War and Peace

(1869)
Leo Tolstoy

Finished Reading: 11.2009

The epic tale of Eastern European aristocratic life begins amidst some rich Russians attending splendid parties, speaking highly of the grand shadow cast by Napoleon upon the continent as he fights his distant war against nations unconcerned for here. Their domestic life seems distant from the death blows on the battlefield, it being but a romantic notion to be toasted. Finally, and alas, the war knocks on the doors of Moscow, burning with total destruction the solitary stability until now ubiquitously known. For many years these evil clouds hide the bright prospects of the future, but miserable deaths are followed by joyful births, and life goes on again with the cyclical yearning for adventure in youth, the steady hard work and simplicity of adulthood, and the remembrances of other times now forgotten.

Equal parts high society dinner parties and muddy field trench poker games, the contrast in the stations of life is exceptionally poignant. During one battle between the Russians and the French, a Russian commander retreats and pulls his remaining troops back to safety. To those who had only heard of the battle back home, the word heard was of a glorious Russian victory over the cowering French. In reality, this particular Russian commander had sent a messenger to bring word of victory to his superiors as he retreated to safety. He hoped to be given a promotion to Commander-In-Chief, in charge of all fighting in that region, on account of his assumed great victory. However, there is another inconvenient commander who outranks him, and so he leads his whole regiment around the countryside, their goal over the next few days being to hide from the ranking commander until this commander's promotion can be received. Napoleon is seen only as sub-plot while the legitimate Russian commander acts as enemy to these troops. During the confusion the soldiers are starving and fall to looting and marauding the local towns. The reported glorious victory is actually a sham, as the Russian army is on the verge of shooting itself. Meanwhile at home, the aristocrats celebrate the glorious victory against the French, and beautiful young ladies smile as they dance with their admirers in the ballroom, hoping to impress a gentleman or a soldier with an aim to improve their family's social standing with a fashionable and wealthy marriage.

I enjoyed the last chapters when Napoleon has gone home where it is warmer, leaving cold Russia to itself and the families whom we've followed throughout the story, having been ravaged by war and despair, are now living well enough as a loving family, entrenched in the happy business of domesticity. A little girl sits with her father to hear a story, a wife talks about her day to her husband who barely pays attention, and the servants take extra pride in their service to their beloved masters for everyone is happy. The atrocities of war are forgotten for now, as life goes on in the brief few breathes one can take before stumbling again into war. But those battles will not be fought by this aging generation, for they have already fought and died their deaths. The young ones who gaze out of foggy windows wondering what lies beyond, they will one day learn to fight. They do not know that beyond this peace there will be more war, followed by peace again, for they remain still on this side of the pane. War and Peace and War and Peace and Such.

This example of historical fiction is captivating. We often wonder what happened at some great event beyond the often repeated and remembered moments in books and movies. How was Napoleon feeling before he gave the orders to attack in a certain battle? Was he tired or worried about his hair? Had he a disagreement with one of his generals or perhaps he had just finished a delicious meal of crepes? We don't really ever know, but historical fiction allows pretending within the framework of fact. Not only could these events be true, but they very well might be for all we know which is often more exciting than the truth anyway, though in this case much longer to get through.

As for this novel being the greatest ever written (as has been supposed by some), I cannot attach such a prestigious medal to the lapel of any book, but certainly War and Peace is standing somewhere close, taking up half the room.

The Joyful Christian

(1977)
C.S. Lewis

Finished Reading: 09.2009

This collection of short readings is taken from the wide shelf whereon the written works of C.S. Lewis are found and is best read as a devotional. The short chapters are best digested slowly on a range of topics both spiritual and social. Over several months, I picked up The Joyful Christian between my other readings, and felt it was a good forum for a quick discussion in my heart. I have reproduced the section below which seemed to strike me as most important at the time encountered, though it is far from representative of the usual entries Lewis offers a thought on. More often are seen tidings on Morality, Prayer, Pride and Pain. The following reading is found on pages 203-205.

