Rebecca Moll's Blog, page 7
February 11, 2021
Leave it to the Poets...
Picture if you will,
Perched upon a sill,
That fleeting feeling,
That all the world's your oyster...
~Rebecca Moll
"Hope" is the thing with feathers,
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
~ Emily Dickinson
Perched upon a sill,
That fleeting feeling,
That all the world's your oyster...
~Rebecca Moll
"Hope" is the thing with feathers,
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
~ Emily Dickinson
January 26, 2021
Thoughts upon completing Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
Epic as this novel is, any review I could muster would fall short of worthy. However, a few thoughts I have penned below.
First published in 1862, Les Miserables presents a snapshot of dramatic French history and a timeless allegory of human nature, regardless of race, creed, culture, or color.
In a letter to M. Daelli, Publisher of the Italian translation in Milan, Victor Hugo writes,
"Ever since history has been written, ever since philosophy has meditated, misery has been the garment of the human race; the moment has at length arrived for tearing off that rag, and for replacing, upon the naked limbs of the Man-People, a sinister fragment of the past with the grand purple robe of dawn."
Appros in the late 1800s, appros today.
The moment arrived, and arrived, and arrived, and arrived...
A moment of arriving perpetuity.
History teaches.
Man preaches.
Learn from the past.
Look to the future.
A novel to treasure. Take your time, get to know Fantine, Jean Valjean, Cosette and Marius. Javert, Little Gavroche, and Enjolras. Even, Victor Hugo himself, the French people. Grab a cup of coffee, a warm blanket, Les Miserables and watch the snow fall, the rain fall, the sun shine or whatever your view holds for how ever long you spend time with this great novel. A worthy endeavor.
So what that there is over 900 pages to read?
What are you waiting for? A grand purple robe of dawn?
The moment has arrived.
First published in 1862, Les Miserables presents a snapshot of dramatic French history and a timeless allegory of human nature, regardless of race, creed, culture, or color.
In a letter to M. Daelli, Publisher of the Italian translation in Milan, Victor Hugo writes,
"Ever since history has been written, ever since philosophy has meditated, misery has been the garment of the human race; the moment has at length arrived for tearing off that rag, and for replacing, upon the naked limbs of the Man-People, a sinister fragment of the past with the grand purple robe of dawn."
Appros in the late 1800s, appros today.
The moment arrived, and arrived, and arrived, and arrived...
A moment of arriving perpetuity.
History teaches.
Man preaches.
Learn from the past.
Look to the future.
A novel to treasure. Take your time, get to know Fantine, Jean Valjean, Cosette and Marius. Javert, Little Gavroche, and Enjolras. Even, Victor Hugo himself, the French people. Grab a cup of coffee, a warm blanket, Les Miserables and watch the snow fall, the rain fall, the sun shine or whatever your view holds for how ever long you spend time with this great novel. A worthy endeavor.
So what that there is over 900 pages to read?
What are you waiting for? A grand purple robe of dawn?
The moment has arrived.
January 22, 2021
Thoughts upon reading, How to Read a Novel by Caroline Gordon
"The writing of a book is like a journey across an apparently trackless waste." ~ Caroline Gordon
I agree.
The whole process in an unmooring and gravity-less experience that at once, both exhilarates and unsettles. Yet, it just this so-called singular experience in mental & spiritual lands unknown that allows one, in both writing and in life, to break free of norms, move around assumptions, to feel and to think beyond our society and self-made dimensions.
Time in the wilderness,
Freedom to explore,
Steeped in soliloquy,
Await what's in store.
New understanding?
Compassion before?
Tear down the door,
Explore, evermore.
Create your own lore,
Change the world, four-score.
~Rebecca Moll
I agree.
The whole process in an unmooring and gravity-less experience that at once, both exhilarates and unsettles. Yet, it just this so-called singular experience in mental & spiritual lands unknown that allows one, in both writing and in life, to break free of norms, move around assumptions, to feel and to think beyond our society and self-made dimensions.
