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My time with George Orwell

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

Animal Farm       Politics          1984 

I love listening to Ray Charles. One album I particularly enjoy is “Genius Loves Company,” in which he performs with other amazing musicians. I have found in the past year how essential community is to my wellbeing as a creative. Not just any community will do, as I discovered the hard way. Finding “company” is difficult, but oh the rewards that come when it is found!

I am a novice. Ray Charles is not. In sharing this need, it is clear to me that no matter how good one gets at their craft, they still hunger for company. Creating is a lonely endeavor, even more so I imagine, from the top, a lonely place in and of itself. And when you’re at the top, collaboration takes a great deal of humility, which is one of the most beautiful traits a person can possess.

It was with company that I read Animal Farm, followed by Politics and the English Language. This is the benefit of community: they will take you where you would not naturally go. Being so intrigued by the life of Orwell, I continued on my own to read 1984. One of the most prolific and varied authors I have ever heard of, Orwell began with his first publication in 1914 (at age 11) with his poem titled “Awake! Young Men of England.” His last publication would be New Year’s Day 1950, only twenty days before his death: an article in The Observer titled, “The Best Novels of 1949: Some Personal Choices.” By this time, he would have written nearly 650 completed works encompassing poetry, novels, book reviews, essays, editorials, investigative journalism, non-fiction books, and more.

Despite the popularity of Animal Farm and 1984, Orwell considered himself to be an essayist rather than a novelist. This comes as no shock to those who have read 1984, in which Orwell includes a fictional essay right in the middle of the novel, and sneaks another one into the appendix. Animal Farm and 1984 tell roughly the same story in two forms: one with humor and one without. Four years separate the two works; Animal Farm acting as a primer. But there was a greater depth needing plunged, and Orwell devoted himself in 1984 to communicating the intricacies of what was only mentioned in Animal Farm. The reader is left with much to consider and nothing to laugh at.

At a time when our words are rationed by Twitter and symbols replace entire phrases with emojis, the concept and implications of Newspeak were profound:

Don’t you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it. Every concept that can ever be needed will be expressed by exactly one word, with its meaning rigidly defined and all its subsidiary meanings rubbed out and forgotten..Every year fewer and fewer words, and the range of consciousness always a little smaller. (52-53)

Politics and the English Language is as pertinent now as it must have been when it was written. It is Orwell at his best- I mean by that, what he deems to be best, which is clear language, practical instruction, and relevant material. At its heart, it is a plea for language to be used appropriately: to reveal truth rather than create obscurity. But it is primarily a guide for recognizing the techniques of manipulated language, and it is fascinating.

Orwell, the man – so let us call him Eric Arthur Blair – was equally intriguing, from his unusual childhood on. Remember, by clicking the books above you will be directed to Amazon, where you can find out more and purchase them. I’ll leave you with Orwell’s words, taken from 1984:

The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command. His heart sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against him, the ease with which any Party intellectual would overthrow him in debate, the subtle arguments which he would not be able to understand, much less answer. And yet he was in the right! The obvious, the silly, and the true had got to be defended. Truisms are true, hold on to that! The solid world exists, its laws do not change. Stones are hard, water is wet, objects unsupported fall toward the earth’s centre. With the feeling that he was speaking to O’Brien, and also that he was setting forth an important axiom, he wrote: Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows. (81)

And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

And Every MorningI am finding it harder and harder to use my Kindle. There are things I absolutely love about it, most often that it allows me to read in bed at night without a light on if my husband is already sleeping or its portability when I travel. But I find a radical diminution in what I am able to recall from books I read on my Kindle compared to printed versions. However, I can think of other factors that make a significant difference: how long I take reading the book and whether or not I have people to discuss it with. This is a novella, and I believe I read it in one sitting. It was squeezed in one night as I found myself between books. So sitting with it once, on my Kindle, and not discussing it with anyone, all lead to my not recalling too many details about it.

But this I remember: It is heartbreakingly beautiful. I read it soon after a friend was telling me of her mother’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. I followed it by watching the movie Still Alice. Between the three accounts and their happening so close together, I was able to tangibly feel the slow drowning that is the process of losing one’s mind while the body carries on; being aware of it as it is happening and incapable of slowing it down. Each of the three descriptions were marked by a feeling of utter helplessness.

This story is one of an old man and his grandson, as they figure out how to enter this slow losing together and say goodbye before it gets to the point that they can’t anymore. Whimsical and heart-rendingly beautiful, Backman has created a world of the mind that captures within it the life of the heart.

