Little Dorrit

Little Dorrit got ditched. Let me tell you how it happened. I had originally chosen this reading for December as a nod to Dickens (after all he wrote A Christmas Carol) and because it was a book that I had wanted to read ever since I had heard of it. I got off to a great start and then 20 pages or so in I got this sinking sense that I was in over my head.

Little Dorrit was a novel that Charles Dickens originally wrote in a weekly, serial form and because it is actually a satirical stab at the flaws and foibles of government and the social conditions of the day, it can be a challenging read (if you really want to understand it) and I apparently was not up to the challenge!

So here is the thing. Feeling like an utter failure, I returned Little Dorrit back to her assigned place on our Public Library Shelf and walked out sensing that somehow I was a library book fraud. But, being the blessed girl that I am, that evening as I was relaxing with my husband and waiting for our favorite English program to begin, an announcement was made... "Charles Dickens' Little Dorrit... a four part series beginning December 23rd." I whooped and clapped my hands and just knew the goodness of God... Little Dorrit Cliff Notes... in living colour! Whoo-hoo!

It's all taped and I'll be watching it on New Years Eve!

I'm thrilled!

The Pet Lamb

The Pet Lamb by Johanna Spyri is actually only one of the short stories contained in this little volume, and although each one is delightful and thought provoking in the telling, it was The Pet Lamb that was exactly what I needed... a purely delightful read!

This little book had come into my possession over 40 years ago when I was just a young girl in school. The School Library was having a Book Sale and so instead of going to the candy store with my best friend to get a licorice 'All Day Jawbreaker', I was able to purchased The Pet Lamb for a nickel! It was money well spent and little did I know, as I handed that precious nickel over to our Librarian, that one day, after many years had passed and my own children had grown up and I had a grand-daughter of my own, that I would spend a delightful afternoon, cuddled up, reading... The Pet Lamb.

All of Johanna Spyri's stories are set in the Swiss Alps, including her most famous novel, Heidi. Using words, she paints beautiful landscapes of green uplands and sloping valleys that are strewn with red and blue wildflowers in the summer. There are whitewashed churches with red towers, clusters of wooden cottages and a sparkling river that winds through the valley and which also divides the two sets of characters that this story is about.

On one side of the river lives a poor family. The aged grandparents are left to take care of little Stanzeli and her younger brother Seppli, after their mother dies and their father's grief causes him to abandon them in an attempt to leave the constant reminders of happier times behind him.

On the other side of the river lives a more affluent family. The parents are well placed in the community, the father being the mayor, and the children, Lissa and her two younger brothers Kurt and Karl want for nothing.

All of these children meet at the beginning of the story, by chance, outside the little church where Stanzeli had taken her little brother to pray. They meet once again at the end of the story, on Christmas Day, where their lives are shown to have interconnected in a way that they could never have imagined, and all because of... the lamb.

This is a sweet story of guilt, confession, forgiveness, reconciliation and joy. I hope that if you ever have the chance to read it, that you will have as lovely an afternoon as I had.

Still Alice

Still Alice, by new author Lisa Genova, is an insightful, fictional story of a woman whose world is slowly disappearing through early-onset Alzheimer's Disease. The writer, Lisa Genova holds a Ph.D. in neuroscience from Harvard University and is an On-Line columnist for the National Alzheimer's Association. Initially inspired by her own grandmother's gradual decline from Alzheimer's , Lisa Genova has written this book from the character Alice Howland's point of view as she slowly loses her memories, her vocation, her life, her mind.

Truthfully, after the first 20 pages I placed this book down thinking that perhaps it was a book for another time. It is not the sort of book that I normally gravitate to, yet there was something that drew me back, causing me to read it through to the end.

Alice Howland had just turned 50 when she first began to notice the changes. She was a Harvard psychologist who became concerned with her lapses in memory, putting them down to menopause, stress and fatigue. Without giving the intricacies of this compelling story away, I will say that I was educated in the realization that Alzheimer's does not just take away the ability to remember the names of people, places or things, but it also inflicts fear, disorientation, erratic behavior, emotional outbursts and visual disorders. It is the story of a family - a woman, her husband and her three adult children and how the disease afflicts and affects each one of them intimately, differently and how it changes them. It is thought provoking and controversial at moments. It is challenging and poignant, sweet and harsh at others.