Time in the wilderness,
Freedom to explore,
Steeped in soliloquy,
Await what's in store.
New understanding?
Compassion before?
Tear down the door,
Explore, evermore.
Create your own lore,
Change the world, four-score.
~Rebecca Moll
January 17, 2021
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, a Book Review by Rebecca Moll
Some stories are relevant, no matter the time or the place and The Picture of Dorian Gray is a perfect example. Late 19th century London high society is not a realm I am even remotely familiar with; however, it was both a compelling and relatable tale.
We humans haven't changed much in the course of our 300,000 some odd year existence.
For all our wants and desires, temptations and inclinations, there is a price and it is the price that both thrills and chills.
Dorian Gray has all the beauty of youth, but also all the recklessness. One moment of impulse sets his course in life. Hiding behind a veneer of innocence and all the good it implies, he lives in unabashed wanton. There is no check and no balance.
Freedom has a price.
It is hard not to see yourself in Dorian's shoes. Therein, lies the charm and the harm.
And, oh how red the blood is, how it stains, remains. Wash you will, but it is always there to remind you, you, YOU.
But, alas, it is only a book. Close it and go to bed. Sleep easy in the knowledge that it's not your picture, it's not your life, or is it?
We humans haven't changed much in the course of our 300,000 some odd year existence.
For all our wants and desires, temptations and inclinations, there is a price and it is the price that both thrills and chills.
Dorian Gray has all the beauty of youth, but also all the recklessness. One moment of impulse sets his course in life. Hiding behind a veneer of innocence and all the good it implies, he lives in unabashed wanton. There is no check and no balance.
Freedom has a price.
It is hard not to see yourself in Dorian's shoes. Therein, lies the charm and the harm.
And, oh how red the blood is, how it stains, remains. Wash you will, but it is always there to remind you, you, YOU.
But, alas, it is only a book. Close it and go to bed. Sleep easy in the knowledge that it's not your picture, it's not your life, or is it?
January 15, 2021
Id Me by Rebecca Moll
Id ME
Who is this they call my name?
The woman, the daughter, the wife, my same.
Give me shape, if u will,
Color my eyes, my hair, my skin,
But deep within lies something unseen,
A shape, a shimmer, a shift that's me,
A True, new, real identity.
Over the years, I’ve caught a glimpse,
Of change, of wisdom, a sphinx,
No stage of matter for spirit can be,
The unfathomable, indescribable:
ME
1-15-2021
Rebecca Moll
Who is this they call my name?
The woman, the daughter, the wife, my same.
Give me shape, if u will,
Color my eyes, my hair, my skin,
But deep within lies something unseen,
A shape, a shimmer, a shift that's me,
A True, new, real identity.
Over the years, I’ve caught a glimpse,
Of change, of wisdom, a sphinx,
No stage of matter for spirit can be,
The unfathomable, indescribable:
ME
1-15-2021
Rebecca Moll
December 1, 2020
Thoughts upon reading The Woman in the Trees by Theoni Bell
As someone who has been raised in the Catholic faith, a family of believers, my thoughts and words are steeped in the belief there is a God, a creator, a loving Father who watches over us and waits for us. This belief gives me solace in times when the inexplicable and unfathomable become too much.
For me, I do not need a woman in the trees to affirm my faith. I believe all things are possible with God.
But for those of Theoni Bell's account, their lives were wholly lacking in this foundational faith. Add the rigors and hardships of early American pioneer life, the crude conditions, civil war, constant toil, disease and death and it is a wonder they could do more than merely survive. How could they rise each day to meet what lay ahead? It is a life I am grateful not to have endured.
Theoni Bell gives account of the first approved Marian apparition through the eyes of Slanie, a young impressionable girl, a girl without God. A girl, who as a young mother would survive one of America's most horrific wildfires. This account bears witness to the miracle of their survival. While millions of acres were reduced to char and ash, the faithful and their little church remained unscathed, a circle of life in a forest of destruction.
