Andrew Nagy

I like honesty and cinammon in my scrambled eggs.

Author Archive

Books 3 and 4 – Heart of Darkness and The Book of the Dun Cow

Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad

Heart of Darkness is a tale of one young man’s journey into Africa as it was being colonized and exploited by European countries. I really had to push myself to finish this one, despite it’s short length. It seemed like the story developed a driving force very late. However, I will say Conrad writes beautifully and says some crazy things that stick with you. It’s worth the read if you have some time to kill, but I’d place it pretty low on the priority list. Here’s a quote that made me think:

“The mind of man is capable of anything — because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.”

The Book of the Dun Cow – Walter Wangerin Jr.

This fable has something I never thought I would enjoy: farm animal heroes. The protagonist is a rooster, for goodness’ sake. Who thinks of roosters as heroes? Walter Wangerin Jr., apparently. Well I digress. I thought this book was a great tale of bravery and protecting your home. It is a tale of good and evil, sharing many similarities with Watership Down by Richard Adams, but on a grander scale. It took me all of two days to read, so it’s a quick one, but very entertaining, earthy, and grounded. It’s full of little platitudes you might have heard your grandma say, and they’re all great. Here’s an example:

“For ‘Done,’ when it is well done, is a very good word.”

Loose Thread

I saw a ball of yarn under the stairs last night. It made me think of you. I don’t know why really. More and more things have that affect on me lately. Like love. The string is wound and wound, continuously surrounding itself into larger and larger being. What was once tangled and uncared for is gingerly bound around itself, the whole growing round and lovely as it expands, feeding and nurturing itself, oblivous to the outside. It needs nothing but its own being to become large and beautiful. It seems like our love was that way. I don’t know, maybe that sounds silly. You and I had all sorts of problems as we began our lives together. We started out a lot more like the disorderly strands of complicated mess that the ball of yarn must have been once. And it didn’t seem like we wound ourselves as tightly and beautifully as something so simply wonderful. Yet we did grow, we expanded, we rounded each other like celestial orbs in etneral embrace. What began so small and obfuscated grew simple and large. Large enough to hold each other. Large enough to hold another. Large enough to unravel the knots and smooth the intersections of self and other. Large enough to display some simple beauty to the rest of the world. But not so large as to be lumbering, but gentle. Soon we started weaving patterns where once there were ordinary lines. The patterns intersected and overlaid, building on one another until a larger pattern was formed, incorporating the rest into its greater self. Our love is like that. To be sure, there are errors here and there in the patterns, little mistakes and awkward overlays. But it’s beautiful.

And one day it stops growing. It has expended all the time it has, and you’re gone. You left the world. I’m left here alone, with all our love, all our built hope and treasure, yet no way to maintain the memory. Soon I’ll start to misplace the memories that shaped our ball, and it will grow mishapen and faded. It is a cruel thing to leave me with only your teasing memory that I cannot grasp. I know you didn’t mean to. We both thought we had so many more revolutions around this ball, this messed up knitting of life. But we did not. We ended suddenly and hard. You were there, then you were not. And the string fell limp onto the floor. And there I lie for the rest of my earthly days, staring up in futility at the thing we made in our shortsighted brightness. The colors are wonderfully harsh. Each beauty is a stabbing needle, filling me up with the most glorious pain man ever conceived. You were soft, strong, shapely, colorful. You were so much more real to me than life, but now I can’t remember. The colors are fading, the pain becoming dull prods of former glory. I spend much of my time to myself considering you and how we were. But moment by moment things fade ever so slightly. One day before I die I will remember little else but that we had a love once, and it was good. Maybe that’s enough.

I’m sure there’s something after the black wall of death. I can’t see you, but you are somewhere. I know not whether I will be there with you one day, or if we’ll know each other. Will se remember our love and the loveliness of it? Will we get to grow it more, or start over with perfection? Who knows but God? One thing only do I know. Our love, our little ball of yarn, we grew it and it was beautiful. That was something.

Book 2: The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King

The Eyes of the Dragon is Stephen King’s only work of fantasy fiction, I believe, though I could be wrong on that. I started out reading it last Saturday and finished on Monday, so it’s a fairly quick read. While I did have a little bit of difficulty getting really immersed, it wasn’t long before I was turning pages like a mad fiend. While Eyes may not offer the kind of depth and reflection that something like Gilead does, it’s certainly an entertaining and fast-paced read.

King does a pretty good job of keeping you interested and wanting more. The tone and style is fairly normal, being that of a story teller revealing a tale of ages past. The story revolves around a King, his two sons, and an evil magician. Bottom line, I gave this a 3/5 which means it’s a fun read, and a good diversion when you’re looking for that sort of thing.

Up next, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad.

Book 1: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

A couple of quick notes before I dive into my review of this amazing book. First, as you may notice, things look a little different. I decided I needed a more readable theme for these reviews, and Tanner Hobin (my good buddy and a great CSS’er) was obliging enough to help me out. So what you see is essentially a modified version of my Twitter account, which I love because it’s simple and neat. As you may notice at the bottom of my posts, you can now subscribe to this blog via Twitter (because I always post on Twitter when I have a new blog post out), subscribe via email, or if you use an RSS reader you can subscribe there if you choose.

