Salaam alaykum

I just finished yet another book, this time "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. I had long seen this book on the best-seller list back in my days as book editor, and I have a strange fascination with Central Asia, in particular Iran (especially after "Reading Lolita in Tehran"). I didn't know enough about Afghanistan to even know what to think of it, which of course intrigued me. This novel is a fascinating look at an extremely different culture, from Afghanistan in 1973 to Afghan ex-pats 2002. All I'd ever really known of Afghanistan was burqas, the destruction of the Buddha statues, and the pictures of an unimaginably desolate, bombed-to-hell Kabul. This story tells of a vibrant Kabul covered in trees, full of music and fruit and intricate relationships. The later descriptions of the droughts, the Russians, the Taliban are absolutely heartbreaking. Kabul might not have been cutting edges, but it sounds like it wasn't quite as medieval as we were led to believe. What happens to the characters themselves is equally heartbreaking, though I have the (mis)fortune of being able to predict story lines, and I guessed the book's major twist about 200 pages before it was revealed. I would highly recommend this book to people as engrossed by different cultures as I am.

A Tree Grows in Dorset

Abbey is either napping or quiety on her way to doing so, so I've settled in to blog with a cup of coffee. Raspberry coffee. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. It smells good, but it's coffee. The combination may not be a winner.

I have lately found myself watching "Masterpiece Theatre" on Sunday nights, inevitably while I iron. Some may say I'm much too young for this, but hey, it's good, and the film is usually a period piece, which is one of those fool-proof genres for me. Well, except "The Count of Monte Cristo", which was a nightmarish disaster.

Anyway, last night was "Under the Greenwood Tree", a Thomas Hardy novel I had never heard of. (Looking at that Hardy site, damn, the man was prolific!) The movie had all the Hardy trappings: set in Wessex; honest, salt-of-the earth villagers; questionably motivated "modern" men; the charming local tradition, here a church choir; the sinister symbol of industrialization, here a harmonium, which of course replaced the choir; and a love affair doomed by class. And when I saw the lovely Dick Dewey (coincidentally, exactly what I would have thought Jude in "Jude the Obscure" looked like), I SO wanted the love affair to work, even if the heroine wasn't the greatest. But it's Hardy, right? Surely, following the model of poor Tess and Jude, there would be death and tragedy? Wait, the evil modern men are going away! The class issue is being forgotten! They're getting MARRIED! Hooray! I guess Hardy was a bit of a sentamentalist in his early years. Of course, I haven't read the actual novel, so maybe it was sanitized for TV. Don't want to upset all those little old ladies watching their evening PBS.

Marginalia

You may have noticed (though probably not since I never pay attention to it) that my "What I'm Reading" has been changing at a break-neck pace this week. Amazing, I know! Big margins and less than 120 pages can do that.

The first one I tackled was "Les Combustibles" by Amelie Nothomb, a prominent modern French writer. This play fit well with what I know of French drama, at least from the past century. Just three characters in one room with very few props and no action beyond talking. The main thrust of the plot: In a city under siege, a professor, his assistant and a student are essentially trapped living together. It's winter and they have no more fuel. But they do have a huge, well-stocked bookcase. They turn the question "What book would you take on a desert island?" into "What one book would you save from the flames?" I was very hopeful that this might be another "Huis Clos" by Sartre ("No Exit" in English), but it didn't quite muster the same impact. It would still be interesting to see performed, though.

From that cheerful topic, I moved on to "Night" by Elie Wiesel. Frankly, a blog is not the proper place to discuss this book. It would seem too flippant. Suffice it to say, a very powerful book. I certainly wish I'd been chosen for this group in ninth grade rather than getting stuck with "The Old Man and the Sea" by Hemingway. The book was not surprising in its content, though, after my trip to Dachau. Each voice gives new pain and power to this tragedy, but nothing will compare to staring into the open maw of a crematory oven. This can't be forgotten. If you ever go to Germany, you really should visit a camp. And you should read this book.

On a different tangent ...

The public library in Bethune, France, was named La Mediatheque Elie Wiesel (no thumping dance music). I was always a mite confused by that, but apparently he wrote "Night" in French, feeling that the Yiddish words were corrupted by the Holocaust. That is something I love about the French, though; public institutions are named after important figures in art and literature. The high school I lived at was named after Andre Malraux, a poet. A school down the street was named for Salvador Allende -- okay, not arts, but how interesting to name something for a Chilean. And of course, there was everyone's favorite currency, the 50 franc note with St.-Exupery and the Little Prince on it.

The Spirit moves me to sit and be quiet, thanks

We were in North Myrtle Beach this past weekend and picked a church at random for Easter service. We needed to leave after lunch, so a 9:30 service made the most sense. Of course, the church my in-laws had chosen held a contemporary service at that time, but I really didn't think much of it. Well, as my father-in-law noted, "The only thing Presbyterian about that was the final blessing."

I'm not trying to be critical of people who attend contemporary services. The worshippers at this service were obviously very moved and energized by the Christian pop music and PowerPoint presentation. I'm sure I would have gotten a bit more out of it if I had at least been familiar with the music. But I was out of my comfort zone, which only serves to make me feel awkward, not inspired. I'm just not used to watching a performance at church. I felt like it was a concert by the main singer, who was excellent and obviously full of Spirit, but I got distracted watching her rather than thinking about God.

