Joe L. Wheeler's Blog, page 22
November 23, 2011
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DR. JOE'S BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB
Nov. 23, 2011
SELECTION TWO
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
by
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
DICKENS AND BROWN
If the truth must be told, I almost chose Dickens' Christmas Carol as our December selection, but had second thoughts because Connie and I concluded that most of you would have already read it. If it should turn out that you have not, I have a suggestion: In such a case, since both The Christmas Carol and The Christmas Angel are quick reads, I suggest that you read Dickens' great classic first, for all modern Christmas stories graft on to Christmas Carol.
I was privileged to partner with Focus on the Family and Tyndale House in twelve classic books: Louisa May Alcott's Little Women (1997) and Little Men (1999); Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe (1997), and The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1999); Lew Wallace's Ben-Hur (1997), Henryk Sienkiewicz's Quo Vadis (2000); Grace Richmond's The Twenty-fourth of June (1999); Gene Stratton Porter's Freckles (1999); Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (1999); Abbie Farwell Brown's The Christmas Angel (1999); and Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol 1997) and David Copperfield (1999). For each of these I wrote a modest biography of the author (averaging 60 – 80 pages in length) as well as discussion questions placed at the back of the book for individual readers, parents, teachers, and homeschoolers. And we featured the oldest or best set of illustrations we could find.
All these books have long since gone out of print, however, we still have sale copies available (new condition) for almost all of them should you be interested in purchasing them from us. Since I'm hoping that you'll either re-read or read for the first time The Christmas Carol, I'm featuring part of my introduction/biography: 'Scrooge at the Crossroads."
I cannot remember when I first heard it read . . . nor when I first read it . . . nor when I first experienced it on film . . . nor even when it first engulfed me as live drama. . . . I only know that looking back through life, somehow — I know not how — Christmas Carol was always there.
In the annals of literature there is nothing like it. Certainly there was nothing like it before Dickens wrote it in 1843 — since then, many have tried to imitate it. But the great original still stands, alone and inviolate — the Rock.
Can Christmas possibly be Christmas without it? Many there be who would answer in the negative: somehow, to conclude even one Christmas season without re-experiencing the story would be to leave that year incomplete.
In the century and a half since it was published, we have come to take it for granted: we just accept it as if it had always been with us: like Wise Men, creches, and holly. What would the world, after all, be like without Scrooge, Marley, the Cratchits, the Three Ghosts, Bah! Humbug! and Tiny Tim? Well, in the year of our Lord, 1842 — none of those yet existed.
So what was 1843 like for Charles Dickens? Simply and succinctly put: not good. It was about time for it to be "not good." Let's step back in time — and I'll explain.
As we can see in the bio, Dickens endured a tough childhood — a mighty tough childhood. Then, at the age of 25, he was catapulted to the top of his world. It is always dangerous to soar too high too young: it usually results in a strong case of King of the Mountain hubris — unless the 25-year-old is strong and wise beyond his years; unless he realizes, with Nebuchadnezzar, how quickly the God who giveth can become the God who taketh away; even more importantly, unless he realizes that, in life, nature ‑‑, and apparently, God ‑‑ abhors long plateaus. In other words, today's Success is already unrealizingly sowing the seeds of its own destruction. This was true with Dickens. He had assumed, as had that great Babylonian king before him, that he had become king and great all by himself ‑‑ by the sheer brilliance of his mind and force of his will. Both of which he had an oversupply of.
Perhaps a baseball analogy would help. In 1836, he stepped up to the plate, and hit Boz out of the park. Next, he hit Pickwick out of the park. Then Oliver Twist, then Nickelby, then The Old Curiosity Shop, then Barnaby Rudge, which just cleared the outer wall. Then came his ill-fated trip to America, and when his bat made contact with American Notes, he only hit a bloop single, not even realizing that he now had a hairline crack in the bat. That was followed by Martin Chuzzlewit ‑‑ and with it, he broke his bat.
For the first time in seven years, he was in trouble. He had mistakenly assumed that, being King of the Hill, he could say anything he darn well pleased. That he could travel to the late great colony of America and noblesse oblige himself all over the place. Since Americans were too cheap to pay him his due royalties, he could just tell them where to go. To put his condition in modern vernacular, he had an attitude problem. Even his countrymen felt, this time, that he had gone too far.
The result: the golden faucet ‑‑ that had gushed its riches upon him for almost seven years ‑‑, now slowed its flow so much he wondered if perhaps his well was going dry. Even worse, what if it was dry? What if people would no longer buy his books?
Dickens was never much of a humble man: he knew to a penny the value of his gifts. Or had known prior to 1842. Now, he didn't know any more.
Well, what could he write that would improve his fortunes, and help bring back his fickle audience? Something he could write quickly, not just another two-year book serialization. So the idea for Christmas Carol came to him (see bio). For a month and a half he totally immersed himself in the world of Scrooge. In the process, he gradually became aware that, somewhere along the way, he had become a Scrooge himself: had felt himself so secure in his gifts that he no longer needed other people, that he no longer needed to really care (not just abstractly, but one-on-one) about human need.
In the course of writing the story of Scrooge, Dickens was able to pull himself back from the brink, to realize his need of others. He began to wonder if he any longer knew ‑‑ or if he ever had ‑‑ who he really was. Could he even know without going backwards in time?
The answers to those questions were a long time in coming, but A Christmas Carol was the first step, the four other Christmas books represent additional steps, but the biggest steps were Dombey and Son, David Copperfield, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, and The Mystery of Edwin Drood.
Yet something else happened during the writing of the little book: he learned a great deal about the difference between writing a lean cohesive book (written all at once) and writing the usually episodic, rambly, serialization book.
As a result of this no man's land between the hubris of his youth and the social conscience of his maturity, he was able to make it the rest of the way through his life without ever again seriously daring hubris. He was able to find out things about himself that stripped away some of his teflonish pride. And sorrow would rock him on his heels again and again.
So it came to pass that in the last quarter of his life, in his 450 public readings (for fifteen long years, having an average of one public reading performance every twelve days), the story of Scrooge became as indispensable as singing the national anthem at a big league baseball game ‑‑ unthinkable to close without it. And as his life drew to a close, a higher and higher percentage of each evening performance was devoted to Christmas Carol and its lesson of agape love.
It is no hyperbole to say that without this one little book, the life of Charles Dickens most likely would have been a very different story. In a very real sense, then, we may validly say that the characters ‑‑ children, if you will ‑‑ conceived by this author ended up by taking him on a long journey . . . that would take the rest of his life.
And it is our privilege to be invited along.
Welcome to the timeless world of Christmas Carol.
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN AND
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
I have always loved Christmas stories — especially the heart-tugging kind. And, let's face it, sentiment and Christmas belong together. Of all the seasons of the year, the heart is openest to love, empathy, kindness, forgiveness, generosity, and change . . . at Christmas.
Thousands of authors have written stories about Christmas, but sadly, most of them are shallow, sterile, and un-moving. These stories may be technically brilliant, but if they fail to engage the heart, I view them as failures.
Only a few have written "great" Christmas stories, and even fewer have written "great" Christmas books (usually novelette length rather than full book length, as Christmas books are rarely very long). And of those few special Christmas books which percolate to the top, very very few manage to stay there, but gradually, over time, sink down into that vast subterranean sea of forgotten books. To stay alive, season after season, generation after generation, presupposes a magical ingredient no critic-scientist has ever been able to isolate. Just think about the ones that come to mind: The Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, Its a Wonderful Life, The Other Wise Man . . . , and, with these four, we begin to sputter and qualify. There are many others that come to mind, but none of them has been able to stay in the top ranks of Christmas Best Sellers. In recent years, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson (1972) and Richard Paul Evans' The Christmas Box (1993) have so far evidenced staying power, but only time will reveal whether they will stay there, for it is comparatively easy to stay alive for ten, twenty, even thirty years ‑‑, it is much much harder to remain vibrantly alive 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 years or more.
But, none of this precludes comebacks. Literature and public taste are, after all, cyclical, thus even during authors' lifetimes, reputations roll along on roller-coasters, undulating up and down as public tastes and demands change. No one remains hot forever. Along this serpentine track of survivors rumble authors such as Dickens, Dostoevsky, Hugo, Cooper, Scott, Stevenson, the Brontes, Twain, Cervantes, Tolstoy, Alcott, Shakespeare, Carroll, Chaucer, Defoe, Dante, Dumas, Eliot, Kipling, and Thoreau — these never go out of vogue.
Once past the immortals, we move into a much more fluid field. Depending on many factors, recoveries and resurrections continue to take place. Usually because certain works brazenly dig into our memories and impudently refuse to leave. Which brings us to Abbie Farwell Brown.
