(Again, all of these are available via your typical online sellers, but I encourage you to go to your local Catholic bookstore, online Catholic retailer, or direct from the publisher instead.)
Over 40 saints’ lives,written at a middle-school reading level.
I. Saints are People Who Love Children St. Nicholas,St. John Bosco, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, Blessed Gianna Beretta Molla
Saints Are People Who Love Their Families St. Monica,St. Cyril and St. Methodius, St. Therese of Lisieux,Blessed Frederic Ozanam,
Saints Are People Who Surprise OthersSt. Simeon Stylites,St. Celestine V,St. Joan of Arc,St. Catherine of Siena
Saints Are People Who Create St. Hildegard of Bingen,Blessed Fra Angelico,St. John of the Cross,Blessed Miguel Pro
Saints Are People Who Teach Us New Ways to Pray St. Benedict,St. Dominic de Guzman,St. Teresa of Avila,St. Louis de Monfort
Saints Are People Who See Beyond the Everyday St. Juan Diego, St. Frances of Rome, St. Bernadette Soubirous, Blessed Padre Pio
Saints Are People Who Travel From Home St. Boniface, St. Peter Claver, St. Francis Xavier, St. Francis Solano, St. Francis Xavier Cabrini
Saints Are People Who Are Strong Leaders St. Helena, St. Leo the Great, St. Wenceslaus, St. John Neumann
Saints Are People Who Tell The Truth St. Polycarp, St. Thomas Becket, St. Thomas More, Blessed Titus Brandsma
Saints Are People Who Help Us Understand God St. Augustine of Hippo, St. Jerome, St. Patrick, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Edith Stein
Saints Are People Who Change Their Lives for God St. Ambrose, St. Gregory the Great, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Ignatius of Loyola, St. Camillus de Lellis, St. Katharine Drexel
Saints Are People Who Are Brave St. Perpetua and St. Felicity, St. George, St. Margaret Clitherow, St. Isaac Jogues, The Carmelite Nuns of Compiegne, St. Maximilian Kolbe
Saints Are People Who Help the Poor and Sick St. Elizabeth of Hungary, St. Vincent de Paul, St. Martin de Porres, Blessed Joseph de Veuster
Saints Are People Who Help In Ordinary Ways St. Christopher, St. Blaise, St. Anthony of Padua, St. Bernard of Montjoux
Saints Are People Who Come From All Over the World Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha, St. Paul Miki, Blessed Peter To Rot, Blessed Maria Clementine Anuarite Nengapeta
Yes, yes, I know Word on Fire has their big, beautiful children’s Bible, and yes, its existence has, indeed, tanked the sales of this book, but here it is, anyway!
(Organized according to where these stories appear in the Mass readings during the liturgical year. Generally.)
Division was, of course, mourned. While there might be various areas in which Catholics would be divided from each other (and have throughout history), the discussion came to rest on matters of devotional and spiritual practice. In short – what about these Zoomers wearing veils, praying the rosary and going to Adoration?
(Before I get going, let me say that Adubato is a measured and fair-minded interviewer.)
Martin had no criticism for anyone, spoke of his own love for Adoration and the rosary, and alluded to (according to him) lightly worn differences in his own Jesuit house between younger priests who celebrate Mass with formality and attention to detail and older priests who…not so much.
The conclusion was, essentially…why can’t we all just get along? And if we talk more across our bubbles and silos, we probably can!
Which is, of course, true. And I would suggest, first of all, that normie Catholics do just that. Yes, parishes experience division and parishes can definitely take on a vibe one way or the other that attracts or repels adherents with specific preferences, but when you live on the ground, as opposed to online or in professional religious circles, “division” is much less evident and yes, people do talk and work and minister together.
What was unsurprisingly lacking in the conversation, though, was an acknowledgment that intolerance of particularly-coded devotional practices isn’t accidental. The conversation painted a picture in which natural human characteristics of tribalism, disdain of the different, an unwillingness to listen to others – and nothing more – is the primary factor shaping this landscape of “division.”
Which is, of course, ingenuous and even dishonest.
I’m not going to bore you with one more long list, but the fact is that these “traditional” – coded practices were discouraged, mocked and banned for decades. We were told that they were relics of medieval sensibilities that no longer expressed the needs of Modern Man.
And, in some circles and some chanceries, still are.
There, as in this case, speaking of all of this as if it’s a weird accident of history. Who knew?
