Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

I have very little to add to the glowing reviews that JK Rowling's Harry Potter series has generated, but again, I found this book much more entertaining than the movie and worth the read. In this second novel, the world of Harry Potter again bridges the gap between fantasy and reality in breathtaking ways, yet it is still somehow grounded in its details -- Hogwarts feels like such a real place in the novels, with its recognizable personalities and slight exaggerations of people types. Rowling is almost Dickensian in her ability to skewer people's vanity or self-absorption, while still letting most of her characters get off lightly enough for comedy. The adventure is really pretty stirring, even if a reader knows the plot from watching the movies. There are enough telling details that are changed for the movies to keep one's interest alive. And again, the experience of the book is much different, with imagination working instead of just the eyeballs. I certainly wouldn't have figured out the mystery without having seen the movie, but I don't think her stories follow the rules of mysteries. They break genre, too. Plenty of adults will enjoy these books.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

I have finally gotten around to reading this book, JK Rowling's first Harry Potter novel, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, even after seeing the film about 100 times. The book is much, much better than the movie, and I enjoyed picking out the ways in which the novel differs from the movie and seeing how much of an improvement each change is. For example, having Neville go with Hermione and Harry into the Forbidden Forest instead of Ron makes for a much more interesting, dynamic scene than the one in the movie, with its focus on the three main "stars." I love the satire embedded in the portrayal of the Dursleys -- "normal" people whose main concern is appearing normal and accumulating things, rather than on treating people kindly. We so often lose sight of what's important when those concerns creep up on us. The magical world is better when imagined, rather than seen, so I hope I can get caught up on the book series before the next movie comes out. I will see the movies, because I'm curious about the whole process of turning a book into a movie, but my expectations are much higher for the final installment of the books, due out in July.

Moral Politics

I bought this book by UC Berkeley professor George Lakoff after a long study of the politics rack at Barnes & Noble. I was looking for something to help me solve a problem I'm having in reconciling my politics and my overall belief system. Every election cycle, I feel torn between conflicting beliefs -- on the one hand, I believe that government CAN and SHOULD be a force for good in society by addressing problems that affect Americans and people in general unequally -- including things like health care, poverty, and racial inequality. Not that the government always IS a force for good, but it at least has the potential to do the right thing by people in general, and that it should try to address some of the major problems in our society. I believe that makes me somewhat of a liberal. I also believe in the authority of the Bible and that it is a guide to everyday decision-making, that the Bible teaches that life begins at conception, and that abortion is a threat to the moral fabric of the country. This book helped to make clearer some of the reasons why I am so torn, but it didn't help resolve the tension I feel between the conflicting moral choices in politics. The book looks at political discourse as a set of conflicting metaphors and attempts for about two-thirds of the book to represent those metaphors in an unbiased way. However, toward the end, the author drops the pretense of being merely descriptive and promotes his own views, the views of a "committed liberal." His thesis is basically that the country is split into conservative and liberal camps based on metaphorical understandings of the government as either upholding "Strict Father" morality or "Nurturant Parent" morality. He attempts to explain how conservatives can believe in both pro-life and pro-death penalty positions, while liberals support both abortion and Head Start. He argues that the two sides arrive at their positions based on their understanding of the ideal family, which support either "Moral Strength" or "Nurturance" as their overriding value. I have to simplify his argument here, but it's really not all that complex of an argument, and it appears to be based primarily on a cognitive/linguistic approach looking at the way people talk about morality. Toward the end of the book, Professor Lakoff takes on Dr. James Dobson directly, arguing that his moderate advice on parenting is not accurate, and that his "Strict Parent" morality does not necessarily result in "better" children. But he seems to have wandered here into a classic blunder, using empirical results to make a metaphorical point. Regardless of whether Dr. Dobson's prescriptions for child-rearing work, they still make a potent metaphor for millions of people who want to believe that the government, Hollywood, or other forces in society are "anti-family." And the fact is, liberals ally themselves with people who work against the traditional family as a "nominal mode" in our society. I probably lack the theoretical backing in political philosophy to make the best argument against this book, but I think it really oversimplifies the conservative point of view, while creating a coherent set of metaphors for the liberal view to gravitate around. His caricatures of Christian faith in particular are pretty insulting to a thinking Christian who holds both liberal and conservative views. So, I'm still searching for that guide for Christian liberals who want a coherent ideology. I hope someday I find it. Maybe I'll have to write my own.