It is true the apparition and how Slanie and her fellow villagers survived the fire is a mystery, a miracle. Yet, my take-away from this account is not in what I can't understand, but what I can understand.
Mary's apparition brought God to Slanie and her people. This new found faith created bonds among family & friends, enriched lives, and gave strength and purpose to their lives. Disease and death persisted, civil war raged and toil was constant; however, knowing God was there, right beside them, their spirit prevailed.
As I said, such proof of religious miracles are not pillars of my faith. For me, the proof is in the pudding, the messy blob of everyday life, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Whatever life brings, it is in the messiness of life that faith affords fortitude and that God holds us together. In other words, eat your pudding and be thankful.
Jesus loves me, this I know.
Yet, I see beauty in our God reaching out, Mary's apparitions, all the angels and saints interjections into our little lives. Everyone needs a hug every now and then.
Whether you are a believer or a seeker, I impart some humble advice:
Remember to pray.
Read The Woman in the Trees.
And, eat your pudding.
Blessings to you and yours,
Rebecca
For me, I do not need a woman in the trees to affirm my faith. I believe all things are possible with God.
But for those of Theoni Bell's account, their lives were wholly lacking in this foundational faith. Add the rigors and hardships of early American pioneer life, the crude conditions, civil war, constant toil, disease and death and it is a wonder they could do more than merely survive. How could they rise each day to meet what lay ahead? It is a life I am grateful not to have endured.
Theoni Bell gives account of the first approved Marian apparition through the eyes of Slanie, a young impressionable girl, a girl without God. A girl, who as a young mother would survive one of America's most horrific wildfires. This account bears witness to the miracle of their survival. While millions of acres were reduced to char and ash, the faithful and their little church remained unscathed, a circle of life in a forest of destruction.
It is true the apparition and how Slanie and her fellow villagers survived the fire is a mystery, a miracle. Yet, my take-away from this account is not in what I can't understand, but what I can understand.
Mary's apparition brought God to Slanie and her people. This new found faith created bonds among family & friends, enriched lives, and gave strength and purpose to their lives. Disease and death persisted, civil war raged and toil was constant; however, knowing God was there, right beside them, their spirit prevailed.
As I said, such proof of religious miracles are not pillars of my faith. For me, the proof is in the pudding, the messy blob of everyday life, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Whatever life brings, it is in the messiness of life that faith affords fortitude and that God holds us together. In other words, eat your pudding and be thankful.
Jesus loves me, this I know.
Yet, I see beauty in our God reaching out, Mary's apparitions, all the angels and saints interjections into our little lives. Everyone needs a hug every now and then.
Whether you are a believer or a seeker, I impart some humble advice:
Remember to pray.
Read The Woman in the Trees.
And, eat your pudding.
Blessings to you and yours,
Rebecca
November 23, 2020
Free e-Book Offer - In the Spirit of Thanksgiving...
In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I am offering my e-books FREE for five (5) days.
November 24th through November 28th
Download your copy today * Gift to a friend/family member
The Absence of Absolution
Nadia Knows
The Beauty of Digging Deep
North South, A Short Story Collection
For the Love of Charlie
Happy Thanksgiving!
https://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-Moll/e...
November 24th through November 28th
Download your copy today * Gift to a friend/family member
The Absence of Absolution
Nadia Knows
The Beauty of Digging Deep
North South, A Short Story Collection
For the Love of Charlie
Happy Thanksgiving!
https://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-Moll/e...
October 27, 2020
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou (Autobiographies 1-7) A Book Review by Rebecca Moll
Before reading, I Know why the Caged Bird Sings, I thought I had an idea of the person known as Maya Angelou. A well regarded public figure, her 1st autobiography printed around the world, I was familiar with the title and author's name, as well as, a few of the more notable events of her life.In finishing all seven of her autobiographies, I can now see how little I understood.