It was some years ago when I first "met" her. My wife and I were wandering around New England at the height of fall colors. Ah, autumn in New England! There are few experiences in life to match it. Among those few are New England used bookstores. Well, it was in one of these that Connie discovered an old book — and short — with the intriguing title of The Christmas Angel. She brought it over to me and asked if I was familiar with it or with the author. I was not, but on the strength of the wonderful woodcut illustrations, we bought it. Upon our return home, I unpacked it, then sat down to read it — and LOVED it. Such velcro sticking power does it have that it has pummeled me until I am black and blue from its demanding to be brought back to the top, where it keeps telling me it belongs! It was there once, and liked it, but, through no fault of its own, readers who loved it died off, so it began its gradual descent into that ultimate oblivion.
So here it is, if for no other reason than to rescue my battered body from its continuous pummeling. I don't often creep out far enough on limbs to risk getting sawed off, but I shall make an exception for The Christmas Angel. I shall be really surprised if it does not claw its way back to the top — and stay there, this time. It has all the enduring qualities that has kept The Christmas Carol up there for over a century and a half — in fact, one manuscript reader told me, about a week ago, that she even prefers it over The Christmas Carol. It is one of those rarities: a book that should be loved equally by all generations — from small children to senior citizens. I can see it being filmed; and I can see it becoming a Christmas tradition: unthinkable to get through a Christmas season without reading it out loud to the family once again.
Since the story is divided into 15 short chapters, it would lend itself to being spread out during the Advent or the Twelve days of Christmas. Having said that, I'll prophesy that pressure to read on by the listeners might make a proposed time table difficult to stick with.
And, unquestionably, the Reginald Birch illustrations add a very special dimension to the book.
When Christ wished to hammer home a point, He told a story, a parable, an allegory — in fact, biblical writers tell us He never spoke without them. This is just such a story. But, coupled with that is something else: it is one of the most memorable and poignant Angel stories I have ever read. And it is amazing how many people today are rediscovering Angel stories!
It has to do with Miss Terry — bitter, cold, bigoted, and unforgiving. As was true with Dickens' Scrooge, in her life virtually all sentiment, caring, and love had been discarded, then trampled on, in her morose journey through the years. And now, at Christmas, but one tie to her past remains, one key that might unlock her cell block of isolation: her childhood box of toys.
She determines to burn them, — every last one.
* * * * *
It is my personal conviction that reading both books this Christmas season will result in one of the richest Christmas seasons you have ever known. And it will amaze me if you don't end up loving The Christmas Angel at least as much as The Christmas Carol.
In my introduction/biography for The Christmas Angel I piece together Brown's fascinating life story and list all her books and short stories. I'm guessing many of you will wish to track down and purchase her other books as well as this one.
Be sure and journal each time you read from these books.
At the back of my edition are seven pages of questions to deepen your understanding. Such as these:
Chapter One: "Alone on Christmas Eve" – What is the impact of that line? Why is it harder to be alone on Christmas Eve than at other times? Or is it?"
Chapter Four: "Why is it, do you think, that so few toys survive intact? Are they deliberately mistreated, or does it just happen"
Chapter Six: "Why did Miss Terry rescue the Christmas angel from the muddy street, and why did she find it impossible to toss it into the fire as she had so many other toys?"
Chapter Nine: "Why is it, do you think, that toys have greater reality to children than they do to adults? How is that borne out in this chapter?"
Chapter Fourteen: "How do Angelina's Christmas angel and her guardian angel blur together?"
LAST SUGGESTIONS RE WRIGHT'S CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
More and more people keep expressing interest in The Book Club. When you notify us that you wish to join, please email that information to us so we can add you to the roster. If you feel uncomfortable posting your mailing address on the web, just drop it in the mail to me at P.O. Box 1246, Conifer, CO 80433. Send me your name, interests, reading preferences, and other items that will help me chart the direction of The Book Club.
After securing a copy of each month's book, be sure and journal each time you read from the book.
Following are some observations and suggestions re your reading our November selection: Harold Bell Wright's The Calling of Dan Matthews:
1. I first read it when I was seventeen. Why do you think it had such a powerful impact on me? (On others as well?)
2. How is it different from other religion-based novels you've read?
3. Wright wrote three Social Gospel novels. Look up the term, then respond in terms of how the book incorporates the movement's key elements. In other words, Christ, in His life on this earth, was not at all into doctrine or creeds, but rather into selfless service for others. So, did Wright pull it off?
4. Did reading this book have an impact on you personally? In what way?
5. Did reading the book make you want to read more Wright books?
SECURING DECEMBER'S BOOKS
You will have no trouble finding a copy of Dickens The Christmas Carol, for it is one of the best-selling books of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. But if you'd like to order my Focus/Tyndale edition, just write me at Box 1246, Conifer, CO 80433, or send me an email at "mountainauthor@gmail.com." Should you wish me to inscribe any copies, just let me know—there will be no charge for that. The Christmas Angel is likely to be more difficult to secure, but again, I can supply you with a copy.
PRICE: $16.99 each. However, if you alert me to your being a member of our book club, you can reduce it to $14.00 each. If you purchase both books, I'll reduce the price to $25.00 total. Shipping will come to $6.00 extra.
I'll need your full name and mailing address. Checks are fine. So is PAYPAL. For further information, access our website at
* * * * *
Next Wednesday, we'll journey to Arches and Canyonlands National Parks.
DR. JOE'S BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB
Nov. 23, 2011
SELECTION ...
DR. JOE'S BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB
Nov. 23, 2011
SELECTION TWO
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
by
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
DICKENS AND BROWN
If the truth must be told, I almost chose Dickens' Christmas Carol as our December selection, but had second thoughts because Connie and I concluded that most of you would have already read it. If it should turn out that you have not, I have a suggestion: In such a case, since both The Christmas Carol and The Christmas Angel are quick reads, I suggest that you read Dickens' great classic first, for all modern Christmas stories graft on to Christmas Carol.
I was privileged to partner with Focus on the Family and Tyndale House in twelve classic books: Louisa May Alcott's Little Women (1997) and Little Men (1999); Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe (1997), and The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1999); Lew Wallace's Ben-Hur (1997), Henryk Sienkiewicz's Quo Vadis (2000); Grace Richmond's The Twenty-fourth of June (1999); Gene Stratton Porter's Freckles (1999); Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (1999); Abbie Farwell Brown's The Christmas Angel (1999); and Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol 1997) and David Copperfield (1999). For each of these I wrote a modest biography of the author (averaging 60 – 80 pages in length) as well as discussion questions placed at the back of the book for individual readers, parents, teachers, and homeschoolers. And we featured the oldest or best set of illustrations we could find.
All these books have long since gone out of print, however, we still have sale copies available (new condition) for almost all of them should you be interested in purchasing them from us. Since I'm hoping that you'll either re-read or read for the first time The Christmas Carol, I'm featuring part of my introduction/biography: 'Scrooge at the Crossroads."
I cannot remember when I first heard it read . . . nor when I first read it . . . nor when I first experienced it on film . . . nor even when it first engulfed me as live drama. . . . I only know that looking back through life, somehow — I know not how — Christmas Carol was always there.
In the annals of literature there is nothing like it. Certainly there was nothing like it before Dickens wrote it in 1843 — since then, many have tried to imitate it. But the great original still stands, alone and inviolate — the Rock.
Can Christmas possibly be Christmas without it? Many there be who would answer in the negative: somehow, to conclude even one Christmas season without re-experiencing the story would be to leave that year incomplete.
In the century and a half since it was published, we have come to take it for granted: we just accept it as if it had always been with us: like Wise Men, creches, and holly. What would the world, after all, be like without Scrooge, Marley, the Cratchits, the Three Ghosts, Bah! Humbug! and Tiny Tim? Well, in the year of our Lord, 1842 — none of those yet existed.
So what was 1843 like for Charles Dickens? Simply and succinctly put: not good. It was about time for it to be "not good." Let's step back in time — and I'll explain.
As we can see in the bio, Dickens endured a tough childhood — a mighty tough childhood. Then, at the age of 25, he was catapulted to the top of his world. It is always dangerous to soar too high too young: it usually results in a strong case of King of the Mountain hubris — unless the 25-year-old is strong and wise beyond his years; unless he realizes, with Nebuchadnezzar, how quickly the God who giveth can become the God who taketh away; even more importantly, unless he realizes that, in life, nature ‑‑, and apparently, God ‑‑ abhors long plateaus. In other words, today's Success is already unrealizingly sowing the seeds of its own destruction. This was true with Dickens. He had assumed, as had that great Babylonian king before him, that he had become king and great all by himself ‑‑ by the sheer brilliance of his mind and force of his will. Both of which he had an oversupply of.
Perhaps a baseball analogy would help. In 1836, he stepped up to the plate, and hit Boz out of the park. Next, he hit Pickwick out of the park. Then Oliver Twist, then Nickelby, then The Old Curiosity Shop, then Barnaby Rudge, which just cleared the outer wall. Then came his ill-fated trip to America, and when his bat made contact with American Notes, he only hit a bloop single, not even realizing that he now had a hairline crack in the bat. That was followed by Martin Chuzzlewit ‑‑ and with it, he broke his bat.