A break from books...

Check out this video if you've ever wondered what that song in Shrek is really about:

Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah covered by Over the Rhine

A beautiful song.

Surprised by Joy

Over the last few weeks, reading C.S. Lewis' Surprised by Joy has offered some helpful insights into one Christian thinker's development. The book is a philosophical life story of the writer's early years, and so it is at times funny and insightful and at others stiflingly erudite. The author traces his development from a child whose life was filled with imaginative play and a love of books, particularly stories of Norse gods, into a Christian whose life is marked by mature understanding of God's identity and holiness. The last two chapters are particularly strong in describing a philosophical conversion, not one based on emotion or outward trials. Lewis simply narrates a free choice, or as nearly a free choice as he allows himself to admit, to follow God after first recognizing that he exists. I am vastly oversimplifying the philosophical and emotional bases of Lewis' conversion (for despite his protestations to the contrary, he did find an emotional connection to God in the presence of Joy), but it is a joy itself to see someone so steadfastly describe the process of conversion as an outgrowth of philosophical and literary questions. I particularly enjoyed a few lines: "It matters more that Heaven should exist than that we should ever get there"; "Total surrender is the first step toward the fruition of [enjoying art and nature]. Shut your mouth; open your eyes and ears. Take in what is there and give no thought to what might have been there or what is somewhere else. That can come later, if it must come at all"; and a quote or paraphrase from Johnson, "Where courage is not, no other virtue can survive except by accident." It felt good to get connected to these lines of thought, derived from an Oxford don's knowledge of English writing and his own experience. Still, I got a little lost in the name-dropping and connecting with other people's writing. Overall, the book is a good read with plenty to chew on, and it may appeal even to non-Christians. The only fault is an assumption that readers know more than we tend to know in this contemporary timeframe.

The Good German

I read this page-turner a while back and enjoyed it quite a bit. I'm glad to see it's been turned into a movie, although I'm not sure I'll make it to the theater to see it. The setting is post-World War II Germany, Berlin specifically. I am somewhat familiar with that territory, having had the privilege to be in Berlin at the 50th anniversary of the end of the war. The book does not center around German struggles, despite the title, so not to worry for those Deutsch-o-phobes out there. It's basically a detective story with a few twists and turns set in the bombed-out center of a ruined totalitarian state. It had me guessing as far as the mystery goes, but I've never been good at figuring out mysteries. The novel does follow a fairly tried-and-true formula, but it's a well-crafted genre book with an interesting cast of characters. I found myself rooting for the good guys and against the bad guys, and I ask nothing more of a good detective story. There is a sex scene in the novel -- nothing Hollywood would find at all racy, but some more conservative readers might. This book is a follow-up to the more successful Los Alamos. Both novels are recommended. The author is Joseph Kanon.

Flags of our Fathers

My dad got me this book for Christmas, and I read it through in about a week. It is a well-told story of the six men who raised the flag on Iwo Jima in the famous photograph that became a national symbol and ultimately, the Marine Corps memorial statue in Washington, D.C.

The book is engrossing in its detail and authoritative in style. It aims to set the record straight about the facts of the flag-raising and to memorialize the author's father, who was one of the flagraisers. It succeeds in those two goals. The author's account of his father's life and his lifelong silence about the photograph and all other aspects of Iwo Jima is eloquent. Like many father-son relationships, it is clear that in this non-fiction account, what is not said is more important than what is.

I have not seen the movie that was recently filmed based on this book's account of Iwo Jima, nor the counterpoint Clint Eastwood production, Letters from Iwo Jima. I would have liked to have seen more first-hand accounts from the Japanese side included in this book. It is very one-sided in its description of the battle, and not necessarily so. Toward the end of the book, there are a few hints that the author's father may have begun to come to terms with the Japanese side of the horrible battle. I would have liked to have seen the same willingness to try to understand the Japanese soldiers, who are mostly seen as the perpetrators of atrocities in the book, on the son's part. But perhaps that is one of the legacies of war -- an unwillingness to see history through the other side's eyes, especially when father-son loyalties are put to the test.