Through the eyes of Alice, we become a witness to 'the long goodbye', as she slowly disappears from herself, as her family slowly slips into the shadows. We also look at Alice through the eyes of her family as they watch her gradually, in almost unbearable increments, leave them. It was through tears that I finally closed this book. It was well written, simple in it's offering, but not an easy read by any means.

The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone

The Agony and the Ecstasy is the biographical novel of Michelangelo Buonarroti of Florence... it is a book that I have wanted to read since I was in my late teens, but just simply never did; and for this I am quite grateful, as I would have missed many of the nuances of the historical references that permeate each page of this book.

Only twice did the thought cross my mind that perhaps the 'agony' was that of the reader trying to slog through the particulars of the Italian Renaissance, while the 'ecstasy' was simply coming to the end of the book! Those thoughts were short lived however as the life of Michelangelo became increasingly compelling in his almost manic need to create from marble. Some of the most beautiful passages of this book are those that are so richly descriptive in showing Michelangelo's greatest love, beyond that of painting, architecture or poetry, that of sculpting marble.

Irving Stone's personal research to write this book took 6 years, and it shows; it covers the life of Michelangelo, from birth to death and weaves throughout it's pages, in colourful descriptions, his family members, friends, and opponents - it recants the bitter rivalry he has with both Leonardo Da Vinci and Raphael, his struggles with the Popes, the Medici family, and his own family. The intricate descriptions of the streets and Piazzas of Florence are incredible as are those of San Marco and Santa Maria Novella; at times I found myself floundering in the Italian phrases, yet on the whole I came away with such an appreciation of this man's passion and perseverance under the most atrocious and physically taxing conditions.

Perhaps my most memorable, or thought provoking, portion of this book came mid-way through as Michelangelo began, worked on, and completed his Pieta of Jesus and Mary. He poured through the crucifixion account in the book of John, but could find no place where Mary could have been alone with the dead body of her son. He finally concluded that perhaps after He was laid upon the ground by the soldiers and while Nicodemus was gathering the spices for the burial and Joseph of Arimathea was before Pontius Pilate asking for the body of Jesus, that perhaps then, Mary could have cradled her son on her lap.

Michaelangelo's intent was to have those that would view his Pieta in the years to come, to take the place of the biblical witnesses. I was struck by the fact that he was absorbed in the realization that the only emotion that could be displayed would have to be upon the face of Mary, as Jesus was dead and could only be passively sculpted, with his eyes closed.

What fascinated me about all this, and why this portion was so thought provoking to me, is that Michelangelo intentionally made Mary's face without line, without wrinkle, without age; he purposed to sculpt Mary to give the appearance of still being in her teens, younger in appearance than that of her son, Jesus. She is literally void of expression, of experience, of life. Michaelangelo even sought the help of a Rabbi to find him a young Jewish man to use as a model for the figure of Jesus, as he wanted to sculpt an 'authentic Jew'; this fascinated me, because if he had truly wanted authenticity then surely Jesus would have born the evidence of the torture that He endured prior to the cross, yet only the cleanest of puncture marks are reflected, a subtle suggestion of the ghastly spikes that were driven into the body of Christ.

Towards the end of the detailed account, after the Pieta has been placed within St. Peter's in the Chapel of the Kings of France, Michelangelo pays a visit and overhears someone giving credit to another artisan. Michelangelo, that night, enters with his tools into St. Peter's and chisels into the band across Mary's chest, above the body of Jesus... "MICHAEL. ANGELUS. BONAROTUS. FLORENT. FACIEBAT",  - "Michelangelo Buonarroti of Florence created this".

Maybe it's just me - but I pondered quite a bit about that ..

Indulging in All Things Pilcher!

Just before Summer began this year, I had planned an excursion to the little Secondhand Bookshop to purchase a few books for my Summer reading. One of the books that I found that day was Rosamunde Pilcher's 'Coming Home'. It took a while for me to get into this book, but once I did I was swept away with the author's wonderful description's of the coasts of Cornwall, the Highlands of Scotland and the life in London during the latter part of the 1930's.