There is a saying that when a person dies, somewhere, a library burns down.
In Maya Angelou's passing, it was one filled with hundreds of thousands of books, a full spectrum of genres, dangerous and mysterious, fact-filled and certain, crazy and emotional, full of hatred, lined with love.
A building courageously erected, its shelves were lined with the trappings and bounties bought through risk, its foundation firm upon fortitude, hallowed halls filled with the inhalations and exhalations of the breath of life - wisdom.
As you enter, it pulls at the senses, aromatic and spellbinding. Volumes with pages that fly, multi-colored pictorials of Cairo and Accra, the splendor of sunny San Francisco, the danger of Watts, the stormy unrest in the streets of NYC. Heavy leaden bindings bring ancient stories and song carried on the backs of African slaves, sung across tempestuous oceans, burned into emotional scars and wreckage of human bondage. Poetry, plays, music and dance filled with the joy of love and passion, motherhood, sisterhood, friendship and family beckon, enticing, compelling. Testimonies fueled by anger and resentment, born from discrimination and cold, calculated oppression, and the resulting self-loathing at the hands of lies masked as truth give witness to a real history. It's walls are adorned with wide-open vistas and portraits in-miniature, the sun and the moon, sky and earth, morning to night are told in prose, painting the life, one singular life, of a woman, who, through thought and word, pen and paper, has changed the world - Maya Angelou.
Luckily for us, not all is lost. A small section of the building did not burn. Thirty-six books (including seven autobiographies), 167 poems, four plays, a book of essays, a screenplay, a cookbook, and more than enough words of wisdom to chart with certainty.
"History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again."
"Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope."
"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
"If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude."
"Nothing will work unless you do."
"You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lines. You may trod me in the very dirt, but still, like dust, I'll rise."
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
I am thankful she shared her stories and her soul. I may forget the events, may, on occasion, misquote her words, but I will always carry the color and feeling of the great woman who LIVED - Maya.
October 13, 2020
Once in a Great City by David Maraniss, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll
David Maraniss offers a thoughtful and compelling snapshot of the City of Detroit against the larger US political and industrial landscape from October 1962 to May 1964. The birth of Motown, the ingenuity and heart of America's Automotive industry, the glory of The Motor City's brief rise from the smoldering embers of racial inequality and civil unrest, segregation, union labor, mafia underpinnings, politics, and religion.
It is a snapshot cast in the die of an instamatic polaroid. A black and white image, glossy and firm, a thick border of white framing the events of history.
From the fall of the Ford Rotunda to LBJ's historic visit to Detroit, Maraniss weaves people and places in a seamless and engaging account.
Written in 2014, the author's epilogue is now a snapshot itself, the cusp of Downtown Detroit's reemergence of the ashes.
Take a new photo today - 2020, and note the changes, a digital rendering. Midtown and Downtown linked with the classic Q Line, corner cafés and the Shinola Hotel offering urban luxury and ambiance, the new Tiger's Stadium a hub in between. The people of Detroit masked and distant and the world turns and turns and turns.
I had the good fortune of meeting the author at our annual fundraiser for the Oakland Literacy Council, Ex Libris, in 2019. As the keynote speaker, David offered insight to his writing of Once in a Great City. I felt a compassion in his words and a connection to a place and time, the very people of Detroit. It was a beautiful event, a pairing of those who are dedicated to affording literacy and to a man whose life is literacy.
Events of the past may be facts, but it is the telling that creates a story and the story that lives on. History comes alive in the hands of the author and in David's capable hands, a telling so smooth, you'll find yourself in the background as the shutter of history clicks, standing on the corner of Woodward and Grand River in 1964, the rumble of the Mustang roaring up and down Woodward, the melodies of Gordon Berry, the Temptations, 4 Tops, and Martha Wells carrying you along for a ride through Detroit time, No Where to Run, No Where to Hide, Once in a Great City.