Christmas and Xmas

Christmas cards in general and the whole vast commercial drive called "Xmas" are one of my pet abominations; I wish they could die away and leave the Christian feast unentangled. Not of course that even secular festivities are, on their own level, an evil; but the labored and organized jollity of this - the spurious childlikeness - the half-hearted and sometimes rather profane attempts to keep up some superficial connection with the Nativity - are disgusting.

Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connections with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own friends. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyones business.

I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him in Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.

1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merry making; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.

2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last moment, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one of us has to go?

3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?

4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.

We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst come to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than a nuisance.

The Silmarillion

(1977)
J.R.R. Tolkien

Finished Reading: 08.2009

Being the tale of the entire history of Middle Earth, this narration is painted with broad and lofty strokes. Great expeditions across many leagues of map are described, but how the journeyers camped out or what they ate in the evenings is not within the scope of writing. The places where dwelt many men and elves are often described only as places with singular emotion, such as "The people seemed happy there." Little if anything is said of the architecture of these places outside a few off-hand mentions of great towers, great halls or terrible pits within which you would not want to find yourself. Many a battle is fought on mighty hills and lasted for many long weary days but might be described only as such:

"And there was a great battle and many elves and dwarves were slain."

However, a few times we trip over a node on the Timeline of Middle Earth, and stumble into an interesting situation involving the people and places we find in that age. The glue that holds many disparate stories together is the story of the Silmarils. The Silmarils are three very rare and precious jewels mysteriously created by the Noldorian Elf Feanor, within which is contained the radiance of pure light - the original light of the Two Trees and older are they than even the sun. So sought after are these, that they cause many wars to be fought between good and evil and even wars between good and good (kin-strife or worse). The dark lord Morgoth is ever seeking them and often possesses all three, having their beauty for a time set in his iron crown. Kings are murdered, loves are lost, and greed conquers all. The radiance of the past is increasingly diminished by progressing shadows as evil besets all who desire the infinitely worthy and irreplaceable Silmarils.

A most fascinating aspect of the Silmarillion is that it tells us more of the early origins of the beloved characters from The Lord of the Rings. Did you know that Galadrial is Elrond's mother-in-law? She is also his great great aunt on his father's side. Elrond's great great grandmother was a divine Maia from the original creation of the world, and his great grandfather was a mortal man with only one hand named Beren. Crazy Elrond.

A particularly exciting story tells of when Beren stole a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth and as his hand was clenched around the sacred jewel, that hand and the jewel were bitten off by a fell beast. Later, the beast was hunted down and destroyed and upon slicing open its belly, there was found within the still clenched hand of Beren and within his grasp the Silmaril, which was regained.

Another important tale is the condensed version of the journeys of Turin son of Hurin, as appears in full in The Children of Hurin. Turin accidentally marries his sister and she becomes pregnant. Neither knows the other is kin, but after slaying a mighty dragon Turin has to deal with his family issues. Upon learning of her fate from the mouth of that very dragon, the sister-wife hurls herself off a mighty cliff and falls to her perilous end. Turin takes his sword and falls upon it, and evil prevails in the land.

An additional interesting story is the Creation of the World, which began by thoughts and singing. The music becomes reality and is then lived out by the creatures of the earth.

Also told is the tale of how Sauron went from run-of-the-mill bad guy to all powerful flaming eyeball in his tall tower. He was a sort of grand vizier to a king of men, and then established his own kingdom before losing his physical body in the drowning deluge of the entire western half of Middle Earth. I'm not surprised he resorted to the safety of a tall tower from which he could keep unblinking watch for further bad weather, rising seas, and newly drawn maps of Middle Earth.

In the end, the whole of The Lord of the Rings, told elsewhere in three volumes and about 1200 pages, is summarized in the last two pages of this book. A lot happens in between those two pages, but that is another story.