On to my review. Last Saturday I picked up Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. I don’t really know what I expected from this book, but to be honest I got the name Gilead confused with Galahad, so I suppose I was thinking it was some kind of grand adventure. Far from it, but no less enjoyable for all that.

Gilead is named after a fictional Southeastern Iowa town. An old man, having lived a full life of being a congregationalist pastor is writing a letter to his son. He was married very late and at the time of the letter he is 76, with a seven year old. So he decides to try to write out as much wisdom as he can to make up for all of the years of his son’s life he will miss.

The entire novel is is the letter, so it seemed rather not like a novel to me at first. Since there is a lot of reflection and philosophy, it was also a much slower read at first for me. But soon I didn’t even notice any of that. It’s going to be hard for me to really articulate how I viewed this book because it is very complex and evoked a wide array of emotions.

There is deep sadness and resignation as John Ames (the writer of the letter) is approaching his death. Yet there is also humor, friendship, family, and overarching all, a deep and abiding sense of love for the beauty God has granted humanity. John sees this beauty in nature to be sure, but where he reflects on it the most seems to be the nature of relationships between people and how blessed he feels to have lived his life. Coming from a man who lived through the depression, droughts, and three great wars, this is all the more impacting. Reverend Ames seeks to show his son why life is worth living, and in the process I found myself rediscovering all that as well.

I don’t do spoilers, so I won’t get into any details, but at a point in the book some events take place (John is writing this letter over time) which cause the book to feel more and more like a novel. It’s a great story, and much is revealed in it, but to be honest I think I’d have still been perfectly content to read this old man’s reflections for as many pages as his heart would last. The real author Marilynne Robinson does an incredible job at making you feel like this man really lived, and that you’d love to have known him.

There were times reading this novel when tears filled my eyes. There were also times when I laughed out loud. This book crosses such a vast array of emotions, being both simple to understand and complex in its effect. I’m glad I gave myself two weeks per book, because even though I finished this one in four days, I am going to take a day or two to reflect on it and gather myself a bit.

Bottom line: 5/5. I can’t give this any higher recommendation that to say that anyone who can read should read it. It greatly increased my capacity to perceive and think about joy, beauty, and the wonders of creation, the pinnacle of which is humankind. For all our evils we are capable of, there is also much good, love, and intense beauty we can give to each other, and that, I think is what affected me the most. I’ll leave you with a quote that I feel sums up the message of the book pretty well, and you can think/debate/comment on it as you will.

“There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient.”

Book -1 (or 0?): Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

P.S. (Pre-script): I’ve added all of my books to read to my Goodreads.com account, so if you have an account there, feel free to add me as a friend or whatever.

Since I couldn’t wait to finalize the list before I started reading something, I ended up consuming Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe in about a week. I thought I’d give this whole review thing a shot since I will be doing it much more in the coming years.

Before I embark upon my review, I just want to sort of set up how I envision these going. I’m not a scholar or talented at articulation. I like to think, but I’m not great at putting my thoughts into words so much. My goal is to give you an account of how each book impacted me and some of the general points or ideas I took away from it. Hopefully by reading these, you’ll be able to tell if a book will be the kind you will enjoy reading, or engage with me and others on how the book impacted you if you have read it. I’m going to focus on how the book made me feel, as well as general writing style and other “logistical” matters like that.

On to my thoughts.

Robinson Crusoe was a little tough to get into at first, being written in the early 1700s, but once I got going it wasn’t too terribly difficult. Most of you probably know, but Robinson Crusoe is about a man who finds himself stranded on an uninhabited island far from any kind of help or company. From the get go the book is written in 1st person from the perspective of Crusoe, so you know some way or another he gets out of all the trouble in which he manages to find himself. I found however, that although I knew from the outset there was probably some sort of happy ending, it didn’t in any way deaden the suspense I felt at several difficulties Crusoe finds himself in.

One of the main themes in the book is the idea of God’s providence. Crusoe goes back and forth throughout as he tries to find assurance in the belief of an all-powerful God who has his best interests at heart. While severe and troubling external trials force Crusoe to think, be creative, act boldly, work hard, and fight for his life, he always seems to go back to giving the credit of his own actions to the God that empowers him and watches over him. As a Christian myself who shares these beliefs, I empathized with this struggle for assurance of one’s own well-being.

The book is a roller coaster of emotions. Fear, loneliness, desperation, and despair will suddenly give way to the most exuberant joy (and vice versa), and when Crusoe felt it, so did I. Defoe does an amazing job at making the internal dialogue of one man over the period of decades not only interesting, but engrossing. Somewhere near the end, I had a strong desire to live on my own little island and have as amazing an experience as Crusoe.

Bottom line: I’d highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys fiction. If I had to rate it, I’d say it got a 4/5. Those of you who have read it, let me know what you thought were the main themes and how it affected you. To those of you who haven’t, do you think you might give it a try? Thanks for reading as I try to figure this all out.