Not that bringing this angle of the truth – that is this division has been created by decades of formation, institutional enforcement everywhere from seminaries to parishes, and yes, even papal attitudes – into the discussion isn’t going to change much, but every bit of honesty helps us as we attempt to speak to each other and yes….get along.
Last month, Mesick Consolidated Schools banned digital devices in its elementary school of about 250 students. The decision wasn’t an agonizing one. The ban came at astonishing speed, almost overnight, after a conversation between Mesick Superintendent Jack Ledford and Jewett Principal Elizabeth Kastl.
Ledford recalled asking Kastl how much teachers read to students in grades K-5. And he recalled her reply: “That has almost vanished.” Kastl’s response helped seal the deal.
Teachers had to have students off devices by the end of the week. School printers went into overdrive. Then the district went cold turkey.
This is fantastic to see, but as I said on my X post – the article focuses on the impact of screens on reading, while it seems to me just as important – if not more, really – is the fact that in a 1:1 chromebook school, almost all work is done on the laptops, so students are not writing – physically writing any longer. They’re not taking tests on paper. They’re solving problems on paper, thereby severing that connection between brain and body which more and more studies are showing is so important in retention.
And, as I’ve written before – some of us, like me, know this from our own lives. My retention from reading physical books is much stronger than it is from a screen – say, reading a book on the Kindle app on my mini Ipad. I do it, yes – when I travel, and at night – but I miss the physicality of the experience, when my memory of a detail is connected to where I read it on the page, and probably, if you dove into my consciousness, how I was sitting, and what the book felt like in my hands.
Pointing and calling is one of the mechanisms that ensures consistency in the reliance on people’s decision-making abilities. Users view an object, point at it, call out its name, and confirm the information by hearing their own voice. This sequence of actions focuses attention on one thing, ensuring a high standard of verification. When people grow accustomed to performing repetitious tasks, they can become negligent and are easily distracted. The pointing and calling method, developed in workplaces over many years, is a practical means to prevent this.
Maybe you do this in your own life. I do. If I want to remember to do something – or buy something at the store, or if I have an appointment later in the day I’m liable to forget – I will say aloud, to my bemused kids, if they are around, “Okay, I’m saying this out loud so I don’t forget it. Buy paper towels.“
Since we’re talking books, I’ve continued on my tear of reading mediocre recent releases. My purpose: to inspire myself, negatively. If this can get published….keep going…maybe you can, too.
(Each book – physical copies from the library – read in the course of an evening. As I say – some scroll and stream. I read. I mean, not that it’s expanding my mind in a way that’s far superior to Bridgerton or whatever – I’m not making that claim. Just that this is my main form of entertainment, it does have elements of entertainment, I’m always glad to expand my mental landscape, and yes, I am learning, albeit in a via negativa kind of way.)
I saw Meet the Newmans in a bookstore in Lander, Wyoming a couple of months ago, read the blurb and thought that the setting – early 60’s, entertainment industry – might be fun to live in for a few hours. I didn’t buy it, but then when I returned, I looked up reviews, which were overwhelming unenthusiastic. So, I mentally crossed that one off. But then, well, there it was on the shelf, so…why not?
For two decades, Del and Dinah Newman and their sons, Guy and Shep, have ruled television as America’s Favorite Family. Millions of viewers tune in every week to watch them play flawless, black-and-white versions of themselves. But now it’s 1964, and the Newmans’ idealized apple-pie perfection suddenly feels woefully out of touch. Ratings are in free fall, as are the Newmans themselves. Del is keeping an explosive secret from his wife, and Dinah is slowly going numb—literally. Steady, stable Guy is hiding the truth about his love life, and the charmed luck of rock ‘n roll idol Shep may have finally run out.
When Del—the creative motor behind the show—is in a mysterious car accident, Dinah decides to take matters into her own hands. She hires Juliet Dunne, an outspoken, impassioned young reporter, to help her write the final episode. But Dinah and Juliet have wildly different perspectives about what it means to be a woman, and a family, in 1964. Can the Newmans hold it together to change television history? Or will they be canceled before they ever have the chance?
The set-up and the characters are stock, checking identity boxes from top to bottom. The feminism theme is lamely worked out, primarily between characters spouting talking points and a particularly awkward inorganic, cliched set piece in which various women are brought together, recite their parts (the Black woman, the servant, the privileged white women) and then strip down to their underwear and race to take a swim in a lake somewhere in the LA suburbs.
