Empty. A wind blowing at nothing, unseen. That's exactly how Shadow of the Wind is. It takes no stand on anything. it vacillates back and forth between beautifully written and crude. Ever shifting, ever changing. not quite certain of itself. it's a coming of age novel and a mystery and a romance. It's such a waste, and similar to what I wrote about in Girl with a Pearl Earring. How empty Shadow of the Wind felt! Without any purpose to the story, without telling any truth about the human condition.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Shadow of the Wind
Empty. A wind blowing at nothing, unseen. That's exactly how Shadow of the Wind is. It takes no stand on anything. it vacillates back and forth between beautifully written and crude. Ever shifting, ever changing. not quite certain of itself. it's a coming of age novel and a mystery and a romance. It's such a waste, and similar to what I wrote about in Girl with a Pearl Earring. How empty Shadow of the Wind felt! Without any purpose to the story, without telling any truth about the human condition.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Middlemarch
For about a week before my Israel trip this summer, I looked through all my books and tried to sort out the ones I wanted to read. I had a stack of lighter reading and a stack of classics my dad gave me for Christmas. I had tried to read Vanity Fair with little success, read Portrait of a Lady (reviewed in this blog) and wasn't particularly keen on starting a new classic, which would take me months to read. But Middlemarch, by George Eliot, didn't look so bad, and I knew I wanted to expand my classics vocabulary. So I put Middlemarch in my "to read" pile, and resolved to bring it to the beach with me.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Lost Hero
Rick Riordan's new promise- two books a year!- had me skeptical about the quality of The Lost Hero. I mean, how much attention can you devote to a novel when you're writing 576 pages in so short a time, juggling two series', no less? In particular, after the plunge in quality of The Red Pyramid, Riordan's first book in the new series The Kane Chronicles, I thought he'd peaked with the conclusion of the Percy Jackson series. Not to mention that The Lost Hero is the first of a spinoff series of Percy Jackson, and really, how good could a spinoff be? Percy Jackson ended well, all were happy, the conflicts were all resolved- what more could Riordan write about?
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Poison Study
From time to time, I will pop into my freshman English teacher's room during break or after school to say hi, discuss the school year, my current English class and what I think of it. Usually, the talk turns to the book we're currently reading and why we love it, which leads to book recommendations and exclamations of excitement. We both devoured The Hunger Games Trilogy: she would find me to scream and exalt over the latest twist she'd come to in the plot. On the first day of school, fresh from finishing Mockingjay, I made a beeline for her room to thoroughly discuss our reactions to the book (to read those, look down one post!). In our chat, she mentioned another book I would enjoy: Poison Study, by Maria Snyder.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Mockingjay
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Blood Brothers
About a year and a half ago, my dad co-founded a non-profit organization to educate faith-based American leaders about the Israel-Palestine conflict. About once every two months, he takes influential American leaders over to the Holy Land, giving them a tour much richer than a typical pilgrimage to ancient, empty sites. The group meets with people of all different backgrounds- Israeli-Arabs, Jewish Israelis, Palestinian Muslims, Palestinian Christians. Government officials, non-profit owners, wealthy businessmen, community-center owners, farmers, workers. By the end of the week, the goal is to understand that each side has its rights and wrongs, has been wronged, has a claim to the land… and that taking one side or the other is detrimental and only serves to further the conflict.
I went on such a trip with my Dad this summer, eager to see what he does when he’s gone. I've seen the pictures he's taken, and heard the stories he's told, but none of the names or faces seemed real to me: they were just stories. The problem seemed distant to me, a high schooler who's more concerned about my social life than social injustice. But I was interested, if only because my dad has dedicated years to this and truly cares about the people embroiled in this conflict. We would go to Nazareth and Haifa in Galilee, Nablus, Romallah, Jerusalem, Hebron, and Bethlehem, all in a week, both in Israel and the West Bank.