This was not a book that I was intent on reading quickly, but rather one to be savoured and enjoyed. I soon began to look forward to those moments when our home was quiet, when I could gather my book bag, a cold drink and go outside to curl up in my big comfy, cushioned chair, settle in and enjoy 'Coming Home'.

Then just last week, while sorting through my bookshelf, I came across two little purse sized novels that were tucked away behind a few other larger volumes. They had been placed there not too long ago when my husband's grandmother had been moved into an extended care facility and his grandfather had also made a move of his own in order to be closer to her. During the events of the move, many things were given to family members and it was then that these little books had come into my possession; what a surprise I had when 
I looked at them closer and realized that they were a compilation of short stories written by Rosamunde Pilcher!

I have been happily reading them both, just finishing 'The Blue Bedroom' last night... sheer indulgence! I now have a list of all the books she has written and intend on reading every one of them - in her early years, Mrs. Pilcher wrote under the pseudonym of Jane Fraser - I am looking forward to searching those out as well.

I realized, while reading, that when the Cornwall wind blew through the tresses of one of her characters, the wind was also blowing through mine; and after an afternoon spent traipsing on the moors of Scotland, damp with the mist and ravenous for a bite to eat, when the characters stepped through the back door and into the stone walled kitchen, the smell of fresh bread and the warmth emanating from the oven wrapped around me as well.

I thoroughly enjoyed the depth of writing as well as the authenticity to life and all that it brings. I would consider these books 'gentle reads' with characters, young and old, that are easy to identify with and enjoy. It's good to read a wholesome, fresh and invigorating book from time to time.... and I certainly have done my fair share of indulging in all things Pilcher!

Appreciating Beethoven

Quite a number of weeks ago, Margaret had given me three volumes on the life of Beethoven. Although interested, I was a little apprehensive as to whether I would be able to 'slog' through three whole volumes!

Once I received the books however, I realized that they were not just academic volumes, but biographical in novel form. Within a few days I had begun volume one and I knew over the next few weeks I would be enjoying my reading of the life of Ludwig Van Beethoven!

Skillfully written by John Suchet, admittedly with some liberties taken, the biography spans the life of Beethoven from his birth in Bonn in 1170, to his excruciating death in Vienna in 1827.

What lay in between those years is thrilling, agonizing, triumphant and tragic. For someone who loves history, I was surprised that it was not the historical details of Beethoven's life that intrigued me, such as his first public appearance at the age of seven, or his much anticipated meeting of Haydn and Mozart; it was more the inner man, the turmoil and distress of his soul that caused me to go on and read through.

Beethoven had an admittedly angry passion that found it's vent and expression through his music. He was a introvert and believed that it was through his music that he was able to speak and find his voice. I have never been particularly drawn to Beethoven's music, however, during my reading of the second volume, I purposely listened to a selection of his Piano Sonatas, his Pastoral Symphony and his Fifth Symphony. As I did, an appreciation began to develop in me; I was now able to hear the trills, quavers, demi-quavers, rests. I actually began to anticipate them and because of my new found appreciation of the deaf composer, I could now hear them.

Beethoven was a man that enjoyed the beauty of nature, often taking long walks in the hills of Vienna. His music reflected his love of nature, the trill of a bird, the powerful rolling of thunder, yet he died as he had lived, almost manic in his need to have his voice heard through his music.

While on his many walks, God would have been speaking to Beethoven. Although growing increasingly more deaf, God's Voice would have been audible to him... 'the heaven's declare the glory of God.' .... 'For since the creation of the world (God's) invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse."

Beethoven appreciated nature, but whether or not that appreciation led him to Christ, I do not know. What I do know is that God Himself gave Beethoven life and the ability to compose profoundly amazing music and for this we can thank God.

As I bundle these three volumes together to return to Margaret, I realize that I will probably not all of a sudden become Beethoven crazy and play him non-stop. But something has indeed changed, and it is this... I now have an appreciation, and where I was once oblivious, I am now able to hear.

Thank you Margaret.