P.D. James - The Last Victorian

If I'm still writing at the age of 90, I will die happy. I hope P.D. James did, anyway.

One thing is for certain: no one could have predicted her life would have ended here, as a world-wide respected author. At the age of 16, she left school to help support the family - her father didn't believe in higher education for women. Throughout her lifetime, she worked in a tax office, as a stage manager, as a member of a hospital board and at the Home Office in the forensic science and criminal law departments. When her husband was sent to a mental institution after World War II, she became primary breadwinner for their two daughters. 

She started to write detective novels in the 50's, and her first book Cover Her Face, was published in 1962. While it received favorable reviews, it took until 1980, with Innocent Blood (my favorite) for her career to skyrocket. After that, she seldom wavered from the adventures of her poet-detective, Adam Dalgliesh. One notable exception was The Children of Men, a fascinating religiopolitical dystopia built on the premise of an ingenious question: What if mankind stopped bearing children? In 2006, it was made into a movie, directed by Alfonso Cuarón (we'll be reviewing it this week on The Pilgrim's Podcast.) In 1991, Queen Elizabeth made James a Conservative peeress: Baroness James of Holland Park.

Happy 140th Birthday, G.K. Chesterton

I think it's probably a fair bet to say that no author has taught me more than G.K. Chesterton. On the other hand, the author who has taught me least would have to be, yep, G.K. Chesterton. It's an appropriate paradox.

Chesterton lived and breathed on paradox. His ability to enlighten me on matters spiritual is nearly immeasurable, but there's the rub: he may only enlighten those things which one already knows, which already lurk in the mind and form the basis of his favorite virtue: common sense. No other author has such a talent for revealing to me the truths that are, or should be, immediately evident.

This is, in fact, the premise of one of his greatest books: Orthodoxy. In it, he voiced many of the questions that plagued him as a young seeker.

"How can we contrive to be at once astonished at the world and yet at home in it?" 

"Why should ANYTHING go right; even observation and deduction? Why should not good logic be as misleading as bad logic? They are both movements in the brain of a bewildered ape?" 

"Can [one] hate [the world] enough to change it, and yet love it enough to think it worth changing?"

Beauty is truth, truth beauty - Except It Isn't

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty" is a line written by romantic poet John Keats. Being a Christian and having a philosophical bent, I'd always thought he meant the truth is beautiful, but as Doug McKelvey points out in this terrific article over on the Rabbit Room, he meant just the opposite. It means that if a thing is beautiful, it is the truth. If it makes me feel good, it is good.

McKelvey's article challenges the idea that art can be meaningless, an outpouring of pointless emotion. Instead, he declares the Christian belief that there is intrinsic meaning in everything, that that idea extends even to abstract art and stream-of-consciousness writing. It's also harder to do right, but it's worth it. Because, after all, if...

If things meant something, if art incarnated ideas and if ideas had consequences, if truth was not the same as beauty (at least not in the way that Keats believed it), then I was responsible for the impact of the things I made and therefore had need to be sensitive and discerning. It wasn’t enough just to spin evocative, poetic phrases that were fragments of no greater whole. This was a holier vocation than I had imagined.

Meaningless art is just the easy way out. As a writer who spends a lot of time crafting, and, as Hemingway said, "getting the words right", this affirmation of the try-again-and-again-till-it's-just-right approach versus the flash-bang!-inspiration-equals-automatic-product school is refreshing. (Even better, he called it a holy vocation. Cool.)

McKelvey believes that, as Flannery O'Connor said, there are "lines of spiritual motion" in everything, and it is the artist's job to discover them. And it might mean there's a greater romance than the romantics every dreamed. What is it? Read the article to find out.

Longish

Hello, Public.

"Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."

-G.K. Chesterton

Greetings, dear web-cruising friend, you have stumbled onto the first post of what will be a very interesting blog. Or, at least, if you’re interested in dry wit, philosophy, theology, high fantasy, mystery and politics, it will be interesting.

To begin, a little about Me, Myself and You. I’m from a small town in the middle of nowhere. You could probably find it on Google Earth – Middle of Nowhere, America. But I digress. In this small town, things are as much like Mayberry as they can possibly be outside of idealistic (but very good and absolutely hilarious) TV shows from the ’60s. I’m even more isolated than most Middle of Nowhere citizens, living in a house on a hill surrounded by trees, mountains, wild possums and several magical portals.



Neo-Mayberry, view to the South



The internet, most days, is my only connection with the outside world. However, that doesn’t mean that I’m out of touch with reality. I keep up with current events more than most people, especially those my age. Though my interest in politics has declined over the last few years (mostly into Deep Disgust), I do keep up with the latest Big Gov fiascos.

I have a rapacious interest in books. Right now, the current trend is murder mysteries, so expect plenty on that subject—though my long-lived obsession with The Lord of the Rings will doubtless seep through. Perhaps an occasional Ode to G.K. Chesterton’s Epicness will appear as well. Bear with those, or even better, get some Chesterton and read it.

Now.

I’m also a writer, and I’ll use some of the time that I should spend editing and novelling in telling you all about how great my writing is and what’s up with my many half-finished books. Don’t believe my bragging and believe all of my criticism.

As you’ve probably noticed by now, I use sarcasm liberally, but I can’t stand the negative tear-people-down type of sarcasm, so I try my best not to be that cynical. Yet, when used correctly (and with a British accent) sarcasm can be hilarious. And by the way, it isn't "the lowest form of wit" as the saying goes - watch the average YouTube video that has FUnNY!!!_! in the title, and you'll agree with me.

At times, I might write a random essay on something that interests me. This is very possible. I’m working my way to the SAT’s, so I need the practice. Rate them, if you like. I need the help.

So now you’ve heard about the Me and Myself, so let’s talk about You. You’re the Audience. Don’t expect to be catered to; I probably won’t be very consistent in topics. I’m writing letters to myself, really. But I love to get feedback, all the same, so even if you turn up just for the writing posts, or the political posts, or even the dry wit posts, I would love to hear from you. Just keep it civil and on topic, thanks.

In conclusion, I may write in fragments. If there are any web-cruising grammar teachers out there. Give me. A break. Please.

Half-sincerely,

Longish

Neo-Mayberry, Middle of Nowhere, America