The Vintage Book of African American Poetry

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

African American PoetryI was very excited about reading this book, and it started off strong. The introduction to both the book as well as the 50 poets included in this anthology were excellent. I was completely surprised by the slave poetry, having in my mind a depiction of slavery and illiteracy going hand in hand, which was not necessarily the case in the 18th century, though it quickly became so, as ignorance is one of the greatest weapons of oppression. One thing that has always been baffling to me is the spread of Christianity among slaves. Simone Weil, visiting Portugal in the 1930’s writes:

There the conviction was suddenly borne in upon me that Christianity is pre-eminently the religion of slaves, that slaves cannot help belonging to it, and I among others.

Phillis Wheatley, one of the first authors included in this anthology and the first African American to publish a volume of literature, was kidnapped at the age of nine. She later writes this poem, titled “On Being Brought from Africa to America,” calling her kidnapping and subsequent enslavement, a mercy of all things, because it was the means by which she met God:

‘Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
“Their color is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,
May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.

It has always seemed both strange and beautiful to me that slaves should adopt the religion of their oppressor. That despite the brutal beatings and rapings and lynchings, as the hypocrite opens his mouth, they are captivated by the beauty of God. The suffering Jesus was true even when introduced by a liar. The God willing to enter shame, enslaved to the Father’s will, was irresistible.

Like all anthologies, I discovered some authors whose poems I loved and many I didn’t care for. The slave poetry and that of the Harlem Renaissance were my favorites. The poems in this anthology do carry a common thread, found in the subtitle to the book: 200 years of vision, struggle, power, beauty, and triumph. (Though I would say struggle and beauty were the two most pervading themes.)

From this anthology I enjoyed a renewed love for the greats: Paul Laurence Dunbar, Langston Hughes, and Countee Cullen. But I also discovered a new love for James Monroe Whitfield, Frances E.W. Harper, Georgia Douglas Johnson, Gwendolyn Bennett, Robert Hayden, and Lucille Clifton, all of whom I hope to read more of, and soon.

John Steinbeck & East of Eden

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

East of Eden                 Eden letters  

If you talked to me at all in January, you have heard about these two books. They were both, fascinating and beautiful. I read them alongside one another. Each day, as Steinbeck sat down to write his greatest novel, he got warmed up by writing a letter to his long-time friend and editor, Pascal Covici. If you disagree it is his greatest novel, you will have to take it up with him, for he believed this to be the crowning achievement of his career; the book he was born to write. I let the two keep pace with each other, reading the story while simultaneously reading about the writing of it, which as a writer, was extremely edifying.

The slow, leisurely pace and depth of character moved East of Eden from a good story to a beautiful rendering of human life. Some have argued that the book is not enjoyable for the tragedy within it. It is true that the tragedies of this story are not beautiful; they are familiar. It’s themes are as old as the Fall. I found pieces of myself in nearly every character. There is one as ugly and dark as Satan, and she is difficult to read, ever more so as we share a name, but she is real, and therefore needs to be endured. As for me, I loved the book and consider it one of the greatest I have ever read or likely will ever read. Far from feeling despair, I closed this epic drama with great hope. You may as well.

 

Sarah’s Key

~ Kate Friederichs ~ 2 Comments

Sarah's Key As many of you know, WWII historical fiction is right up my alley. A majority of my “Want to Read” fiction on Goodreads consists of WWII fiction. I even have a book in my mind that I will write someday. So I went into this thinking it would be a layup.

It starts with two stories: the 1942 story of the Vel’ d’Hiv roundup of Jews by the French police. It is the story of one ten-year-old girl and her family and their tragic separation. The second is a modern-day journalist studying the Vel’ d’Hiv roundup (nearing it’s 60th anniversary) and finding her own link to the history there. The chapters go back and forth between these two stories.

The 1942 story is wonderful. It draws you in and you picture what is happening in your mind; you put yourself there. You do it despite the writing. The 1942 story is told from the third person: The girl did this, the girl thought that, etc. It detaches the reader from the story, but despite this, you enter in.

The modern-day story of the journalist, however, is told in the first person. Yet I found myself struggling to relate to her. I didn’t understand her. I didn’t really even like her that much, though she gave me little to like or dislike. She, and her story, was bland. About half way through the book the 1942 story ends, and the rest of the book is the modern day story, which by now has intertwined with the story of the past. I remember getting to that first chapter that didn’t take me back to 1942, back to the little girl- my heart sank. That was the story the reader wants to hear.

In literature, there is story, and there is beautiful writing, and a handful of times, you find a gem that combines the two. This one absolutely leans toward story- there is nothing beautiful in the prose. It doesn’t read like music, it isn’t moving, it doesn’t create a scene you are entranced with. It is plain and tells a story. This is ok when the story is fantastic. This story could have been fantastic. But in the end, it wasn’t. Rosnay had a great beginning in her mind, one with amazing potential. But in the making of it, too much was lost. I wish she had stuck with the 1942 story and seen it through to the end. I wish she had made that the only story, the first-person account. It could have been….so much more.