The Hobbit

Or There And Back Again

(1937)
J.R.R. Tolkien

Finished Reading: 07.2009

A difficulty arises in writing about fiction, for I am torn between keeping hidden the great mysteries of plot and facts (that is to say not ruining the ending) and just telling you all the juicy details so I have something quite great to describe. You inevitably read on and are confused, perhaps uninterested in such nondescript drivel, or conversely you throw down your laptop because I have given you some hidden knowledge which burns your eyes before its time, stinging your anticipation with revelation. It is like me telling you all about my exciting trip to a certain place; where there were changes in elevation, the passage of time, maybe a little growth of my beard, and certainly some dialog which I was a part of. But if I don't tell you where I went, how long it took to get there, what brand of razor I used and how many times I cut myself using it, not to mention what choice words were overheard in certain places that serve certain beverages, you would then have both not read the book and not had a reliable description of my reading the book. You would have only heard that I had read the book, and you might suspect I think myself better than you for having done so. After all, I haven't written a single word about the Hobbit so far, and here we are moving right on to paragraph two, not nearly soon enough and finding ourselves slightly below this fabulous green dust jacket. Fantastic.

Bilbo goes there and comes back again indeed, but where does he go? There. And Back. Again. Actually just once. You see, we know hobbits well from our reading The Lord of the Rings, in which Bilbo certainly plays a part. Hobbits hate to do any exciting things at all but seem to do a great many exciting things anyway, and always with the best of company. At least the ones that get books and songs written about them. This is the adventure to begin such adventures and it ends well for the Bilbo, Gandalf and some others that we care the most about.

There is a lot of talk about beards for sure, and certain things are said about the length of them (in general regarding the hope for further growth and the avoidance of witherance on a fellow dwarf as a customary greeting) but really beards have little to do with anything here or there.

We might as well judge the book by its cover, since this one is so nice. Observing it, I suspect that some mountains are climbed or at least passed by, some trees are present in large bits of forest, and that the eagles are coming (or going). The sun balances dangerously on that far peak towards the middle, hoping you won't notice him, so I would guess the eagles are leaving that sort of thing. One shouldn't mess with the sun when he is in a mood to balance on something so cold as a snow capped mountain. If something were to go wrong, we would not be able to see Bilbo as he journeys back from there, and he might not even make it at all given the darkness and cold that would certainly follow. One thing is certain, and that is that I cannot read in the dark, and you are not sure whether I read this book at all.

The Children of Hurin

(2007)
J.R.R. Tolkien

Finished Reading: 07.2009

Tolkien began writing what would become The Children of Hurin many years before he wrote the epic Lord of the Rings. However, he never finished this bleak story set in the First Age of Middle-Earth, though he apparently worked on it from time to time. His son Christopher Tolkien has published the story from various gathered fragments and drafts discovered over the years to bring us the story of Turin son of Hurin, with the best intentions towards maintaining the original voice of his father.

While yet a boy, Turin is separated from his family and grows up in a royal household of elves. But darkness reaches across the land, and evil destroys all that was once good, near and far from home. When Turin becomes a man he leaves his adopted home and wanders Middle-Earth to seek his family, joining with outlaws, elvish folk, and dwarves along the way. He valiantly slays orcs and dragons with his mighty sword Anglachel, but it is at the eventual reunion with one of his family that he finally pulls the darkness down upon himself. We discover Turin's fatal blunder long before he does, and we can't help but watch the tragedy unfold with anticipation. There are no hobbits to misdirect our attentions.

Beginning rather slowly with histories and long narrations, the story finally gets underway with vivid description of epic battles and bloody deaths. Dragon slaying is particularly exciting, as are the romantic implications discovered in a wrongful love, downwind to the unraveling of tragedy. The Children of Hurin is a much shorter story than The Lord of the Rings, containing less detail, and relying on story movement and action without tangential chapters devoted to further develop characters. Particularly in the last few chapters, the the characters are very convincing, and the writing is superbly crafted. Though not directly linked to one another, the two stories are a complement, as they share the same fictional universe.

Joyfully, an index of names is provided at the end of the book. Turin, Morwen, Mablung, Glaurung, and Finduilas are some of the many names thrown at us, if you can remember who belongs to which.