For the first time in seven years, he was in trouble. He had mistakenly assumed that, being King of the Hill, he could say anything he darn well pleased. That he could travel to the late great colony of America and noblesse oblige himself all over the place. Since Americans were too cheap to pay him his due royalties, he could just tell them where to go. To put his condition in modern vernacular, he had an attitude problem. Even his countrymen felt, this time, that he had gone too far.
The result: the golden faucet ‑‑ that had gushed its riches upon him for almost seven years ‑‑, now slowed its flow so much he wondered if perhaps his well was going dry. Even worse, what if it was dry? What if people would no longer buy his books?
Dickens was never much of a humble man: he knew to a penny the value of his gifts. Or had known prior to 1842. Now, he didn't know any more.
Well, what could he write that would improve his fortunes, and help bring back his fickle audience? Something he could write quickly, not just another two-year book serialization. So the idea for Christmas Carol came to him (see bio). For a month and a half he totally immersed himself in the world of Scrooge. In the process, he gradually became aware that, somewhere along the way, he had become a Scrooge himself: had felt himself so secure in his gifts that he no longer needed other people, that he no longer needed to really care (not just abstractly, but one-on-one) about human need.
In the course of writing the story of Scrooge, Dickens was able to pull himself back from the brink, to realize his need of others. He began to wonder if he any longer knew ‑‑ or if he ever had ‑‑ who he really was. Could he even know without going backwards in time?
The answers to those questions were a long time in coming, but A Christmas Carol was the first step, the four other Christmas books represent additional steps, but the biggest steps were Dombey and Son, David Copperfield, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, and The Mystery of Edwin Drood.
Yet something else happened during the writing of the little book: he learned a great deal about the difference between writing a lean cohesive book (written all at once) and writing the usually episodic, rambly, serialization book.
As a result of this no man's land between the hubris of his youth and the social conscience of his maturity, he was able to make it the rest of the way through his life without ever again seriously daring hubris. He was able to find out things about himself that stripped away some of his teflonish pride. And sorrow would rock him on his heels again and again.
So it came to pass that in the last quarter of his life, in his 450 public readings (for fifteen long years, having an average of one public reading performance every twelve days), the story of Scrooge became as indispensable as singing the national anthem at a big league baseball game ‑‑ unthinkable to close without it. And as his life drew to a close, a higher and higher percentage of each evening performance was devoted to Christmas Carol and its lesson of agape love.
It is no hyperbole to say that without this one little book, the life of Charles Dickens most likely would have been a very different story. In a very real sense, then, we may validly say that the characters ‑‑ children, if you will ‑‑ conceived by this author ended up by taking him on a long journey . . . that would take the rest of his life.
And it is our privilege to be invited along.
Welcome to the timeless world of Christmas Carol.
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN AND
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
I have always loved Christmas stories — especially the heart-tugging kind. And, let's face it, sentiment and Christmas belong together. Of all the seasons of the year, the heart is openest to love, empathy, kindness, forgiveness, generosity, and change . . . at Christmas.
Thousands of authors have written stories about Christmas, but sadly, most of them are shallow, sterile, and un-moving. These stories may be technically brilliant, but if they fail to engage the heart, I view them as failures.
Only a few have written "great" Christmas stories, and even fewer have written "great" Christmas books (usually novelette length rather than full book length, as Christmas books are rarely very long). And of those few special Christmas books which percolate to the top, very very few manage to stay there, but gradually, over time, sink down into that vast subterranean sea of forgotten books. To stay alive, season after season, generation after generation, presupposes a magical ingredient no critic-scientist has ever been able to isolate. Just think about the ones that come to mind: The Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, Its a Wonderful Life, The Other Wise Man . . . , and, with these four, we begin to sputter and qualify. There are many others that come to mind, but none of them has been able to stay in the top ranks of Christmas Best Sellers. In recent years, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson (1972) and Richard Paul Evans' The Christmas Box (1993) have so far evidenced staying power, but only time will reveal whether they will stay there, for it is comparatively easy to stay alive for ten, twenty, even thirty years ‑‑, it is much much harder to remain vibrantly alive 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 years or more.
But, none of this precludes comebacks. Literature and public taste are, after all, cyclical, thus even during authors' lifetimes, reputations roll along on roller-coasters, undulating up and down as public tastes and demands change. No one remains hot forever. Along this serpentine track of survivors rumble authors such as Dickens, Dostoevsky, Hugo, Cooper, Scott, Stevenson, the Brontes, Twain, Cervantes, Tolstoy, Alcott, Shakespeare, Carroll, Chaucer, Defoe, Dante, Dumas, Eliot, Kipling, and Thoreau — these never go out of vogue.
Once past the immortals, we move into a much more fluid field. Depending on many factors, recoveries and resurrections continue to take place. Usually because certain works brazenly dig into our memories and impudently refuse to leave. Which brings us to Abbie Farwell Brown.
It was some years ago when I first "met" her. My wife and I were wandering around New England at the height of fall colors. Ah, autumn in New England! There are few experiences in life to match it. Among those few are New England used bookstores. Well, it was in one of these that Connie discovered an old book — and short — with the intriguing title of The Christmas Angel. She brought it over to me and asked if I was familiar with it or with the author. I was not, but on the strength of the wonderful woodcut illustrations, we bought it. Upon our return home, I unpacked it, then sat down to read it — and LOVED it. Such velcro sticking power does it have that it has pummeled me until I am black and blue from its demanding to be brought back to the top, where it keeps telling me it belongs! It was there once, and liked it, but, through no fault of its own, readers who loved it died off, so it began its gradual descent into that ultimate oblivion.
So here it is, if for no other reason than to rescue my battered body from its continuous pummeling. I don't often creep out far enough on limbs to risk getting sawed off, but I shall make an exception for The Christmas Angel. I shall be really surprised if it does not claw its way back to the top — and stay there, this time. It has all the enduring qualities that has kept The Christmas Carol up there for over a century and a half — in fact, one manuscript reader told me, about a week ago, that she even prefers it over The Christmas Carol. It is one of those rarities: a book that should be loved equally by all generations — from small children to senior citizens. I can see it being filmed; and I can see it becoming a Christmas tradition: unthinkable to get through a Christmas season without reading it out loud to the family once again.
Since the story is divided into 15 short chapters, it would lend itself to being spread out during the Advent or the Twelve days of Christmas. Having said that, I'll prophesy that pressure to read on by the listeners might make a proposed time table difficult to stick with.
And, unquestionably, the Reginald Birch illustrations add a very special dimension to the book.
When Christ wished to hammer home a point, He told a story, a parable, an allegory — in fact, biblical writers tell us He never spoke without them. This is just such a story. But, coupled with that is something else: it is one of the most memorable and poignant Angel stories I have ever read. And it is amazing how many people today are rediscovering Angel stories!
It has to do with Miss Terry — bitter, cold, bigoted, and unforgiving. As was true with Dickens' Scrooge, in her life virtually all sentiment, caring, and love had been discarded, then trampled on, in her morose journey through the years. And now, at Christmas, but one tie to her past remains, one key that might unlock her cell block of isolation: her childhood box of toys.
She determines to burn them, — every last one.
* * * * *
It is my personal conviction that reading both books this Christmas season will result in one of the richest Christmas seasons you have ever known. And it will amaze me if you don't end up loving The Christmas Angel at least as much as The Christmas Carol.
In my introduction/biography for The Christmas Angel I piece together Brown's fascinating life story and list all her books and short stories. I'm guessing many of you will wish to track down and purchase her other books as well as this one.
Be sure and journal each time you read from these books.
At the back of my edition are seven pages of questions to deepen your understanding. Such as these:
Chapter One: "Alone on Christmas Eve" – What is the impact of that line? Why is it harder to be alone on Christmas Eve than at other times? Or is it?"
Chapter Four: "Why is it, do you think, that so few toys survive intact? Are they deliberately mistreated, or does it just happen"
Chapter Six: "Why did Miss Terry rescue the Christmas angel from the muddy street, and why did she find it impossible to toss it into the fire as she had so many other toys?"
Chapter Nine: "Why is it, do you think, that toys have greater reality to children than they do to adults? How is that borne out in this chapter?"
Chapter Fourteen: "How do Angelina's Christmas angel and her guardian angel blur together?"
LAST SUGGESTIONS RE WRIGHT'S CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
More and more people keep expressing interest in The Book Club. When you notify us that you wish to join, please email that information to us so we can add you to the roster. If you feel uncomfortable posting your mailing address on the web, just drop it in the mail to me at P.O. Box 1246, Conifer, CO 80433. Send me your name, interests, reading preferences, and other items that will help me chart the direction of The Book Club.
After securing a copy of each month's book, be sure and journal each time you read from the book.
Following are some observations and suggestions re your reading our November selection: Harold Bell Wright's The Calling of Dan Matthews:
1. I first read it when I was seventeen. Why do you think it had such a powerful impact on me? (On others as well?)
2. How is it different from other religion-based novels you've read?
3. Wright wrote three Social Gospel novels. Look up the term, then respond in terms of how the book incorporates the movement's key elements. In other words, Christ, in His life on this earth, was not at all into doctrine or creeds, but rather into selfless service for others. So, did Wright pull it off?