(If you, like me, love WWII fiction, I recommend instead reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.)

The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

Theodore This book took the majority of my reading time for two months, and it is one of the best books I read all year. As I shared in another post, I am doing self-directed schooling with a friend. I have, historically, stuck rather closely to fiction. I am so driven by story that instructional nonfiction is difficult for me. But I want to get better, so I am bridging my way into nonfiction with books that still contain story, like biographies and memoirs. In several books I was reading, mentions of Theodore Roosevelt abounded. Knowing little about him, I began to feel that I would enjoy him very much. So for my passion assignment, I decided to read this book and practice some letter writing between Roosevelt and some of his closest companions, working at writing from different voices, both male and female, as well as from a different time period. When the book arrived at my house and I saw that it was nearly a thousand pages, I considered changing my assignment. I still carried memories of the Bonhoeffer biography and, though I am fascinated with WWII, it took everything in me to trudge through that giant book. This book, in contrast, took as much work as sailing on a breezy summer day- so enjoyable one hardly notices the effort. The wind simply carried me where I wanted to go.

One reason for this, no doubt, is Theodore himself. He is a difficult man to be neutral about. Then as now, one either loves him or hates him. And despite my being in the former category, some of his actions or ways affronted me. Edmund Morris did a wonderful job of describing both the strengths and weaknesses of his peculiar personality. He depicted Roosevelt enthusiastically but neutrally, with few exceptions. Roosevelt made this easy to do because of how public he made his life: befriending countless journalists, having written thousands upon thousands of letters, and consistently journaling from a very young age.

I especially enjoyed his youngest years: traveling with his family, the boundless energy, the early fascination with ecology, and more. I attended Harvard with him, where he began to stand out amongst his peers, grieved with him over the death of his parents, his wife, his brother and sister-in-law. I rode West with him through the Badlands becoming a cowboy, rallied with him for justice in the Civil Service Reform, prowled the streets of New York in the middle of the night as the Police Commissioner, prepared and potentially provoked war as Assistant Secretary to the Navy, only to head the Rough Riders and lead out in battle amidst the jungles of Cuba. I returned with him to take the Governorship of New York, quickly succeeded by the Vice-Presidency, and only months later, the day in which he became the youngest President of the United States, following the assassination of William McKinley. That is where this book ends. To read more (as I will) you can follow him through the Presidency and the after years of his life.

If you enjoy biographies, this is a fantastic one, having won both the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award, as well as being selected by the Modern Library as one of the top 100 nonfiction books of all time. I enjoyed every hour of it.

Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

51+5EHbLWwL._SX319_BO1,204,203,200_ I chose to go through this book with my Bible study group. I enjoy Tim Keller and this was a subject I needed to delve into.

I came to this book in some desperation. I believe a number of things that are not evidenced by my daily life. We all feel this to some extent. For me, prayer is the area of my life that least resembles what I believe. Insofar as I am able, I’ve had to ask myself Is it really belief? Part of me thinks and feels in black and white. We believe something, we act in accordance. If the action is not there it is because true belief hasn’t taken place- doubt is in the mix. The other part of me knows all too well that the spirit can be willing and the flesh still weak. This is the murky condition in which I opened this book to read and to work out these inconsistencies alongside some others. If you are one of those others, thank you for the patience, the honesty, and the safe place you have been each Tuesday night this past semester. I know some weeks I came ready to fight and at other times, clearly indifferent.

If I was hoping to get some clear answers, this was not the book. Luckily, that wasn’t what I was looking for. I tend to find wanting the man or woman who has all the answers. I was looking for help- a space and a people and a guide to help me wrestle. This book was the guide, and I recommend it wholeheartedly. But if you really want to dive deep, I would recommend reading this with at least another person to robustly discuss it with. Within some bounds, Keller is open to several different methods of prayer and gives the reader a multitude of different tools. This widened my natural understanding of prayer and gave me the freedom to pray differently than I have historically.

One of the early questions we discussed as a group was How did you learn to pray? Did your parents teach you, did you only hear prayer from the pulpit, or was it at school? We all had widely varying answers, coming from a multitude of different backgrounds religiously, but the bottom line was we weren’t taught. Prayer is not something usually taught. It is something you watch and try to copy, but not directly instructed. I can understand some reasons for this, but overall, it seemed to have negatively affected many of us in the room to have never had any instruction. In that way, this book was helpful without being too narrow on how one should pray.