And there you go, consciousness raised in the space of three weeks, at the end of which, husband awakes from coma and somehow is able to come home from the hospital right away – and even get back to the studio – with little problem.
And…some anachronisms. A character highlights Zora Neale Hurston, who had died in 1960 and was actually forgotten by that time, interest in her work revived only in the early 70’s by Alice Walker’s efforts.
The possibility of this sort of liberated scenario being worked into a television show in 1964 is highly unlikely – which on one level is fine, since it’s a novel and fiction and a fantasy – but on the other hand irritates because in some ways it just doesn’t take into account how impossible it would have been for anyone involved in television, no matter how liberated to consider even the vaguest reference to an orgasm.
Eliot and his wife Claire have been happily married for nearly four decades. They’ve raised two children in their sleepy Connecticut town and have weathered the inevitable ups and downs of a long life spent together. But eight years after Claire was diagnosed with cancer, the end is near, and it’s time to gather loved ones and prepare for the inevitable.
Over the years of Claire’s illness, Eliot has willingly—lovingly—shifted into the role of caregiver, appreciating the intimacy and tenderness that comes with a role even more layered and complex than the one he performed as a devoted husband. But as he focuses on settling into what will be their last days and weeks together, Claire makes an unexpected request that leaves him reeling. In a moment, his carefully constructed world is shattered.
What if your partner’s dying wish broke your heart? How well do we know the deepest desires of those we love dearly? As Eliot is confronted with this profound turning point in his marriage and his life, he grapples with the man and husband he’s been, and with the great unknowns of Claire’s last days.
I’m going to go ahead and spoil this for you, so if you want to be surprised by the shattering dying wish, go away.
Her wish, quite simply, is that during her last days – which could be weeks or a few months, they’re not sure – her husband move out and her care be taken over by her two closest friends, Holly and Michelle.
He fights a bit, but then, because he loves her, accedes, and moves into Holly’s house, checking in once in a while.
(Everyone is retired or has taken a work buyout so they have the time and money to do this)
If you read Goodreads reviews of this book, you will encounter almost universal hatred for Claire. Elliot has done nothing wrong, she loves him, he’s done a good job taking care of her so far, but she’s pushing him aside, and worst of all, won’t explain why.
That was my initial reaction as well, but as I thought about it, I came to appreciate what Packer is doing here. There’s a mystery at the heart of sickness (“a foreign country”) and dying that is impossible to enter into, no matter how close you are to the one suffering. In a way, the veil Packer draws is a way of expressing that mystery.
And yes, a work of fiction describes a situation – and that situation might be frustrating. Here, the frustration lies in a lack of communication, even from Elliot’s side. We read and think why won’t they just talk to each other? Why isn’t he stronger? Well, perhaps that’s the point. This is who they are, and this is how they’re reacting in this situation.
I have to say though, what struck me in the reading is that Some Bright Nowhere is in a way a portrait of dying in a post-faith world. For the reason atheist Claire wants to die surrounded by her friends, is that a woman in her cancer support group died that way, surrounded by female friends and family, unofficial death doulas, giving not only support, but – and this is crucial and explicitly mentioned – meaning to the dying and death, and that way, of course, to her life as well.
Finally, on a lighter note.
One of the minor anachronisms of Meet the Newmans that bugged me, despite its smallness, was the mention, in 1964, of Post-It notes.
No way. I was absolutely certain Post-It notes didn’t come on the scene until I was in college and AH HA I was right!
What happened? Well, one guy at 3M had invented an adhesive that was easily disengaged without leaving residue. But he couldn’t figure out a use for it, set it aside.
A few years later, another guy at 3M had a problem. A slight, irritating problem. He sang in his church choir and marked the service hymns in the hymnal with bookmarks – which of course, regularly slipped out during rehearsals and services. He heard about the first fellow’s discovery, and asked if he could use it to create a, well, sticky bookmark. He did – and the rest is history!
(A history in which the product didn’t hit the consumer market until 1980, by the way.)
It’s the most famous line from Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman – and, no matter how notable or even how succinct a distillation of the play, it might also be the most pretentiously written.
Well, it still hits, especially coming from Laurie Metcalf, playing Willy Loman’s desperate wife, Linda.
And it still hits because it’s just…true.
Last week, I saw one of the preview performances of the Broadway revival of DOS. The show opens for real on April 9 and runs to early August. And yes, if you’re into theatre, are in New York City, and can swing it – I recommend it. It was an absorbing, exhausting and emotional evening, almost three hours of theatre that flew by.