4. Did reading this book have an impact on you personally? In what way?
5. Did reading the book make you want to read more Wright books?
SECURING DECEMBER'S BOOKS
You will have no trouble finding a copy of Dickens The Christmas Carol, for it is one of the best-selling books of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. But if you'd like to order my Focus/Tyndale edition, just write me at Box 1246, Conifer, CO 80433, or send me an email at "mountainauthor@gmail.com." Should you wish me to inscribe any copies, just let me know—there will be no charge for that. The Christmas Angel is likely to be more difficult to secure, but again, I can supply you with a copy.
PRICE: $16.99 each. However, if you alert me to your being a member of our book club, you can reduce it to $14.00 each. If you purchase both books, I'll reduce the price to $25.00 total. Shipping will come to $6.00 extra.
I'll need your full name and mailing address. Checks are fine. So is PAYPAL. For further information, access our website at
* * * * *
Next Wednesday, we'll journey to Arches and Canyonlands National Parks.
November 16, 2011
THE SOUTHWEST NATIONAL PARK LODGES #2
ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATI...
THE SOUTHWEST NATIONAL PARK LODGES #2
ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK AND THE STANLEY HOTEL
for Nov. 16, 2011
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
To the strains of Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again, our intrepid little foursome resumed our odyssey in a black Lincoln Town Car (because it's the only car with a trunk large enough to hold three weeks' of luggage for four people, including books and "priceless" souvenir coffee mugs picked up along the way). We then pulled out of our long driveway onto Conifer Mountain Drive with Connie and Lucy ensconced in their backseat nests and Bob and I in the navigational cockpit. Over time, we've developed a system that works well for us: one of us navigates (drawing upon maps) and reads out loud, to front and back passengers, about the history of the parks and lodges we are driving towards. This way, when we actually arrive there, we know what is important or significant; this way it's almost like coming to a loved home.
We owe the dream of making the Great Circle to Ken Burns and his landmark National Parks miniseries on PBS. It was watching those riveting films that provided the impetus. The reference sources we rely on most heavily for these blogs are Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan's The National Parks, Mel White's Complete National Parks of the United States, and Christine Barnes' definitive two-volume work, Great Lodges of the National Parks. Though I also refer to other works, these four books are our traveling reference bible.
Our pattern has been to first read out loud sections dealing with the founding and preservation of the national park, landmark, monument, forest, etc., first, then follow it up with the equally fascinating story of these fascinating and fragile national park lodges. It has been gratifying to discover how many people vicariously travel with us via these blogs. Some readers will no doubt follow in our footsteps by themselves making the Great Circle circuit, and others will content themselves with a metaphorical, almost virtual, experience. Either way, we welcome you aboard.
So it was that as Bob Earp took the wheel for the two-hour drive to our first night's destination, I served as tour guide and patched together the story of Rocky Mountain National Park and the Stanley Hotel. We discovered that the mountainous area radiating out from the little town of Estes Park, because of its close proximity to Denver, had long been a popular tourist destination. The immediate magnets, of course, being 14,259 foot high Longs Peak and its shy sister, Meeker Peak, sadly ignored by many because it's "only a thirteener."
As we'd already discovered in our northwest national park peregrinations, invariably there were fascinating people who stepped in to preserve these natural wonders for us. All it seems to take are one or two local visionaries to do the spade work and two or three more to spearhead the project nationally. In the case of this particular park, as is true of virtually all other great national parks, one name towers above all others—John Muir. Without him, one shudders to think of the fate of all these magnificent parks we tend to take for granted. Second only in significance to Muir were Stephen Tyng Mather and his able associate, Horace Albright; this triad constitutes the founding fathers of our entire national park system, today the envy of the world.
Locally, two very different men stepped in to preserve this mountainous area for posterity: Enos Mills and Freelan O. Stanley. And what brought both to Colorado in the first place was a deadly malady known to contemporaries as "consumption" and to us as "tuberculosis." Fully one-third
of Colorado residents back at the turn of the twentieth century were consumptives, each with a hacking cough that doomed them to an early death unless they managed to escape from the lowlands and settle in the brisk, invigorating, life-giving air of the mountains.
Earlier on, a member of the European nobility, the fourth Earl of Dunraven, had purchased a large tract of land near Longs Peak. Object: to turn it into an exclusive hunting preserve for himself and his wealthy friends. But the Earl lacked staying power. Enter F. O. Stanley, a twin to his brother, Francis Edgar, born in Kingfield, Main. The brothers grew up, both entered the teaching profession but soon left it because of entrepreneurial ventures. In 1884, the brothers (both inventors) fine-tuned a new film process, called Stanley Dry Plate, that revolutionized photography. Eventually, in 1904, they'd sell it to George Eastman for $530,000. But long before that sale, the brothers had become so fascinated with the automobile and steam-propulsion that they created their first steam-propelled auto—it became known as the "Stanley Steamer." They completed their first Steamer in 1897, and launched a new model in 1901. Two years later, F. O.'s doctor told him that he'd soon be dead of consumption unless he moved into the high mountains.
So it was that F.O. and his wife, Flora, came to Denver; then, seeking higher yet ground, discovered Estes Park, which they promptly fell in love with. Constitutionally incapable of remaining inactive for long, Stanley purchased from Dunraven 160 acres of land adjacent to Estes Park. Object: to build on it a great hotel. Stanley then hired Denver architect, T. Robert Weiger, to implement his hotel plans. Weiger is also known as the designer of Denver's iconic City and County Building. Ground was broken, fall of 1907. The Colonial Revival hotel (like Yellowstone Lake Hotel, one of the few surviving examples of neoclassical design in the wilds of the mountainous West), four stories high, was crowned by a two-layer hexagon-shaped bell tower, that has ever since been likened to a wedding gazebo atop a perfectly proportioned cake. It was flanked by perpendicular wings at each end, and graced by a long first floor veranda with six double sets of Doric columns and Palladian windows. Eight other separate buildings were added later.
With the nearest railroad 22 miles down Big Thompson Canyon, Stanley improved the road and imported a fleet of Stanley Steamers and Stanley Wagons to ferry guests back and forth from the railroad. Because his auto-stage line proved so successful, Stanley is known today as "the father of auto-tourism in America." And the elite of America and travelers from abroad came, with their maids and nannies. Came to this "first all electric hotel in the world" to play croquet on the front courtyard; read, chat, or dream on the veranda; take trail rides, play billiards, pool, or golf; attend concerts, vaudeville shows, balls; and be feted with fine dining (with one waiter per table). It put Estes Park on the map.
Enos Mills, on the other hand, came from a very different background: the plains of Kansas. He moved here when only fourteen, dying of consumption. Like Stanley, here in the mountains, his health was restored. He would build a hotel facility that could not have been more different from Stanley's: the plain-looking, almost primitive Longs Peak Inn, which took in summer guests who were willing to participate in Mills' conservative spartan lifestyle: no drinking, dancing, or card-playing, but rather take strenuous hikes, study nature, and attend lectures (three times a week, given by Mills himself).
Mills and Stanley soon discovered they shared a common passion: preserve for posterity those beautiful mountains they'd come to cherish. Mills, in a chance meeting with John Muir in San Francisco in 1899, caught a vision for his life work: to help bring the Rocky Mountains into the fledgling national park system. Mills and Stanley now enlisted the powerful support of Mather and Albright in Washington, D.C. A bill to create the park (at 265,800 acres, smaller than they wanted) was introduced in Congress in 1914. But unlike the stories of other national parks, it did not languish there—John Muir died. Because of Muir's support for the park, and the sentiment generated by his passing, the bill was rushed through in only a month! It was dedicated on September 4, 1915, with both Mather and Albright in attendance. The way the final bill was drawn, the Stanley Hotel ended up a couple of miles outside the park.
And thus was born Rocky Mountain National Park, which straddles the Continental Divide and includes more than sixty peaks 12,000 feet high or higher, 50 alpine lakes, 450 miles of streams and rivers, 355 miles of trails, and great diversity of habitat (given that its elevation ranges from a low of 7,840′ to a high of 14,259′ (Longs Peak). It is crossed by the legendary Trail Ridge Road, the highest continuous road in America (reaching 12,183′). Massive snowfalls keep it closed during winter, so it is only open from June 1 to October. The lower sections are open year-round. Not surprisingly, the park is one of our nation's most popular tourist destinations.
As for the Stanley Hotel, its very survival was for a long time in doubt. One man, Roe Emering, somehow kept it alive during the Great Depression of the 1930s. Even after selling the hotel, the Stanleys returned here every summer; here F.O. would sit on the veranda, gaze out at the majestic mountains, and dream. He died October 2, 1940 at the age of 91. From 1971-1995, the hotel ownership went through a soap opera series of events (time-share schemes, lawsuits, tax problems, closure, bankruptcy), but in 1995, Grand Heritage Hotels saved it, and has lovingly restored it to its former beauty. Today it is part of the National Trust's Historic Hotels of America.