And what can I say, I missed my favorite "Jesus Christ is Risen Today". One of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life was Easter 2000, when my high school best friend and I emerged from Via della Conciliazione onto a packed St. Peter's Square just as an English choir filled the air with that hymn.

But this contemporary service got me thinking about the kind of Christian I am. While I could never be comfortable waving my hands in the air and inserting "Thank you, Father God" at every breath, I do somewhat envy these people. I have seldom, if ever, been ecstatic like that. I'm actually probably a pretty lousy "worshipper." I don't think that's how I approach church. When I go to a service, I am searching for insight and comfort, ideally an overflowing sense of peace. I am contemplative, not energetic. I'm looking for inspiration, but inspiration to apply to life, not just for it's own sake. I want to be challenged mentally and emotionally by a sermon, but I guess the kind that reach me don't lend themselves to shouts of "Amen!" I don't really think in terms of praise but of a feeling of oneness with God. Maybe I'm not looking at worship the right way, but I do know I've felt a few moments of truly holy peace.

There's a small, ancient church in the Roman neighborhood of Trastevere, Santa Maria in Trastevere, one of the few vestiges of medieval Rome that wasn't sugar-coated in baroque by a pope. The interior was far quieter than most other Roman church, and the altar was backdropped by a gorgeous 12th century mosaic. I sat toward the back of the sanctuary to take it all in, and the clouds outside parted to let light shine through a window and bathe me in pure gold.

At my wedding, when the priest wrapped his stole around Brad's and my hands and pronounced us husband and wife, a wave of absolute calm and contentment washed over me from the top of my head to my feet. I knew we were blessed.

I may not experience ecstasy, but I'm as solid as I can be in my faith thanks to these moments and a few others. Simple joy and peace may not be all that God encompasses, but they're enough for me.

Where does he get those wonderful toys?

You know, I've never seen any incarnation of "Batman." Doesn't feel like a big loss in my life.

Anyway, a friend has introduced me to a fabulous little addiction. Bibliophil has to be the most intoxicating fun for English majors and other obsessive readers. It's a site where you can catalog and rate books you read, keep track of books you want to read and/or buy, get suggestions on books you might like, be happily voyeristic of other people's reading habits and just in general revel in the vast quantity of books out there. I've just started my library, but it's already be highly entertaining. Thinking of my most recently read books led to thinking of all-time favorites led to beloved childhood stories led to what I read in high school led to what I read in Modern Fiction led to ... And I haven't even scratched the surface of my main bookshelf! Granted, Carrots (the fiancee of a friend of Brad's) is a PhD student at Rice and no doubt could put my puny little BA list to shame, but still, how fun!

Thanks for the opinions

Guess I'll keep 'em! Thanks -- I'm very decisive in most other areas of life, but I guess there's just something stressful about an accessory you'll wear 18 hours a day.


I'll be heading out of town for the Easter weekend, down to Myrtle Beach (and some of you know what fun that will be). When I return, I have resolved to write something a wee bit deep and meaningful rather than just post funny pictures of my kid. Of course, whether that will happen remains to be seen!

Happy Easter!

Well?

glasses
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

I've got 30 days if I want to change these new glasses. What do you think? Cool and stylish? Too dark? What? And yes, this was taken at the end of the day, so no comments about the hair.

Dust off that hyperlink

Years Reading has lived to blog again! Not that I have much room to comment on his current question, but perhaps some of you do and might not think to check his long-dormant space for a while.

Here comes Abbey Cottontail

Egghunt
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Oh, those preschool teachers and their wonderful crafts! Today was Abigail's Easter egg hunt at school, and she was very excited and very cute -- when she could see, that is.

Neither Accurate Nor Original

I just finished reading Bill Bryson's "Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe." I am a big fan of Bryson, especially "A Walk in the Woods" and "The Mother Tongue," but quite sadly I have to say I'm not a huge fan of this one. Sure, he gives some interesting descriptions of places in Europe I'll surely never go, but he's so blatantly stereotypical in his perceptions of people. He writes the French off completely as arrogant and self-centered, all based on Paris, which ticks me off immeasureably. I hate when people base their idea of the French on waiters in the Latin Quarter. Try going to a restaurant off Times Square and see if they're just fawning over obnoxious tourists there, too. Anyway, he does this with other nationalities, too, like calling the Austrians rednecks and assuming that all Swedes are blond, and that just gets old. As does his obsession with how expensive everything is. Okay, this is Europe in 1990, I believe, which was more expensive than the U.S. or probably England, where he was living when he wrote this, but he's constantly harping on how he's being ripped off for bad food. Hyperbole doesn't make for convincing travel writing. I also got very sick of his constant comments about how fat he'd gotten. Great. So stop smoking and drinking too much. I don't need to hear about it.

All that said, I still highly recommend "A Walk in the Woods" and "I'm a Stranger Here Myself" for extremely interesting observations about the U.S. And of course "The Mother Tongue" is a fascinating, hysterical look at English.