(And “preview” in this context – well, they will be “previewing” for a month, but with an established play like this, it’s not like there’s a lot of tweaking that might happen with a musical or a new play. I’m pretty sure that what you see in March isn’t going to be too different from what you see in July. )
When I say “emotional,” yes – I mean emotional. Beginning midway through the first act, you could hear sniffles in the audience, and then coughs and by the end, sobs. The fellow sitting next to me, was, indeed, quite emotional through about 2/3 of the play.
I was struck by this, and wondered why. My tentative conclusions at the end.
When I saw that Nathan Lane would be playing Willy Loman, I was skeptical. The wacky Producers and Mouse Hunt guy? Timon? Nonetheless, based on Laurie Metcalf’s presence I decided it was probably worth it, and indeed it was. In fact, I came away surprised, because I connected more with Lane’s performance than with Metcalf’s. She was powerful, but her characterization seemed just a little less consistent.
Lee J. Cobb, Frederic March, Wendell Pierce and Dustin Hoffman (and others) have all played Willy Loman, so obviously there’s a wide range of interpretation. There’s no actorly canon – there are simply the words and the dilemma of delusion and hopelessness.
I found Lane’s portrayal – peacocky, rather than bombastic, fighting despair, but eventually overtaken by despair and yes, delusion – powerful and true.
What Nathan Lane gave us was a Willy Loman fighting for his life against the hostile, the indifferent, the contemptuous, against delusion – for three hours, and it was heartbreaking.
For the life of me, I don’t know how these actors – particularly the older pair – perform a show like this eight times a week. I’m serious when I say that near then end, I was actually concerned for Lane and what he was having to put into those final confrontations. I wasn’t surprised at all when none of the four principles came to the stage door. It’s hard to imagine that they ever would, after three hours of intensity like that, needing to be ready to get up and do it all again the next day – maybe twice.
The actors playing Biff and Happy were also strong, although I found Biff (Christopher Abbot) a little undefined in his characterization and on the other hand, Happy (Ben Ahlers) – too defined, but I am quite certain that’s because I only know Ahlers as Jack Trotter, clock-tinkering house servant on The Gilded Age. He has a very distinct affect and spoke much like his character on the show. Despite the fact that he did spend much of the first act shirtless (which he doesn’t, obviously, on The Gilded Age), it was hard for me to not see Jack Trotter up there. He also seemed…young? But he does have a young, elfin face which could, even without squinting, pass for someone in his mid-teens.
And for the record, I was pretty close there in the Winter Garden, a huge theater with a capacity of about 1500. I grabbed cheapish orchestra seats the morning of the show on a resale sight – I was maybe 6 rows from the stage, which is probably one of the reasons I was so stressed out by Lane’s exertions at the end – I could see it.
I’m no expert on Arthur Miller or Death of a Salesman, so don’t read on expecting any actually knowledgeable analysis.
But I was struck by the obvious emotional response to this play, and wondered about it. Is it just an inherently sad situation? That might be part of it, but there’s probably more.
Willy Loman is a disappointed, deluded figure. Is he a victim of heartless capitalism? I guess you could see it that way, but really any organization can become something that treats the human beings within it as dispensable.
(Solemnly intone “Especially in times like these” a chorus obligatory for any creative or critic to add these days. A reflex noted, I was delighted to see, in episode 1 of the new season of “The Comeback.” Thank you, Valerie. We needed that. Especially in times like these.)
But there’s more, of course.
It’s essentially about telling the truth – and living in truth, rather than delusion. Willy Loman’s sense of self is tied to his success, what others think of him and by extension, his sons’ success. We see him confronted by his limitations and the reality under the fantasies of how he’s seen, what he’s valued for, as well as his son’s lives. His past mocks and condemns him. In the end, he’s lost everything that’s kept him going on this earth, in this particular world – because most of it was simply not real to begin with – so what does he have to live for? Isn’t he worth more dead than alive?
It’s tragic, yes, a tragedy of miscommunication and non-communication and bluster and pretense. Attention must be paid cries Linda to her sons who are, in her mind, refusing to see the man their father really is, in his need, goodness and desperation. But whose fault is that?