And Stephen King provided extra survival insurance: while living in nearby Boulder, King and his family discovered the Stanley, and found in it the inspiration for a book he was then writing, The Shining. The movie, however, was filmed by Stanley Kubrick in England, with exterior shots taken at Oregon's Timberline Lodge. In 1996, King decided to film a six-part miniseries—this time filmed at the Stanley. Since the restored lobby was now light and airy, King requested that it be repainted so as to give it a dark and sinister look; this was done. Not surprisingly, ghost stories were born in its wake, along with murder mystery dinners, Halloween balls, daily ghost and history tours (from the creepy basement to the cobwebby attic); and stories abound of creaking floorboards, tinkling pianos, scurrying ghost children, etc—but all agree that there is nothing sinister or evil here, given that even the ghosts appear to love coming back just to enjoy themselves.
OUR VISIT
Connie and I remembered back to two special visits, first when a cavalcade of cars wound down from the mountains, preceded by police cars with flashing lights; soon the Emperor and Empress of Japan arrived, emerged, smiling their delight, and walked up the steps to the veranda only a few feet away from us. They were eager to be off into the high country to see and photograph places and vistas they'd only read about. The second was the night of Princess Diane's funeral; Connie and I woke up in our room at 4 a.m., turned on the TV, and watched the pagentry until long past dawn.
Now we checked in, hauled in our smallest suitcases, and walked downtown to meander through the shops and eat home-made ice cream. Later on, we drove into the park so Connie could get her national park passport book stamped, and Bob and Lucy could view an elk herd.
Inside the Stanley, we played dominoes in a room adjacent to the bar. Later we became acquainted with a lovely waitress named Olga, from Hungary (most of her family had been killed in the Holocaust). She's now taking Hotel Management courses at Denver University. Afterwards, we chatted by one of the great fireplaces on the first floor. Then we struck up a conversation with Ute (from Germany) at the front desk. She told us that over 150 weddings are held at the Stanley between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Also that lots of corporations hold retreats here; and that the employees come here from all over the world. In spite of it all, she said, it's quieter here than one might think—even serene. Though the Stanley remains a formal hotel, it's more comfortable than most—a great place in which to work.
Then we snuggled down in our beds. During the night, the wind battered the hundred-year-old hotel—and snow. For it was early in May. We fell asleep wondering how we'd make it over the pass the next day. The last thought, however: How grateful we all ought to be that this grand dame of the Rockies is still with us!
* * * * *
Next Wednesday, we will sidetrack to the December Book of the Month.
SOURCES
Barnes, Christine, Great Lodges of the National Parks, II (Portland, Oregon: Graphic Arts Books, 2008).
Duncan, Dayton and Ken Burns, The National Parks: America's Best Idea (New York: Alfred A. Knopf/Random House, 2009).
White, Mel, Complete National Parks of the United States (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2009).
November 9, 2011
THE SOUTHWEST NATIONAL PARK LODGES #1/ The Great Circle
THE SOUTHWEST NATIONAL PARK LODGES #1
Nov. 9, 2011
THE GREAT CIRCLE
I submit that one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World has to be "The Great Circle" (by far the greatest concentration of magnificent national parks in the world). Although I have been making pilgrimages to them ever since my parents introduced them to me during my growing-up years, it took Ken Burns' landmark PBS National Park Series to crystalize their significance to me. Up to that series, I had more or less just taken these national wonders for granted. Same for the legendary hotels and lodges that grace them.
Shortly after the series had aired, we received a telephone call from our traveling partners in crime, Bob and Lucy Earp of Tennessee. Bob asked, "Did you watch the Ken Burns PBS National Park Series?" When we said "Yes," he followed up by asking us what we thought of it. When we answered in the superlative, he asked what we thought of the idea of visiting the Northwest national parks and lodges after the 2010 Zane Grey's West Society convention in Gold Beach, Oregon. And so it came about that we took in half of the Great Circle (most of them are national parks, monuments, or forests; some are national wonders we took in along the way).
So early summer of 2010, we loaded up our rental Lincoln (with the deepest car trunk in the industry), and headed out, visiting Crater Lake and staying in Crater Lake Lodge, followed by Oregon Caves National Monument and the Oregon Caves Chateau. Those two were followed by Mt. Hood and Timberline Lodge; Mt. Ranier National Park and Paradise Inn; Lake Chelan, North Cascades National Park, and Stehekin Landing Resort; Leavenworth and Enzian Inn; Olympic National Park and Lake Quinault Lodge, also Lake Crescent Lodge; we visited the northern loop of the North Cascades National Park, followed by Grand Coulee Dam; then Yellowstone National Park and Old Faithful Inn, also Lake Yellowstone Lodge; Grand Teton National Park and Jackson Lake Lodge; then Glacier National Park and Glacier Park Lodge, Many Glacier Hotel, Prince of Wales Hotel; and we visited Lake McDonald Lodge.
Should you be interested in vicariously traveling with us and visiting each of those parks and lodges, you can scan back through our archived blogs starting August 4, 2010 through February 9, 2011.
In late spring of 2011, we completed the Great Circle by visiting the Southwest National Parks. We will begin that trek next Wednesday. We will be visiting Rocky Mountain National Park, Arches National Park, Canyonlands National Park, Capitol Reefs National Park, Bryce National Park, Zion National Park, North Rim and South Rim of the Grand Canyon National Park, Death Valley National Park, Sequoia National Park, Kings Canyon National Park, Yosemite National Park, Lake Tahoe, the Loneliest Road in America (Highway 50), and Great Basin National Park. In each blog, we will cover the story of how the park or monument came to be preserved, how the lodge or hotel came to be constructed and preserved, and our reactions to each park and lodge.
When we did the Northwest Parks, they were generally uninterrupted; this time there will be more breaks for other topics, but sooner or later, all will be chronicled for our armchair readers.
November 2, 2011
JOURNALING AND OUR BOOK CLUB
WEDNESDAYS WITH DR. JOE
JOURNALING AND OUR BOOK CLUB
Nov. 2, 2011
There are, in each of our lives, certain days that prove pivotal in our journeys. One such day had to do with a lecture of the top information literary specialist in America to the faculty of Columbia Union College. Looking around at us, college professors from many disciplines, she asked us a simple question: "Let's say you gave your students an examination earlier today. Then, a week from today – completely unannounced -, you give them the same exam. How much of what they knew today . . . will they remember a week from now?"
None of us even came close to the correct answer. "Your top student," she pointed out, your four-pointer, will remember a week from today, at most, 17%! Most will remember far less – and it will be all down hill from there." I've never taught a class the same way since. For if the most brilliant student in the college forgets at least 83% in one week, what pitiful retention rate does that imply for the rest of the class? Hence the preposterous exercise in futility of end-of-the-semester exams three and a half months later!
As for thoughts, rarely do they come when you most want them to. In fact, many insidiously come to us just as we're drifting off to sleep. Have you ever thought, What a beautiful thought! Can't believe I came up with it. In the morning, ho hum, I'll write it down . . . I'm far too comfy to get up now.
And in the morning, what do we remember? Not much. Chances are, we won't even remember what the thought was about. If it does come to us, it will be in such muddled shape it won't even be worth writing down, for thoughts only ring their golden bells once in life. Another put it this way: "God only gives you a great thought once."
One of England's great writers, Matthew Arnold, in his poignant poem, "Despondency," described this phenomenon in eight lines:
"The thoughts that rain their steady glow
Like stars on life's cold sea,
Which others know or say they know –
They never shine for me.
Thoughts light, like gleams, my spirit's sky
But they will not remain;
They light me once, they hurry by,
And never come again."
America's greatest poetess, Emily Dickinson, took the same number of lines to express her own frustration:
1452
"Your thoughts don't have words every day
They come a single time
Like signal esoteric sips
Of the communion wine
Which while you taste so native seems
So easy so to be
You cannot comprehend its price
Nor its infrequency."
You no doubt noticed certain words in Dickinson's poem that are a bit archaic today. Unless you keep by your side a full-sized Webster's Collegiate dictionary (or equivalent on-line), you'd miss key portions of Dickinson's meaning (especially when trying to understand what Dickinson meant by words such as "signal," "esoteric," "native," "easy so to be," etc). It is no exaggeration to declare that unless each of us not only has, but uses, such a source, we will unquestionably cripple our ability to understand what we read. Really serious readers also access an unabridged dictionary, and for archaic words the monumental Oxford Unabridged.
SO WHY JOURNAL?
Some years ago I had in one of my Freshman Composition classes a second-generation student (I'd taught her father in high school a generation before). She asked me one day if I'd had my students journal in my classes when her father was in my English classes. Her face fell when I answered in the negative. She then added, "Oh it's sad because Dad and I aren't getting along very well—he's just an authority figure rather than a father. I just thought if I could read journal entries written by Dad when he was young like me, perhaps we could meet in our journal entries."