If you enjoy Luther, Calvin, or Augustine, then you will particularly appreciate some of the history of thought surrounding Christian prayer. It was a bit long, and toward the end, I was just ready to be done with it. My biggest critique of the book was that it took 300 pages to give instructions for how to pray, how not to pray, and extensive examples of prayer that would take significant amounts of time (some of the referenced theologians had the habit of praying for three hours a day). This seemed in stark contrast to the Lord’s Prayer, which was Jesus’ answer to the plea teach us to pray. The Lord’s Prayer: a simple, short, direct, thoughtful, unsophisticated prayer. To Keller’s credit, not all of the methods required an hour or more, he encouraged the reader to start small, and raised up the Lord’s Prayer as the ultimate example. Even still, one could come away from such reading overwhelmed and a bit disheartened. This does not, for me anyway, override the amount of helpfulness the book contained. And based on our group’s reflection on never having been taught how to pray, its existence is absolutely necessary.

The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

Ivan I bought this to read to my five-year-old. She is creative and loves story. She is, herself, a storyteller. She has the ability to be moved without losing it. Because of this, I’m able to read to her things that I would otherwise wait on until she’s a bit older, things I still haven’t read to my seven-year-old because she’s so sensitive she wouldn’t handle it well.

Again, there are no chapters. This one is written like snapshots in the daily life of Ivan. Some are a few sentences. Some go on for a few pages. He is a gorilla, after all. It took me some time to get Ivan’s voice right (since I was reading it aloud). I probably should have read further ahead of time to get a better feel for Ivan, who seems at first, rather aloof. But as the story progresses, the many pieces of Ivan begin to come together, and it is beautiful and touching. I will warn you though, that there are many sad parts, like when Ivan’s family is killed by humans, or when his best friend dies. It does, however, have a happy (but not too-happy) ending. Judge the appropriateness of these subjects for your children- you will know best. Penny Mae loved it, as did I.

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

Mrs. Dalloway I began this book in a study of point of view, specifically when an author has several POV characters. There are rules for this, and though Virginia Woolf breaks most of them, she is heralded for it. Artful prose, like poetry, is that balance between following form, and knowing when to break with the form. Being consistent enough with your reader that they can follow where you are leading them, but making exceptions at some points to allow you to take them by surprise. We readers want this too. We bore of the books that do exactly what we predict, and even those that do what we want.

It is beautifully written, and reflected the inner life of the mind well. I valued hearing the inner monologue and its relationship to the outward actions of each of these characters. It would often bring up a memory or a thought such as, “Yes, I’ve done that before,” or “Yes, I have felt that same way.” It allowed me to connect with the characters, especially those of which, if one hadn’t heard their inner monologue, one would have guessed they had nothing in common, or even made up their own simple reasons for why that character did what they did. It is equal parts novel and study in human nature.

The difficulty I had with it was the lack of structure. At first I was baffled. There are no chapters. It begins and does not stop until it ends. I knew, before reading, that it would only cover one day of time, but dozens of pages in and only 15 minutes into the day, having jumped from the thoughts in Clarissa’s head to (anyone!) the florist, the couple passing by on the sidewalk, then back to Clarissa- I was bewildered. It jumped, and it jumped, and it jumped again with no warning, no transition. Once, about 10% of the way in (I read it on a Kindle) I realized this is what the whole book would be like, and I was able to let go of every assumption and drift along the current of her thought. Some people would take to this style of writing better than others- it may be too scattered for some. I did find it hard to keep up with all of the characters- some she returned to over and over again, while others you would hear from for a few pages and then never again. You never knew if this person, whose thoughts you were hearing, would be a significant part of the story or not.

All in all, it is truly different from most books and beautifully written. And if you are nervous because you’ve seen the movie The Hours, fear not! It was barely resembled.

A Prayer Journal by Flannery O’Connor

~ Kate Friederichs ~ Leave a comment

31XnCDjYnqL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_A friend lent this to me. I have been interested in Flannery O’Connor. I have always journaled struggled with journaling and am trying to find a way to journal that is more doable, more profitable, and more satisfying both now and as I look back. So I have loaded my bookshelves with published journals by some of the greats. This was my first one to read. Like I said, I did’t know Flannery yet- this was our introduction. I had heard so much about this book, as well as her other stories, so truly they have had profound effects on people. But it did not leave a lasting impression with me. I wonder if this was not the place to begin with her. Who immediately jumps into your personal diary upon first meeting, anyway?? Had she been somewhat familiar, I may have read her words differently. I got stuck in the simplicity, and truthfully, the Catholicism. There was also an undercurrent of self-deprecation that didn’t seem helpful. (Compare to John Steinbeck’s use of, what I would call, productive modesty.) The last entry, though it spoke so truthfully, left me extremely disheartened. However, I am not done with her. I plan to read some of her short stories and see if that adds some perspective to her words. I’ll let you know if it does!