So why was the young man next to me in tears for an hour? I didn’t ask, of course, but as I consider the themes of the play and how they worked themselves out in flesh and blood on the stage in front of us, I considered relationships between fathers and sons – between any parent and child, but particularly fathers and sons. I thought about our own feelings of being used and tossed aside. Of how we can be confronted with truth, long denied. Of the distance that can grow between our own interior qualities and the way that life – work, family, social interactions – can compel us to compromise, hide, and bury that goodness.
To sell out, maybe?
Perhaps that’s it: to sell out the best of ourselves for the sake of lesser goods, and when those are stripped away to find ourselves wondering why we’re here at all and why, for so long, we’ve avoided it all, refusing to pay attention.
….the medieval church considered 25 March to be the single most important date in history: it was both the beginning and the end of Christ’s life on earth, the date of his conception at the Annunciation and his death on Good Friday. To underline the harmony and purpose which, in the eyes of medieval Christians, shaped the divinely-written narrative of the history of the world, 25 March was also said to be the date of other significant events: the eighth day of Creation, the crossing of the Red Sea, the sacrifice of Isaac, and other days linked with or prefiguring the story of the world’s fall and redemption. The date occurs at a conjunction of solar, lunar, and natural cycles: all these events were understood to have happened in the spring, when life returns to the earth, and at the vernal equinox, once the days begin to grow longer than the nights and light triumphs over the power of darkness. The resonances of 25 March reached even unto Middle Earth, as Tolkien aligned the downfall of the Ring to this most auspicious of dates.
‘Lady Day in Lent’ is the springtime feast of the Virgin Mary….
One of the earliest is ‘Angelus ad virginem’, from the thirteenth or fourteenth century. This joyful, bouncing melody was evidently very popular, as its music survives in five medieval manuscripts and was even mentioned by Chaucer in The Canterbury Tales, where one of his characters sings it to his own accompaniment. In the twentieth century, its popularity grew again, and there are many modern arrangements of it for choir, with or without organ, and even for wind and brass ensemble.
She has a particular devotion to the Annunciation, and so has many posts centered on the visual art, poetry and music inspired by the event. I’m going to share a few with you.
A lovely post inspired by the apocryphal account that envisions Mary being raised as a child in the Temple, with a role in the weaving of the Temple veil – an image that has been absorbed into iconography of the Annunciation and theological meditation through the centuries – from this Byzantine object to contemporary music.
Rest, little guest, Beneath my breast. Feed, sweet seed, At your need. I took Love for my lord And this is my reward— My body is good earth, That you, dear plant, have birth.
Some details in the drawing come from legends of the infancy of the Virgin Mary. According to these traditions, Mary lived at the Temple from the age of three, devoting her time to prayer and study, and to spinning and weaving the purple veil for the Holy of Holies. This is why a spindle and distaff are leaning against her reading desk. Between the Angel and the Virgin is a vase filled with flowers: lilies, lilies-of-the-valley, and rose of Sharon. The first is a longstanding symbol of purity; the others are mentioned in the Song of Songs. St. Bernard once wrote of the Annunciation that the flower (Jesus) willed to be born of a flower (Mary), in a flower (Nazareth), at the time of flowers.
The Annunciation by Piermatteo d’Amelia, depicts a world that is fully Renaissance: a carefully constructed space, elegant architecture, and a new fascination with perspective and the geometry of vision. The tiled floor and the strong lines of perspective lead us toward a central doorway, opening onto a soft landscape of hills in the distance. Then we see the archangel Gabriel on the left gazing toward the Virgin Mary on the right. Between Gabriel and Mary we see the traditional symbols of the Annunciation: the white lilies, signs of purity, and above them the descending dove, representing the Holy Spirit.
At the centre of the composition, a ray of light from the Holy Spirit descends upon Mary. The closed passageway in the background to the left and the flask of pure water in Mary’s chamber symbolise her virginity. In the foreground, we see the Angel Gabriel alongside Saint Emidius, who holds a model of Ascoli Piceno—a town in Marche, Italy, of which he is the patron saint. It is not uncommon to see a local saint taking an active role in biblical events within religious art.
Several other symbolic elements enrich the scene. The apple in the foreground represents the forbidden fruit of Eden, serving as a reminder of sin, while the cucumber, delicately poised at the edge of the painting and directed towards the viewer, symbolises the reversal of sin—resurrection and redemption. Unlike other fruits or vegetables, cucumbers were believed in Medieval times to remain fresh for a long time, and because they grow from vines that regenerate year after year, they were linked to the idea of eternal life and resurrection.The peacock, often associated with immortality, reflects the ancient belief that its flesh never decayed.