Up until that time, I'd never really given much thought to journals as vehicles to freeze our thoughts into time periods. Since then I've discovered that a number of renowned writers have capitalized on that reality to find out how they thought when they were much younger, or described people, places, experiences immediately after they took place. I've ruefully discovered that while my writing has greater depth and breadth now than it used to have, I've lost the ability to think and articulate as a 50-year-old, a college student, a high school student, or a child. This is a major reason why journal entries penned at each stage of our lives are so significant.
As for travel, travel writers will tell you that, in visiting places for the very first time, you have only moments in which to jot down those first impressions. When you first arrive, everything jars, for everything is new. Each sensory impression has an echo: a flashback to its counterpart back home. But by the next day, sensory impressions are already blurring—you are no longer sure what is new and different and what is not.
Several days ago, on a Southwestern Airlines plane, I was privileged to sit next to a delightful young couple. We got into a far-ranging discussion of books (e-books versus paper) and quotations. They were most interested in my daily quotation tweets, for both seek out memorable quotes in their daily reading. In truth, had I not many years ago begun writing down in the back of my journals the most memorable quotations from my reading, I'd not have near the vast repository of memorable quotations I draw from today. We use quotations in so many ways in our lives (family, school, church, public speaking, writing). I also paste in poetry at the back of my journals.
But the same is true with vivid metaphors and similes. These too I write down in the back of my journals. For such figurative language reveals to us how much more vivid and fresh our spoken and written communication can be if we avoid hackneyed words and cliches.
Then there are powerful beginnings and endings (in both short stories and longer works). For unless a beginning sentence or paragraph sucks us into the story, article, or book, why write something no one will remain interested in beyond the first page? This is a key reason why, when I find such a riveting passage, I write it down at the back of my journals. The same is true of endings. All too many writers just run out of gas at the end, are seemingly unable to close the sale. But some writers spend a lot of time with their conclusions, so structure them that but one additional word would wreck that last page. The endings are so deeply moving that you couldn't forget them if you wanted to. They ring like a giant bell. These too I write down at the back of my journals.
So it is that while my journals also record the nuts and bolts of my life: who I write to or phone every day, who I meet with, where I travel to, etc. (and these can prove to be extremely significant when I need to retroactively find out where I was and what I did on certain days), even more valuable to me are the things I write down at the back of my journals, for they synthesize my creative involvements. I also record goals and objectives in my journals.
I also write down significant things I hear in the digital media, lectures, church services, workshops—oh the list goes on and on!
* * * * *
I hope you can now see why I am urging each new participant in our Book of the Month Club to immediately purchase a full-sized journal from your local office supply store. Mine are ledger size and contain around 300 pages; they generally last me three to five years each. What you'll discover, over time, is that these journals will not only end up capsulizing and chronicling your life, they will also become so much a part of who you are and what you do and say and write that you'd feel empty without them.
I look forward to hearing back from you as you make your journals part of you.
SAMPLINGS FROM MY JOURNALS
QUOTATIONS
"Parting is all we know of heaven
And all we need of hell."
—Emily Dickinson
"It is nothing to die; it is horrible not to live."
—Victor Hugo
"It is better to be silent and thought a fool than to open the
mouth and remove all doubt."
—Abraham Lincoln
METAPHORS
"Now there was a chasm as wide as the world between them and only
the child to span it."
—Ernest Pascal
"A little mouse of thought went scampering across her mind and popped into
its hole again."
—George Meredith
SIMILES
"The softness of a kitten's feet–like raspberries held in the hand."
–Anne Douglas Sedgewick
"And his little feathered head drooped like the head of a wilting poppy."
—Elizabeth Goudge
BOOK BEGINNINGS
"A sharp clip-clip of iron-shod hooves deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage."
–Zane Grey's Riders of the Purple Sage
BOOK ENDINGS
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done;
It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
—Charles Dickens' Tale of Two Cities
* * * * *
Next Wednesday, we'll begin the Southwest National Park Lodges series.
October 26, 2011
DR. JOE'S BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB
WEDNESDAYS WITH DR. JOE
PROPOSED: DR. JOE'S BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB
For Oct. 26, 2011
"Read the best books first, or you may not have
a chance to read them at all."
—Thoreau
Last week's blog on the Williamsons' travel books appears to have started something totally unexpected. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say "restarted." Our daughter Michelle suggested I organize a series of blogs having to do with my favorite books—and I had a tough time sleeping that night. Should I devote one blog a month to a favorite book? I've since become convicted that I ought to do just that.
Former students of mine who are kind enough to check in with the daily tweets and weekly blogs will remember that for years I taught such courses as Great Books of the World and Modern and Contemporary Literature, as well as individualized Directed Reading courses. Many of you actually took some of those courses. In those courses, I had the opportunity to share some of my most loved books with my students. I miss those courses.
After I left the classroom for a full-time career as an author, over a five-year period, I edited special editions of some of my favorite books for Focus on the Family/Tyndale House. The twelve we created are: Little Women and Little Men by Louisa May Alcott, Robinson Crusoe and The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, A Christmas Carol and David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, The Christmas Angel by Abbie Farwell Brown, Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery, Freckles by Gene Stratton Porter, The Twenty-fourth of June by Grace Richmond, Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz, and Ben-Hur by Lew Wallace.
At the front of each book, under the heading of "A Life-Changing Letter," were these words:
Several years ago I received a letter that changed my life. Sadly, I don't
remember who wrote it, only what she said. In essence, this was her plea:
"Dr. Wheeler,
I have a big favor to ask you. First of all, though, I want you to know how much I enjoy your story collections; they have greatly enriched my life. Now for the favor: I was wondering if you have any interest in doing with books what you are doing with stories.
You see, while I love to read, I haven't the slightest idea of where to start. There are millions of books out there, and most of them—authors too—are just one big blur to me. I want to use my time wisely, to choose books which will not only take me somewhere but also make me a better and kinder person.
I envy you because you know which books are worth reading and which are not. Do you possibly have a list of worthy books that you wouldn't mind sending to me?"
I responded to this letter but most inadequately, for at that time I had no such list. I tried to put the plea behind me, but it dug in its heels and kept me awake at night. Eventually, I concluded that a Higher Power was at work here and that I needed to do something about it. I put together a proposal for a broad reading plan based on books I knew and loved—books that had powerfully affected me, that had opened other worlds and cultures to me, and that had made me a kinder, more empathetic person.
You see, we have so little time in this tragically short life in which to read books worth reading. If, over a seventy-year period, we read only a book a week, that would total only 3,640 books during a lifetime. A book a month would come to only 840.
So my question to you is this: Would you be interested in such a book club, beginning this November? Most of these titles would not be new but rather would have stood the test of time. Some might turn out to be books you once read but might enjoy re-reading. Others would be new to you.
There would be no cost for joining. You could either purchase a copy of each book at a bookstore or from the worldwide web (Amazon, ABE, etc), or check it out from your library. There is another option for some of the titles I'd choose: Eric Mayer of Bluebird Books (8201 S. Santa Fe Drive, #245, Littleton, CO 80120 (303) 912-4559. books@bluebirdbooks.com www.bluebirdbooks.com Reason being that for most of my life I planned to open up a book business when I retired, and so purchased many thousands of books over the years for that purpose. Well, I've ruefully concluded that I'll probably never retire, so I turned over a good share of those books to Bluebird Books for him to dispose of. He is aware of this book club concept and is enthusiastically on board. He is honest, conscientious, prices out-of-print books at market norms, and is dedicated to securing books in the best condition possible. You'll find him special to work with. Let him know you're part of this book club. Me too, as I'll be making up a list of names and addresses of each of you who joins. Would love to hear from you as to reactions to the books we select.
Years ago, I joined the Heritage Book Club and, over time, purchased most of their classic titles. They tended to cycle through certain authors. I would too. Not all at once, but over time. If you're like me, however, you're not likely to wait but if you fall in love with a certain author you'll start adding others of their books to your personal library.
As to my favorite books, I'm a sentimentalist who loves romances, family favorites, adventure, historical romances, classics, etc. I gravitate to books that move me deeply, take me places I've never been to before, make me laugh or cry, incorporate values worth living by—pretty much the same criteria I've used in selecting stories in my 60 story anthologies.
I'll be candid with you: I really miss the one-on-one interaction with my students. Such a book club as this would be second best to actual classroom interaction. I'm really looking forward to such contact.
BOOK #1 – OUR NOVEMBER BOOK OF THE MONTH
THE CALLING OF DAN MATTHEWS
—Harold Bell Wright
Have you ever noticed that it is only in retrospect that we realize that if certain days in our lives had never been, how different our lives would have been. Well, there was just such a day I'd like to share with you.
It was a heartstoppingly beautiful spring morning along California's Feather River. Since my missionary parents were far away in the West Indies, relatives stepped in to keep me from being lonely during vacations. On this particular day, two of my favorite relatives, Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Warren, pronounced it picnic time. We stopped en-route to Feather River Canyon at the Tehama County Library where my aunt steered me to certain authors she thought I'd relate to. I checked out a number of books that really looked interesting to me. One of them was this particular book, first published in 1909 by the Book Supply Company. After settling down on a blanket under a great oak, I opened this book, and was almost instantaneously drawn into it—so much so that I lost all track of time, only remaining aware of the haunting riversong.