Kindred

I just finished reading this work of historical fiction written in the 1970s. It is based on the idea of a black woman traveling back in time to the 1800s, when slavery was a severe reality of life. It is interesting to try to infer how much has changed since the book was written. Perhaps the 1970s were more concerned with basic human rights than we are today. The countercultural movements of the 1960s were largely coopted by society in the 1970s, just as 21st century America has largely absorbed the gang violence of the 1980s and 1990s and made it more like an attitude that anyone can adopt. The peace movement, civil rights struggles, labor activism, and feminism were all still alive in the 1970s. Now, in the 21st century, war, racism, low wages, and sexism are still with us, but the protests seem muted compared to the enormity of the changes in the 60s and 70s. The power of activism seems focused on other things. But to get to the actual book, I really struggled to get through this one, even though the craftsmanship level is high and the subject matter is worthwhile. It felt like assigned reading. I don't think I've personally learned all the lessons this book has to teach, but I don't know if that's because of some inner struggle to empathize or just because the focus of my interests and society's interests have changed so much since the 1970s. It is a good book, ultimately, and it is relevant to today; I just wish I could give a solid reason for not liking it the way I do.

Defining the Wind

I enjoyed this book thoroughly, especially its gorgeously-written first chapter about riding out a hurricane (before Katrina). It is a copy-editor's book, written by a former copy editor, so its focus on words may be too much for some people. Still, the story is intriguing enough to keep non-word-o-philes (copy editors are cringing right now) entertained. The book explains how a description of the wind that was created during the sea-faring age, at least partly as an aid to navigation, took on a life of its own and became a kind of poem, now found only in some dictionaries. I was first introduced to the Beaufort wind scale in a modern poetry class as a "found poem," and it is truly poetry -- both concrete and abstract, both physical and spiritual. The scale also has a history of its own, and this book lovingly traces that history. The analysis of the changes over time to the actual scale itself is interesting, but the most interesting fact may be that this little nugget of fine language has survived at all into the 21st century. It is really a miracle, and this book captures that miracle. I almost wish our news reports would use this scale instead of the exact figures they purport to give us, but that might cheapen the value of the words themselves. The words are the treasure. Look in your dictionary at home under "Beaufort" to see if the wind scale is there. Many no longer have it.

the curious incident of the dog in the night-time

Mark Haddon's British novel uses the voice of a near-autistic boy to tell a story of awakening. It is a rite-of-passage story with real resonance for anyone who has ever struggled to learn something or to try something outside the box. The hero of the story uses math as a kind of language throughout the story, which is effective. The rigidness of the prose fits a character who is bound up in his head, the way all creative types can be. The novel makes me wonder if autism and its related syndromes (Asperger's) are a sign of the times. We are creating children who can think and feel in different ways than what is normal, but they are no longer trapped in institutions or unable to communicate at all. Technology and disability legislation have made societies more open to people with illnesses like autism. Still, the biggest limits real people with autism have seem to be primarily with communication. Our society doesn't really seem to connect very well any more, even for normal people, so the children who are stuck in their own minds are probably doubly stuck. This coming of age story allows one such doubly stuck character to escape both the boundaries of his own mind and the boundaries of his society, and the world is a better place because someone has imagined this possibility.

Grendel

Grendel is a 1971 masterpiece by John Gardner that retells the Beowulf story from the monster Grendel's point of view. I found it relevant to today's struggles in some ways. First of all, the novel describes a war that almost nobody wants, except perhaps Grendel. Even Grendel calls it an idiotic war, but that doesn't stop him from being a violent bully. Secondly ,the potential for the two sides of the conflict, monsters and men, to draw a truce exists in parts of the novel, but the two sides harden their positions until one side, drawing on the power of fate, is victorious. President Bush must feel a little bit like Grendel these days. He's entered into a conflict that he doesn't fully understand, and his identity is determined by the decisions he makes in that conflict. Grendel has the excuse of being a monster, but he is struggling to define himself just as we all are. In fact, the bulk of the novel is Grendel's struggle to understand himself and human society, which is built on war and conquest (and betrayal) in his eyes. I wonder how much Grendel's outsider's perspective on things is needed right now. After all, he sits outside of Western materialism in the world of myth. We need to be able to dislodge our preconceptions to get past this world war we're engaging.