On the bridge in the background, a man is seen reading a message handed to him by another man, delivered via the carrier pigeon in the cage beside the, a clever visual metaphor for the Annunciation itself. Around them, life in the town continues, oblivious to the momentous event unfolding before them. Only a small, innocent child, peering curiously around the corner, seems to take any notice. The rest of the world carries on as though nothing has changed, unaware that a new Christian era has begun in this very moment.
The angel and the girl are met. Earth was the only meeting place. For the embodied never yet Travelled beyond the shore of space.
The eternal spirits in freedom go. See, they have come together, see, While the destroying minutes flow, Each reflects the other’s face Till heaven in hers and earth in his Shine steady there. He’s come to her From far beyond the farthest star, Feathered through time. Immediacy Of strangest strangeness is the bliss That from their limbs all movement takes. Yet the increasing rapture brings So great a wonder that it makes Each feather tremble on his wings.
Outside the window footsteps fall Into the ordinary day And with the sun along the wall Pursue their unreturning way. Sound’s perpetual roundabout Rolls its numbered octaves out And hoarsely grinds its battered tune.
But through the endless afternoon These neither speak nor movement make, But stare into their deepening trance As if their gaze would never break.
I’ve read two novels over the past couple of days.
Before we get into it, let me once again explain my process here. It’s not always about serendipity and chance. I do have fiction, old and new, that are on my mental list and in my Gmail file of notes to myself called “Books to Read,” but a great deal of my fiction reading does indeed come from just browsing the “new release” shelf at the library, and there the decision is all about yes, cover, but of course also description.
Let’s just say that if a description includes phrases such as in a future world of chaos or slips through the veil of time or meets a strange creature….I’m out. Of course, that excludes much contemporary fiction, but not all.
I’ll admit that neither of the two below actually grabbed me, but I had my reasons. With Evensong, I saw that it had a vaguely religious element, the central characters were older women, and I’d read one of O’Nan’s books before – I don’t recall liking it much, but I thought there might be something there.
Hot Desk‘s cover didn’t appeal to me at all, nor did the description, not really – that subgenre of younger generation encountering and grappling with older artists is getting a bit tiresome. But….as I struggle (yes, struggle) to find a place in this literary world, I do like to read books that echo, even faintly, what I’m trying to do, just to see what works and what doesn’t, what publishers believe is worth their time and money.
Welp, I didn’t like either of them!
(Luckily, I knocked each one off in the time it takes you to bingewatch some Netflix slop. To each her own.)
Evensong: I found out that these are recurring characters in O’Nan’s fiction, and perhaps that impacted my engagement here, for I was pretty confused about this melange of older women who play bridge and help people. I’m guessing that there the writer brought an assumption of you know them already, which meant that they were introduced too quickly.
But more importantly, these women all spoke in the same voice and there was no physical description of any of them. I’m not huge into physical description as a writer myself, but when you’re centering an entire group of people, descriptions help the reader distinguish them.
Most importantly, as a person who’s about the age of this crew’s youngest member, I’ll say that this male author, despite the praise for his ability to do just that, has no particular skill in getting inside his female characters. It’s not bad or insulting – it’s just not real on any level.
Finally, the novel was episodic, with little central tension pulling the reader through.
Hot Deskwas a little better, with one huge flaw. It tries to do too much. The hook is that two publishers have merged, and are using a single office space, with employees rotating desk use and working from home throughout the week. So you have the romcom meet cute of a young male editor and a young female editor sharing the same desk, not meeting, being irritated at each other, and competing for the same estate of the same great just-dead, problematic male author (think Roth or Heller, mostly Roth.)
The story of that writer forms the other major plot thread: specifically the two women who, in their youth in the early 80’s, had been interns at the journal this author had started, formed a bond, experienced a break, and been impacted by this author’s choices.
Neither plot was spectacular, but the second one was by far more interesting, and could have been a standalone novel in itself. The silly romcom stuff was unnecessary and even a distraction. A book about editors could have used a stern editorial hand. Imagine that.
Oh, and in case you’re worried about my intellectual health, today it’s The Sun Also Rises, so calm down.
It’s interesting because the author gives the most critical assessment of Wilson’s book that I’ve seen. In discussion the story collection, he focuses mostly on issues of racism – and it’s a good primer on the issue up to this point.