It is a snapshot cast in the die of an instamatic polaroid. A black and white image, glossy and firm, a thick border of white framing the events of history.
From the fall of the Ford Rotunda to LBJ's historic visit to Detroit, Maraniss weaves people and places in a seamless and engaging account.
Written in 2014, the author's epilogue is now a snapshot itself, the cusp of Downtown Detroit's reemergence of the ashes.
Take a new photo today - 2020, and note the changes, a digital rendering. Midtown and Downtown linked with the classic Q Line, corner cafés and the Shinola Hotel offering urban luxury and ambiance, the new Tiger's Stadium a hub in between. The people of Detroit masked and distant and the world turns and turns and turns.
I had the good fortune of meeting the author at our annual fundraiser for the Oakland Literacy Council, Ex Libris, in 2019. As the keynote speaker, David offered insight to his writing of Once in a Great City. I felt a compassion in his words and a connection to a place and time, the very people of Detroit. It was a beautiful event, a pairing of those who are dedicated to affording literacy and to a man whose life is literacy.
Events of the past may be facts, but it is the telling that creates a story and the story that lives on. History comes alive in the hands of the author and in David's capable hands, a telling so smooth, you'll find yourself in the background as the shutter of history clicks, standing on the corner of Woodward and Grand River in 1964, the rumble of the Mustang roaring up and down Woodward, the melodies of Gordon Berry, the Temptations, 4 Tops, and Martha Wells carrying you along for a ride through Detroit time, No Where to Run, No Where to Hide, Once in a Great City.
July 31, 2020
Witches on the Road Tonight by Sheri Holman, A Book Review by Rebecca Moll
The black and blue cover, its slightly creepy and suggestive depiction is not only a portent for this novel, but one for the reader's journey as well.
Witches on the Road Tonight commands your attention at your own expense. It is the dead animal on the side of the road, the car crash you slowly pass, the black and white images of war in the book you want, but can't put down.
It is the horror movie you try not to watch, your fingers parting for the tiniest of a glimpse. It is the fleeting mirror image of ourselves and the haunting monster within.
And yet, crafted with such skill, every word leading you down that dark path, every metaphor halting you in the shivering shadows, that you can't help but turn the page, each time looking over your shoulder for who lurks behind. What lurks behind. What might very well jump on behind.
Eddie with his boyish, big-eared earnestness, his need to be a father to everyone but never himself, Ann with her color-coordinated culture, her self-guided museum-quality art history education and honest-to-goodness motherly love, Jasper with his save-me-please hurtful eyes and acid jagged tongue, but most of all, Wallis, with her little girl heart, her need to believe in her father's stories, to save everyone and not be saved herself, buried under years of guilt and hard-earned adult realism.
Wouldn't it be great if Frankenstein turned out nice?
But then, where's the horror in that? Would anyone even stop to watch?
Witches on the Road Tonight commands your attention at your own expense. It is the dead animal on the side of the road, the car crash you slowly pass, the black and white images of war in the book you want, but can't put down.
It is the horror movie you try not to watch, your fingers parting for the tiniest of a glimpse. It is the fleeting mirror image of ourselves and the haunting monster within.
And yet, crafted with such skill, every word leading you down that dark path, every metaphor halting you in the shivering shadows, that you can't help but turn the page, each time looking over your shoulder for who lurks behind. What lurks behind. What might very well jump on behind.
Eddie with his boyish, big-eared earnestness, his need to be a father to everyone but never himself, Ann with her color-coordinated culture, her self-guided museum-quality art history education and honest-to-goodness motherly love, Jasper with his save-me-please hurtful eyes and acid jagged tongue, but most of all, Wallis, with her little girl heart, her need to believe in her father's stories, to save everyone and not be saved herself, buried under years of guilt and hard-earned adult realism.
Wouldn't it be great if Frankenstein turned out nice?
But then, where's the horror in that? Would anyone even stop to watch?