1776

I found this history a lot less gripping than McCullough's previous book, John Adams. Still, it had interesting details that helped me picture the beginning of the War of Independence much more vividly. For example, the ragtag nature of the "continental army," described through first-hand accounts, was revealing. Also, the importance of disease as a condition of war but also a potential weapon -- refugees sent across the American lines by the British were isolated because of the fear of smallpox -- was surprising. The history centers on George Washington, and McCullough does not question first-hand accounts that are particularly glowing toward the general. He credits him with the ability to "see things as they are, not as how we wish them to be," which helped him make critical decisions that allowed the American army to survive a brutal first year of combat. Other than a clear contrast between the status of King George III and the head of the continental army, the book does not address the political nature of the revolution. Both Common Sense and the Declaration of Independence are mentioned, but the declaration is given little weight in the history, while the impact of Common Sense is more acknowledged than delved into. 1776 is primarily a military history, and it adds very important detail to the account of the revolutionary war, while also balancing the scales a little bit to the side of the British, who are definitely not painted as incompetent blunderers in this account. It is a worthwhile book, but not quite as well-told as McCullough's account of John Adams' life, which is interesting and fresh at every turn.

Post 9/11 Books Part 3 / Terrorist

John Updike's Terrorist made me wonder if we really are living through the end of Western civilization as we know it. The two main characters of the novel, a high school guidance counselor and his Muslim charge, represent polar opposites. The "American" side of the equation is fat, lazy, decrepit, and morally equivocal, while the Muslim terrorist-in-training is slim, ambitious, pure, and convinced he is right on moral issues. The young Muslim is vain about his appearance, he is not a saint, but he does have some ground to stand on in his condemnation of American laxness. The neglect he sees all around him, from the ashheaps that surround his home to his mother's come-and-go lovers, confirms his belief that he is on the right path. The novel leaves open the terrifying possibility that the "American way of life" is being exposed as a fraud even among our own citizens, and that these neglected citizens could act out their revenge through terrorist acts. Updike tries to get inside the head of a potential homegrown terrorist, and he succeeds in this only so far. He repeats some phrases over and over, almost like a heroic epithet, in describing the terrorist mind. Other than that, the novel succeeds in painting a terrifying picture of neglect turned into tragedy.

Post 9/11 Books Part 2 / Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

I just finished reading this book, published in 2005. It deserves a second read, so I may update this post at some point, but my first reaction is to marvel at the accomplishment of this novel. The author, Jonathan Safran Foer, weaves together three broken lives in engrossing detail, giving each character specific idiosyncracies that are both maddening and heartbreaking. The star of the show is Oskar Schell, an overly precocious, near-obsessive-compulsive eight-year-old whose father is killed on 9/11. His grandmother and grandfather also narrate portions of the novel, and their grief at losing their son, as well as their shared grief from living through the Dresden firebombing of World War II, is expressed powerfully in those chapters. But Oskar's grief and pain, together with his multifaceted attempts to put the pieces of his life back together, drive the story forward. The story centers around Oskar's quest to find a lock that fits a key he has found in secret, which he believes will tell him more about his father. The quest takes him to many places in New York, but the story doesn't dwell on the "I love NY" theme, it only uses New York as a patchwork background that adds interest in a primarily internal struggle. Oskar's quest is successful in many ways, although the key does not lead him in a direction that he expects; he makes friends, he meets people. Still, he is haunted by his father's death, and his grief is being worked out in the search for the lock. The grandfather character is another key in the story, and his presence becomes essential to Oskar working out his grief, though it is possible that in the end, neither of them achieves the emotional release they need. One very definite theme of the novel is to express the grief created by 9/11 and place it in both a personal and a historical context. The author achieves that goal while at the same time being bold and adventurous in the design and verbal inventiveness of the book. Foer is Vonnegut's heir in more ways than one here, and he is up to the challenge of taking Vonnegut's mantle on into the future.

Post 9/11 Books Part I / In the Shadow of No Towers

I've read three books that I highly recommend that address the emotional landscape created after September 11. They each stake out different territory, and they all do it with intelligence and insight. I am reviewing them in the order in which they were published.