I’ll just point you to a blog post I wrote a few years ago after reading a bunch of Hemingway stories that honestly shocked me for their racism. I briefly explore the difference between the two writers in terms on this matter, and conclude that Hemingway is more justifiably critiqued on this score (and why isn’t he?) because the rather terrible racist language is expressed in narration, not in characters’ language or internal voice. In Hemingway, his narrators regularly describe and characterize Black characters by the n-word, and describe their characteristics in those terms – as qualities or quirks specific to Black people – but not called Black.
Sunday 3/15: Project Hail Mary at the AMC Lincoln Square in NYC.
(It’s New York City, and movies open earlier there)
I’d arrived in the city early afternoon, stashed my bag at the hotel (back to the Leo House – hadn’t been there since before Covid Times), met a son for lunch in the upper West Side – he had long held a ticket for the 4:30 showing of the movie. I wasn’t planning on seeing with him, since I thought it would be impossible to get a ticket, but then I checked on the app the day before and yes there were a couple available – but I didn’t get them because I still didn’t know if I’d feel like going. But as we walked around, killing time, I decided..sure, why not…so we started checking for tickets, and after a bit, one popped up.
This theater is beautiful – each theater’s doorway is decorated in a distinctive style, reminiscent of the days when public spaces – including movie theatres – were artfully designed and constructed. The interiors, well, they are fine – just theatres.
The movie? I might write more about this later, but short version:
(Clears throat, prepares for pushback)
I’d not read this or any of Weir’s books. I didn’t see The Martian. I went into it about 80% cold. I like Ryan Gosling a lot – I mean, who can resist him? I didn’t have the highest expectations, nor the lowest. I was just there for the ride.
And it was…good. I mean, sure. I didn’t love it, though. Why?
Look, I understand that the tone of the book and the film is intended to meld science stuff, drama and humor. I get it.
I just felt that here, the balance was off – considering the stakes. Which is, you know, not just the destruction of the world, but…almost the entire universe. I just never really saw any kind of interior acknowledgment of this existential catastrophe.
Maybe it makes sense if I focus on one element. As I said, I knew nothing, and as the movie opened, and I saw the set-up – Grace awakening from hypersleep and not knowing who he was, where he was or why – I was immediately interested. I was invested in how this would unfold.
But the unfolding was disappointing. Again, I didn’t read the book (and movies must be taken on their own terms and understood by anyone, whether she read the book or not, as Movie Guy Son always reminds me), so don’t @ me telling me that well, in the book….
No, I just felt that Grace’s piecing together of his identity was superficial – there needed to be something more – reactions, conclusions drawn – tying the flashbacks and ship time together. Most importantly – some moment where the whole thing hits him – the gravity of it, the scope of it, his own relationship to this mission.
As the Vulture review put it, there needed to be 39% fewer jokes.
That said – I’m glad Project Hail Mary is going to be a monstrous success. It’s good entertainment, it’s hopeful and humane and – in case you haven’t heard – it’s absolutely free of vulgar language or even winking sexual messaging. I mean, if it had the latter, considering the context, that would be weird.
You can be glad something exists without being a superfan you know!
I’ll echo the commenters who are saying that perhaps the success of a hopeful, non-offensive movie will teach entertainment creators a lesson – but I’m not, well, hopeful on that score – considering that they can turn from this and take in the massive success – especially among young women – of HBO MAX’s soft-core gay male porn live action hockey hentai, Heated Rivalry – and will probably prefer to take their lessons from that.
Okay, what else?
This was long enough, so what I’m going to do is just tell you what else I saw over the past week, then return over the next day and chat about them:
They’re very good – Rodriguez is a professor at Samford, and his Instagram is worth a follow if you like Jazz, especially with a Latin streak. Unfortunately, jazz in Birmingham, Alabama is not for listening, but for background, so, unless you were in one of those chairs (I wasn’t – had to sit at the bar) – your experience was an auditory battle between the music and the espresso-tini sipping girlies.
(Last minute decision – I had forgotten about the production, and this was the last weekend. I said…okay, if Sunday morning I can go on StubHub or SeatGeek and get a good ticket for under X amount…I’ll go. And I did – orchestra for half price, basically – and I went. More, as I said, later.)
