time was carefully apportioned for the family and ranch hands to be fed and provisioned.  It was typical to can 1,000 quarts of fruits, vegetables and meat for the year to come.

A  canyon is a bad place for real wrongs, far worse for fancied ones.

What fascinated me was the education of the children using the Calvert School’s correspondence course.  The Jordans homeschooled before homeschool was a word!  The way Grace Jordan met the challenges of educating the kids while running a ranch is worth the cost of the book. 

From the first day of school it was clear that only by setting a rigid program would we ever protect ourselves from the double threat of alien interruptions and our own natural inertia.

This book is worthy. I hope to re-read it down the road.  Satisfying stuff.

Creation is making something from nothing; and creation is as bad for tying up a man’s day- and night-time thoughts as the drug habit.  Yet it is soul-satisfying, and for the weeks that we were involved in the carpentering and plumbing arts, we had never been happier.

Len Jordan went on to become governor of Idaho and a US Senator. 

We got word that we might have trouble disposing of our wool unless it was certified as shorn by a union crew.  A sheep-shearer’s union in the depths of the Snake Canyon was patently absurd, but the 1938 path of the American livestock man, a normally independent and rugged creature, was certainly not strewn with government roses.

Grace Jordan wrote four more books, taught journalism and English at various Idaho universities and has an elementary school named after her. 

Five Five-Star Books

   
I feel badly for the next book I pick up to read.  I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed the last five books…the next one’s bound to be a disappointment, don’t you think?  I think six great books in a row is pushing the odds. 
                                                                                                                                                                                       

There it was, there it is, the place where during the best time of our lives friendship had its home and happiness its headquartersCrossing to Safety, the story of a life-long friendship between two couples, is full of phrases which reverberated in my bones.  It’s almost a Wendell Berry story in an academic setting.  It’s about four people who read and write and think and debate and spur each other on to excellence.  All her life she had been demanding people’s attention to things she admires and values.  She has both prompted and shushed, and pretty imperiously too.  [Thank you, Alfonso, for the reminder to read this book.]

  I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong HillsOut of Africa is a slow book, one that makes you pause, reflect, think.  Isak Dineson (Karen Blixen) writes with grace, clarity and beauty. Stories are told with the skill of a medieval minstrel.  Her descriptions of people, places, animals, events, weather, conflicts, heartaches…are superb.  It [rain] was like the coming back to the Sea, when you have been a long time away from it, like a lover’s embrace. // [In a drought] Everything became drier and harder, and it was as if force and gracefulness had withdrawn from the world.

One can’t imagine them reading poetry together, she thought, this being her main idea of a happy marriage.  Barbara Pym writes with the insight of Austen, the clerical flavor of Trollope, and the wit of McCall Smith. If you are looking for a light-hearted chuckle and a few horse laughs, Crampton Hodnet is for you. There is a marriage proposal as funny as any I’ve  read.  Oh, Miss Morrow–Janie, he burst out suddenly.  My name isn’t Janie.  Well, it’s something beginning with a J. he said impatiently.  Pure comfort reading.  Miss Morrow went into her bedroom.  She felt that she wanted a laugh, a good long laugh because life was so funny, so much funnier than any book. But as sane people don’t laugh out loud when they are alone in their bedrooms, she had to content herself with going about smiling as she changed her clothes and tidied her hair.  [Thanks, Laura, for the recommendation.]


Did you never hear how the life of man is divided?  Twenty years a-growing, twenty years in blossom, twenty years a-stooping, and twenty years declining. Life on Great Blasket Island, off the west coast of Ireland, was narrow, fierce and primitive.  Yet, life without distractions incubated gifted writers. Oxford University Press has published seven books by Blasket natives. (I’ve read two so far.) Maurice O’Sullivan’s memoir, Twenty Years A-Growing, offers a boys romp herding sheep, fishing the ocean, scrambling on cliffs, and salvaging shipwrecks.  The book is a taste of authentic Ireland, a sliver of joy to read.    Talk is true, but God is strong.  //  It is true, but wisdom comes after action.  //   As the old saying goes, ‘Bitter are the tears that fall but more bitter the tears that fall not.’

 
I had come to the conclusion that I must really be French, only no one had ever informed me of this fact. I loved the people, the food, the lay of the land, the civilized atmosphere, and the generous pace of life.  Julia Child’s My Life in France is full of zest and zing.  It is as satisfying as a seven-layer salad.  Foodies will frolic through the recipes.  Julia’s marriage to Paul Child is a refreshing splash of camaraderie.  Cross-cultural aficionados will delight in the Childs’ choice to make friends with the French instead of holding hands with the Americans in Paris.  Lifetime learners will lick their fingers at Julia’s example. Late bloomers will take courage from young Julia’s ignorance of cooking  This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook- try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all have fun!

  

In Which I Give a Lukewarm Review

 

I don’t know what I think about this book. 

It helps, I think, to explain what it is not.  Not a collection of metrical psalms, made for singing.  Not a direct correlation, verse by verse.  Laurance Wieder writes a poem for every psalm (150), shapes them into poems designed to make you see/hear them through different eyes/ears. 

The psalms are the best companions one can have in life.  They run the gambit of praise, grief, guilt, complaint; the psalmist articulates the responses of the heart to all of life.  There are many translations.  There are paraphrases.  Metrical psalms stick as close to the text as possible with meter and rhyme.   

I had arguments with myself.   One me told the other me the whole concept was wrong. / The other me retorted that Wieder did nothing illegal, immoral or indecent.  Give the man a chance. / He missed it!  / But look at this phrase. 
     
I tried reading the psalm [Bible] and then the poem.  Bad plan.  We had friends over; after dinner I read various poems that corresponded with our guests’ favorite psalms.  Their enthusiasm for his poems was dim.  Very dim.

But some of the poems surprised me and drove me back to the psalms to see where Wieder got that angle. His economy of words is admirable.  He paints with words.

Here’s an [inadequate] analogy.  I love Jane Austen.  She is the master.  One page of her writing is a feast.  But I don’t care for modern knock-offs, updated versions.  I can understand why writers would want to imitate Austen;  I don’t have a clue why any publisher would print them.

Here are two samples.  If you are curious how Wieder handles one of your favorite psalms you can read the book on Google Books.  I was completely floored to read the blurbs on the back.  Paul Auster and Tom Disch–both unfamiliar names–, Luci Shaw and R.L. Stine.  Luci Shaw, the poet, makes perfect sense.  But R.L. Stine? The author of Goosebumps?  Does that hit anyone else as…incongruous? <grin>

86       Of State

Listen, God, I need
You, hear me.
       Cheer me.
In this darkness.
Give me back
(My soul is ready
Now to leave me)
Any answer.
I don’t question
You believe me.
Teach me trust
In the returning
Promise, shame
My enemies
In public, enter
My heart in your
Book of splendors.

96     Jingle

New moon, new song:
Day short, night long.
Break sea, roar winds:
One God, more minds.
Stars blink. Suns cool.
Tongues twist. Souls rule.
Smoke’s sweet. Song doubts.
Times dance. Rain spouts.

Lose hope. Sow seed.
Cast bells. Ring true.
Not want, just need.
First frost. Late dew.