The first is In the Shadow of No Towers, by Art Spiegelman, which came out in 2004. It is a graphic autobiography, meaning it has the look of a hardbound comic book but very personal subject matter. Spiegelman expresses the shock, horror, and outrage of someone who can't understand the attack or the policies that he feels provoked it. He feels betrayed by his country, and sees President Bush as recklessly endangering American citizens, especially New Yorkers, by launching the war on terror. The graphic book makes a gradual shift from these present-day anxieties to the ancient-seeming comics of the early 20th Century, concluding with a section that reverts back to the form of those comic strips completely. This last section is dense and difficult to get through, but overall the book is worth it because of its artistic integrity and outsider's perspective. It doesn't feel like a lecture, but it is definitely a wake-up call to those who feel safe years after the Sept. 11 attacks.

The Namesake

This Jhumpa Lahiri novel goes nowhere fast. Again, I found my attention wandering as I got into the first few chapters and never really finished the book. I bought the book because I had read and liked a version of this novel that appeared as a short story in the New Yorker. That story was a stereotypical New Yorker short story, but at least it crystallized the meandering descriptions of this novel into something resembling a plot. This novel seems to have padded that story to interminable length, delving into mysterious realms that have little bearing on real life. Sorry, but my limited attention span couldn't bear the long-windedness of this novel. Maybe if I had nothing but leisure time I could recommend this novel, but it's just not that absorbing of a novel, so maybe no matter how much time I had, it wouldn't be worth it. Not recommended (again, even though I only read the first few chapters).

Hamlet

My wife and I read this classic together for a World Lit class she was taking. It really is a meditation on death and a powerful statement about the nature of human consciousness -- we can be a vacillating, revenge-driven, half-mad species, and Hamlet exposes some of our weaknesses as well as our greatest strengths. "Conscience does make cowards of us all." The great graveyard scene is to me the emotional climax of the play, where two men compete over the memory of a beloved sister and (for lack of a better word) lover. Hamlet intentionally distances himself from Ophelia, but his "antic disposition" is overcome in the graveyard scene when he wallows in his grief. This is a true grief, not an acted one, but Hamlet is the ultimate actor's role because he is both a director and an actor within the play itself. There is an insecurity to the role that is mystifying to some but powerful to others. Hamlet can sound like a whiny teenager at times, but he is capable of showing great resolve and emotional fortitude in others. It's well worth reading this play to get back to a sense of what it means to be human and to encounter such a compelling character.

The Da Vinci Legacy

This was written before the Da Vinci Code became a big hit, but I think it's being repackaged as an answer to the Da Vinci Code. I couldn't get into it while reading it last spring, because the writing is pretty generic. The opening line, after all, is, "Killing made him happy." This kind of sociopath is a staple of 1980s movies, maybe, but it reads false to me. It sounds even more cartoonish than the bad guys in Da Vinci Code, who at least had a powerful motive besides simply enjoying killing. I can't really recommend the book or not recommend the book because I haven't read the whole thing, but based on the opening two chapters, it's a non-starter for me.

Small Avalanches and other stories

Joyce Carol Oates has an ax to grind in this set of stories, but it may be an ax worth grinding. The stories are vivid and well-imagined, and I wish some of my high school students who are girls somehow find this book and read it, because it is a valuable study in conflicts they probably feel. The collection deals mostly with early relationships between guys and girls and the potentially terrifying outcomes of those relationships, meaning sexual violence or date rape.

Taken together, the stories seem to rule out the possibility of the "good guy." Guys reading the stories are likely to be depressed or angry because guys are not presented in a good light, generally speaking.

Still, it's hard to argue that guys don't deserve this kind of treatment. Date rape is an ugly reality, and it's brave in some ways for Oates to present a collection of stories that centers around that reality.

It would be nice, though, if at least one of the stories ended well. I'm not sure if that's the case -- I didn't read through the entire collection.

The Motive

This is a murder mystery by John Lescroart that I really liked right up until the end. The plot starts with a fire in a famous San Francisco home that is being renovated, where two bodies are discovered. The first few chapters lay out the police and fire inspectors' procedures while pointing toward possible suspects. The investigation proceeds along several different avenues, eventually involving the main character, lawyer Dismas Hardy, as the case heads toward trial. I loved the mature characterization of Dismas Hardy as a veteran lawyer with a blessed family life and good friendships. I also enjoyed trying to figure out where the investigation was heading, which I'm never very good at anyway, but it was fun to try. The ending, though, was a little disappointing. It seemed too little justification for all the suspense leading up to it. I know that's vague, but I recommend reading the book, so I'm not going to give away the ending.