One of the earliest depictions of today’s Gospel story can be found in the Catacomb of Saint Callistus in Rome, dating from the early third century. This simple but powerful fresco may well be among the first images in the world showing Christ calling Lazarus out of the tomb. What is striking is how different Jesus appears compared to later Christian art. Rather than the familiar bearded figure, He is shown as a young, clean-shaven man with short hair, dressed in the simple tunic of a Roman citizen. Early Christians often portrayed Christ in this youthful way, emphasising His vitality. In the scene Jesus raises His hand and holds a thin rod (known as a virga) as He performs the miracle. This small rod symbolises divine authority and may deliberately recall the staff of Moses, through which God worked miracles in the Old Testament. Just as Moses struck the rock and life-giving water flowed in the desert, here Christ, with a gesture of authority, calls Lazarus out of death.
Link does not go to Amazon, although they sell it. I am so grateful for you purchasing this book anywhere , but most grateful if you do so from a brick-and-mortar Catholic bookseller.
Jesus had just demonstrated that he had more power than anything, even death. No person has that kind of power. Only God does. Only God can conquer death, and in Bethany that day, Jesus revealed that power. Death has no power over Jesus, and when we are friends with him, death and sin have no power over us, either. Jesus’ power over evil and darkness doesn’t begin at our tombs, though. When we sin, even a little bit, we choose death over life. Refusing to love or give or show kindness to others gives darkness a bit more power in our lives.
We were not made for this. We were made for light and love!
We can think of the Sacrament of Reconciliation as the moment when we, like Lazarus, are brought back to life by Jesus. Jesus stands outside the little tombs we live in—the tombs made out of selfishness, anger, sadness, and pain. He knows we are not lost forever, even if it seems like that to us. The worst sins and bad habits? Jesus has power over them. Jesus doesn’t want us to live in darkness. He wants us in the light with him, unbound—free and full of joy.
The book is structured around the liturgical year. In planning it, I asked myself, “When do most Catholic children and families encounter Scripture?” The answer is – in a liturgical context. This context is, in addition, expressive of the more general context in which all Catholics – and most Christians since apostolic times – have encountered, learned about, understood and embraced Scripture – in the context of liturgy, which is, in the most general terms, the context of the Church.
So the stories in the book are organized according to the liturgical season in which they would generally be heard, and the stories are retold with that liturgical context in view, as well as any specific and age-appropriate theological and spiritual themes – so, for example, here, the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
In the pre-Vatican II calendar – still used, of course, by those who celebrate the TLM and the Ordinariate, many Anglicans and even Lutherans, this fifth Sunday of Lent is called Passion Sunday and begins the two weeks of Passiontide.
I’ll begin with the Lutherans and Anglicans because, as I do with the issue of ad orientem, I think it’s important to situation the matter in a broader context, so that we can perhaps see that this is not just a niche issue for Certain Catholics, but does have, dare I say it – an ecumenical dimension.
Passiontide is a time of increased penitence. The Church has gradually prepared for the culmination of this holy season in Holy Week. Additional restraint is placed on the Church’s liturgy to prepare our hearts and minds for the solemn observance of our Lord’s Passion—and to prepare us for the imminent and immeasurable joy that awaits at the feast of the Resurrection. All of the Lententide liturgical omissions and restraints make for a more joyous celebration of the Resurrection of our Lord on Easter Sunday.
When you walk into the church for the next two weeks, you will notice something different. Most of our statues, as well as the crucifix above the tabernacle, will be covered in violet cloths. This has been the practice of the Church for many years and it happens during what is known as Passiontide. These are the final two weeks of Lent, beginning on the 5th Sunday of Lent. According to one resource I consulted, this practice of veiling images is meant “to serve as a stark and inescapable visual reminder that these two weeks are the most spiritually intense, solemn and mournful weeks of the liturgical year.” Instead of coasting through the final days of Lent, Passiontide invites us to double-down and so re-commit ourselves to fully embracing the Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.
I did see Weapons, but never wrote about it. I wasn’t impressed and thought Amy Madigan’s award-winning performance was cartoonish and no, not deserving of any award.
Speaking of movies, I did see Project Hail Mary in NYC on Sunday (beat you!) and will have thoughts when I post about the entertainment wing of the trip.
In this raunchy, over-the-top comedy, marketing executives Brad (Mark Wahlberg) and Elijah (Paul Walter Hauser) go “balls out” and pitch a bold full‑coverage condom sponsorship with the World Cup. After their drunken celebration in Brazil sparks a global scandal, they must outrun furious fans, criminals, and power-hungry officials to salvage their careers and make it home alive.
Prayed up? Balls up? Eh, what’s the difference, right?
Charlotte was Both 