I was more than ready for this romance. Having grown up in a conservative Christian church my world view was a bit limited. Wright, a pastor himself, disillusioned by church politics and broken in health, had come to the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas to see if he could find answers. In time, he was strongly impacted by the Social Gospel Movement of the 1890s, the discovery of the Didache being at the root of it. Only during the last year have I discovered (during research for my second biography of St. Nicholas) that for four centuries the early Christian Church exploded across the Roman World, not because of doctrine but because of living out Christ's injunctions to serve others, to help those who were ill or in prison or who were in need of humanitarian aid (known as the Didache). Wright concluded that if he incorporated Christ's injunction to make service to others the highest calling of his life, he could revolutionize American life. But not through sermons but rather through fiction. He wrote three books in what has become known as the Social Gospel Trilogy: That Printer of Udel's, The Calling of Dan Matthews, and God and the Groceryman. Not until years later did I discover those other two books.
But the book proved to be an epiphany for me. It radically changed my life: gave me a vision of selfless service and revealed that God was not owned by any one denomination but rather that He found ways to relate to every human being on earth, regardless of nationality or religion. He was—and is—Father of us all.
I set out on a life-long search for all of Wright's other books. Wright has that effect on his readers. I know of one woman who cried when she read the last Wright novel. Cried because never again could she listen to Wright in an unread book. Not all our mentors are still with us—many speak to us from the grave through their books that live on and on.
So this is why I'm starting with Wright. As you begin building a library—or expand it to include these books—, I strongly encourage you to buy your own books, choosing First Editions or special editions, keeping in mind that in books, as in art, condition is everything.
I'll be talking a lot more about books in blogs to come, among our other subject areas. Next Wednesday I'll be discussing the importance of journaling and why, if we don't, we'll be losing out big time!
No, I haven't forgotten the Southwest National Parks. I just got sidetracked!
If you wish to write me, I can be reached at Box 1246, Conifer, CO 80433.
October 19, 2011
WILLIAMSONS AND TRAVEL
WILLIAMSONS AND TRAVEL
For Oct. 19, 2011
As we begin to pack our suitcases for our auto-trip through our Southwestern national park lodges, I thought this would be the perfect time to see if I couldn't siphon some money out of your pockets. After all, that's what's been happening to me ever since the first time I stumbled on a Williamson book many years ago.
Have you ever wondered what it would have been like to travel when the automobile was new? When there were no transcontinental highways (how about hardly any paved roads at all!), motels, service stations, AAA, repair garages, etc.? Not to mention automobiles that broke down so often that only the foolish traveled without a chauffeur, mechanic, and ample supply of spare parts and tires.
Well, imagine no more. Back in 1902, an adventuresome British husband and wife writing team, C.M. and A.M. Williamson, partnered with Doubleday Page to produce one of the most fascinating and informative series of travel novels ever written. Before they could write such a book, however, the fearless couple had to themselves explore a given travel route. In the process, they devoured local travel lore, legends, history, historical romances—all kinds of fascinating side trips. Then they incorporated all the usual mechanical breakdowns, and stirred in enough romance to keep the reader up half the night turning pages. In short, there has never been another series like theirs! There could not be, for the age vanished almost as quickly as it began.
Following are the books I have been able to find (first editions when possible):
The Princess Passes (1903-4) Early automobile
The Lightning Conductor (1903, 1905) Early automobile
My Friend the Chauffeur (1905) Early automobile
Lady Betty Across the Water (1906) General early travel
Rosemary in Search of a Father (1906 – 1907) General early travel
The Princess Virginia (1907) General early travel
The Chaperon (1907 – 1908) Water travel
Set in Silver (1909) Early automobile
The Motor Maid (1910) Early automobile
Lord Loveland Discovers America (1910) Early American travel
The Golden Silence (1911) Travel in desert lands (including camel transportation)
The Port of Adventure (1913) General travel
It Happened in Egypt (1914) Egyptian travel
Secret History (1915) Early airplane travel
The Lightning Conductor (1916) Early automobile Discovers America
Winnie Childs: Shop Girl (1916) General romance
Everyman's Land (1918) End of World War I travel
The Lion's Mouse (1919) Post-war travel
The Second Latchkey (1920) General
Here are some passages from their 1905 novel, My Friend the Chauffeur, that will give you a sense of their writing style:
In France: ". . . we moved like a ship under full sail; but suddenly the road reared up on its hind feet and stood almost erect, as though it had been frightened by the huge snow-capped mountains that all at once crowded round us. An icy wind rushed down from the tops of the great white towers, as if with the swooping wings of a giant bird, and it took our car's breath away" (118-19).
In Italy: "It [Certosa of Pavia] was too beautiful to chatter about. But it did seem strange that so pure and lovely a building could have owed its existence to a crime. I had heard Mr. Barrymore telling Mamma that it was originally founded in thirteen hundred and something, by the first Duke of Milan with the view of taking off the attention of Heaven from a murder he had committed—quite in his own family—which got rid of his father-in-law, and all the father-in-law's sons and daughters at the same time. No wonder it took a whole Certosa to atone for it. . . ."(164).
Bellagio, on Lake Como: "The rest of the party were on an entrancing terrace, looking down over other flowery terraces upon the town of Bellagio, with its charming old campanile, and its grey roofs like a flock of doves clustering together on the border of the lake. The water was so clear and still that the big hotels and villas on the opposite shore seemed to have fallen in head down, and each little red-and-white canopied boat waiting for passengers at the quay had its double in the bright blue mirror. Clouds and mountains were all reflected too, and it seemed as if one might take one's choice between the real world and the dream world" (192).
My favorite passage from the book, however, is from Maida (the loveliest passenger in this ancient Panhard automobile) who plaintively poses this rhetorical question: "What becomes of the beautiful army of days marching away from us into the past? The wonderful days, each one differing from all the others: some shining in our memory, in glory of purple and gold, that we saw only as they passed, with the setting of the sun; some smiling back at us, in their pale spring dress of green and rose; some weeping in gray; but all moving at the same pace along the same road? The strange days that have given us everything they had to give, and yet have taken from us little pieces of our souls. Where do the days go? There must be some splendid world where, when they have passed down to the end of the long road, they all live together like queens, waited upon by those black slaves, the nights that have followed them like their shadows, holding up their robes.
"I've had this thought in my mind often since I have been flashing across Europe in an automobile, grudging each day that slipped away from me and would not stay a moment longer because I loved it. I wish I knew the way to the land where the days that have passed live; for when those that are to come seem cold to me, I would like to go and pay the old ones a visit. How well I would know their faces, and how glad I would be to see them again in their own world!" (205).
If you too are getting the Williamson bug, just log on the Internet and begin chasing down these wonderful travel romances. Your travel life will never afterwards be the same!
* * *
Next Wednesday, we'll ourselves hit the road. Please come along.
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October 12, 2011
THE CHANGING SEASONS
The snow is falling again as I write these words. Another reason for living in the Colorado Rockies. In fact, the two seasons are slugging it out, as the golden aspens (at peak only a week ago) are clearly reluctant to surrender the field to the forces of winter, but they have no choice in the matter given that each season is as inexorable as incoming and receding tides.
We've been waiting almost half a year for this moment: when once again it is safe to build a fire in our moss rock fireplace. If the truth must be told, when we moved back to Colorado in 1996, the real estate agent had been given a list of 30 priorities (what we valued most in our new home). At the top were: It should feature serenity, a view we'd never tire of, lots of snow, and a wood-burning fireplace. Today we get to revel in all four.
OUR BLOG WORLD
Our daughter Michelle and agent, Greg Johnson, joined forces two years ago to drag, kicking and screaming all the way, this dinosaur of the ink and paper age, into the new digital age. "You must blog! Thus was born the weekly blog, Wednesdays with Dr. Joe," which has continued unbroken even during that hellish period when an unscrupulous predator hacked into our world and shut us down. We have no idea how many readers we lost during that traumatic period.
What I have discovered is that blogging is such a new construct that there are few entrenched norms—unlike tweets where a Procrustean Bed of 140 spaces preclude deviation length-wise. As you have discovered, I joined the ranks of those who prefer the longer format. It's really much like the weekly column I wrote once, "Professor Creakygate," for the students attending Southwestern Adventist University. Once you establish a rhythm, it's just a matter of not breaking it.
Given my penchant for longer blog series (the Northwest National Parks, the Southern Caribbean, the Zane Grey convention in Virginia, the Trembling World, and the upcoming series on the Southwest National Parks), I have discovered that long series where I dwell on a subject for months at a time can put my voice into a straitjacket which precludes me from speaking out on hot current issues. Because of this, I hereby announce that this time, expect periodic breaks; but rest assured, always I will afterwards resume the series topic.
OUR TWEET WORLD
I held back as long as I possibly could—until my agent held my feet to the fire long enough to risk ignition—on adding the tweet dimension to our lives. On October 1, I started daily tweets, concentrating on quotations chosen from a half century of collecting (hundreds of thousands). Not just quotations, but quotations that help make sense of this thing called "life." Speaking just for myself, this hectic life we live virtually guarantees that we will break down unless we turn to a Higher Power than ourselves and also seek wisdom from others who have learned much from the batterings of the years. These hard-earned nuggets of thought and insights end up providing us with just enough strength and courage to face each day. Changes of pace too, for without changes of pace (such as humor) in our thought-processes, we become warped or petrified.
During my 34 years in the classroom, one aspect was a constant: a thought written with chalk on the blackboard each day. My students looked forward to something new that greeted them each time they came in the door. Also, I have since discovered that many of them copied those quotes into their notebooks and have lived with them ever since.
I'm an avid collector of quotation compendiums. Some few I find worth the price; many, if not most, are not (merely quotations flung onto paper, without regard to their relative power or effectiveness). I don't know about you, but what I hunger for most are quotes that make me think, that make me re-evaluate my own habits and inter-relationships, that end up making me a different and better person than I was before.
I also realize that we are each fighting off electronic strangulation; so much so that we try something new with great reluctance. It is my earnest desire that you will find these tweets worth the time it takes to check them out each day.
MY PERSONA
For years now, my agent has been trying to hammer into my thick head this message:
Our old world (paper and ink-driven) is changing by the nanosecond. While books are likely to always be with us, they will never reign supreme as they have during the last six centuries. Like it or not, electronic books will continue to expand their reach. What this means is that the old templates will no longer work like they once did. Your persona is no longer captureable just in traditional print. But rather, you owe it to your "tribe" [people who are kind enough to listen to what you write and what you say] to speak out about life and values multidimensionally: through paper and ink books [75 so far], through public speaking, through media appearances on radio and TV and book-signings, through your blogs, through your tweets, and through all the plethora of new communication technologies. Only by keeping up with all this as best you can, can your unique voice (your persona) have any chance of remaining alive during coming months and years.
And since I do wish to stay in contact with all of you, I am committed to continuing to create books (traditional and electronic), blogs, and tweets. Do let me know if all I've articulated in this blog makes any kind of sense to you.
* * *
Next week, we will transition through the abstraction of travel toward the Southwest parks and lodges.
* * *
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October 5, 2011
AUTUMN LEAVES
WEDNESDAYS WITH DR. JOE
Oct. 5, 2011
Everywhere, as I pen these lines, there is gold. To paraphrase Sound of Music, "The hills are alive with the gold of autumn." Saturday, we battled rush-hour type traffic up into Clear Creek Canyon. Everyone, it seems, had concluded, It's time to drive up into the mountains for our annual autumn fix. Yesterday, we took highway 285 south, battling traffic again. At Kenosha Pass, thousands of cars and even more thousands of camera-toting people of all ages, clogged the mountaintop. And on across the vast reaches of the South Park plain, the aspens lit up the sky.
Conifer Mountain is ablaze as well—splotches of gold, orange, yellow, and umber interspersed with lodgepole pine green. We keep looking at and photographing our equally beautiful long driveway. For well we know, it will not stay this way: in only days, the wind will strip the leaves from the aspens, and then we'll know for sure that Old Man Winter's on his way.
When teaching at Washington Adventist University, many were the Octobers when two professors and I would take a bus load of students north into New England (they'd get class credit in English, history, or religion), visit cultural sites, and "ride the colors down." Those autumns are indelibly limned in the archival galleries of my mind.
Only once, in a short story, have I attempted to capture autumn's essence. I titled it "October Song," and included it in my book titled What's So Good About Tough Times? (New York: WaterBrook/Random House, 2001).
I began my romance with twelve lines of poetry:
Oh to be in New England in autumn
When the leaves turn from green to gold;
Oh to be in New England in autumn
When I too am growing old.
The years, they are a-passing
Passing like the scarlet, brown, and umber leaves
Wearily letting go, and cascading down
From the soon to be naked trees.
Rolling up the rugged shore are waves of blue and gray;
Blue today in the serenity of Indian Summer,
Gray tomorrow in the hurricanes of late autumn
With autumn leaves the in-between.
For I too am nearing my October;
Remorselessly the sands of my hourglass
Sift down and down and down
Just like the leaves, just like the leaves.
Later in the story, I return to the theme of autumn with these prose lines, articulated by the story's fictional protagonist, John A. Baldwin:
I have always loved autumn in New England, and so I try to meet my tryst with her every year. Two songs have deeply moved me since I was young. They are Johnny Mercer's "Autumn Leaves" and Kurt Weill's "September Song." They move me still, even more than they did in those days gone by, perhaps because those words now mirror me, and my age.
For me, too, the days are "dwindling down to a precious few." I, too, no longer have time for the "waiting game." I, too, have reached my life's September, and October is knocking at my door. And well I know how great a distance separates May from December.
But I don't feel old. Like Tennyson's immortal Ulysses, I am nowhere near ready to slow my wandering steps and wait until Death comes after me. Death is going to pant a little before he catches me. As long as I live and breathe, I shall create and attempt to make a difference. I shall grow, learn, and ever hone my craft. I shall stay young till that last breath. Just as the sea refuses to surrender, but assaults its beaches millennium after millennium, just so I refuse to surrender or slow down. Who knows, perhaps love may yet come to me, improbable as it may seem after so many fruitless years of searching for "the one woman." As it was for my long-departed mother, there can be only one mate for me
So while I feel the shortness of time left to me more in autumn than in any other time of the year, it does not cause me to surrender, but rather to "seek, find, and not to yield."
True I bravely say all this, but deep down I know every October finds me weaker than the one before, and that one of them will be my last. But I have determined, like Dylan Thomas's persona, to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light" [from "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"].
So, wherever you may be when you read these lines, I urge you to climb into your car, and not stop until you find autumn.
* * *
Next Wednesday, for all those readers who are afflicted like us with an incurable case of wanderlust, we shall continue with our tribute to Ken Burns, as we complete the great circle of national parks and national park lodges by loading up the car with Bob and Lucy Earp, and visit Rocky Mountain National Park, Arches, Canyonlands, Capital Reef, Bryce, Zion, North Rim of the Grand Canyon, South Rim, Death Valley, Sequoia, Kings Canyon, Yosemite, and Great Basin.
We hope you'll tag along with us!
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September 28, 2011
A Trembling World – Part Six
WEDNESDAYS WITH DR. JOE
A TREMBLING WORLD
PART SIX
And now for the silver lining to tough times.
Every once in a while, a dear friend of mine, author and Archbishop Robert Wise, and I get together for lunch and talk History of Ideas, strategize, and just let our minds soar. The last couple of lunch-discussions, we discussed the fiscal plight our nation and the world are experiencing.
Well, after coming to some rather grim conclusions: subjects such as the disintegration of the modern family, the decline of literacy and parallel dumbing-down of society and polarization brought about by myopic thinking, the increasing likelihood that societies that devalue centrists will turn to dictators for leadership, the breakdown of governmental medical assistance and retirement benefits, the obesity/diabetes epidemic, the substance abuse epidemic, the continual trashing of Christians by a generally unchurched media, the lost generation of boys into men who have opted out of advanced education (locking themselves and their mates into minimum wage subsistence), the gradual disappearance of our middle class, skyrocketing joblessness, the epidemic of foreclosures and bankruptcies, etc—Dr. Wise leaned back, with a thoughtful look on his face, and said,
"But we must not leave out the one factor that could reverse all this—God. Down throughout history, God has again and again stepped in with men and women who made a seismic difference:
• St. Francis, whose counter-revolution within Christianity reverberates still;
• Monasticism, which almost single-handedly preserved civilization by their hand-copying of fragile manuscripts;
• Martin Luther, who brought about Protestantism;
• The Wesley brothers, who almost single-handedly rebuilt the English family and saved Britain from a bloody revolution such as France's; and
• Other luminaries such as St. Patrick, Dwight Moody, Abraham Lincoln, Billy Graham, Albert Schweitzer, Mother Teresa, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jr., etc."
These were, more often than not, obscure individuals who came onto the scene when things appeared bleakest, and by the power of their words and examples, turned their world around.
Perhaps it is long past time for us to adjust to new realities: A house is not an ATM, a credit card is not money, government without a vibrant economy cannot long survive, avoiding education and mental growth is almost certain to lead to minimum wage substandard living, a society that has lost its moral bearings will inevitably self-destruct, a society that ridicules marriage and lifetime commitment can not long endure, living on dole is no substitute to earning your own living, leisure without work is insipid and depressing.
If this current global recession wakes us up in time to our true condition, it will be possible for America to regain its position as the world's most admired and coveted society. If we do not, we will disintegrate just as surely as did the Roman Empire almost two-thousand years ago.
The choice, each of us must make.
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