Having next to no background knowledge on the subject, Dad gave me “homework” before I left: two documentaries (which I have yet to watch), and a book: Blood Brothers, by Elias Chacour. I started on the book first, thinking it was more portable, and therefore I could get it over with quickly. But once I started, I was mesmerized. Blood Brothers is no boring history of Israel for the past sixty years- instead, it’s the personal story of now Archbishop Elias Chacour, a Palestinian Christian who’s village of Biram was evacuated by the Israeli army in the late 1940s, and who has tirelessly worked for peace between Israelis and Palestinians for his whole life. It’s a fairly balanced perspective, neither pro-Israeli or pro-Palestinian (although it leans a bit towards Palestinians). After reading it, I was in awe of the life Chacour has lead, of the difference he had made in his community of Ibillin, on the thinking of others, and of his forgiveness of the Israelis, Mandela-like in it’s magnanimity. Imagine my excitement when I was told we would meet him Monday, our very first day in Israel!
Clutching Blood Brothers, I boarded the bus with the rest of the group, assuring them how much I admired Chacour, how amazing Blood Brothers was, and how excited I was to meet him. We drove from Nazareth to Haifa, a beautiful town by the Sea of Galilee. There, we entered a cool marble house, ascended the stairs to a large meeting room, and sat in wait of Chacour.
His entrance was modest, quietly shaking hands with the members of the group, but his words were anything but. His manner of speaking was surprising for an Archbishop: he’s witty, outspoken- sassy, in essence, although that isn’t a typical description of an Archbishop! He spoke clearly to us of the need for our solidarity in America. “If you have come here to be pro-Palestinian or pro-Israeli, if you have come here to take sides, I hope you have a nice trip, enjoy your time, but go home and don’t do us any more harm. But if you’ve come here and are willing to stand in solidarity with both, we need your help. Come be pro-Palestinian and pro-Israeli.”
This actually sums up the entire trip, the purpose behind the work my dad does. It was a great way to kick off the point of views we were yet to hear; the touchstone and solid foundation to which we would compare everything we heard from this point forward. And believe me, when so many different views are all compelling and all logical, it becomes very difficult to sort out everything. For instance:
In Ramallah, a West Bank town where many higher Palestinian officials are based, we met with Hanan Ashrawi, a remarkable woman who has fought for women’s rights for years and years, who is very knowledgeable and influential not only in her own country, but in the USA (she also has a Ph.D. from the University of Virginia!). She talked at length of the difficulties women in the Gaza strip have as the government now requires women to cover their heads when they go out in public, and how the public is resentful. She talked of the need for a two-state solution, that the USA must help in negotiations by supporting Israel and Palestine, by encouraging both sides to enter into negotiation there. And she spoke of how the basic human dignity of the Palestinians is violated by the Israeli military occupation of the Palestinian Territories. Ashrawi was compelling, feminine and powerful. She shared with us the stories of her children, who had been raised there but went to the USA for college. One of her daughters married while in America, and while pregnant, wanted to go back home to visit her parents. The Israelis refused to give her a visa, saying that "Jerusalem was no longer the center of her life," even though she had grown up there, her entire family lived there, it was her home, her ancestors had lived there- but because she was away for four years, she was not allowed back.
Two days later, we met with Dani Dyan, the head of the YESHA council, or the settler movement, in Jerusalem at the famous King David Hotel. After Israel took control of the West Bank and Gaza in the 1967 Six Day War, Israelis began moving into these areas and establishing "settlements," which essentially makes a two-state solution difficult. There are settlements deep in the West Bank, and the problem of what to do with them is one of the biggest obstacles to a two-state solution. A town called Hebron in the West Bank is a good example of this. For centuries, Jews and Arabs lived together in Hebron, a town of deep significance to both because this is where the Tomb of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob and Leah are all located. When European Jews, with different customs, dress, and languages began arriving there in the early 1900s tensions arose. In 1927, there was a false rumor that Jews were trying to take over the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Hearing this, several Palestinians in the Hebron area turned on the Jews of Hebron and brutally massacred 67 of them in 1927. The Jews left the village, but returned decades later, after the 1967 War, reclaiming the land of their forefathers who were murdered. About 60 families now live in the center of the town, at the cost of shutting down around 1,000 Palestinian shops, and creating streets which only Jews can be on. The town is, in effect, run by the Israeli army, divided cleanly between Jewish settlers and Palestinian. To get to the Palestinian parts of town, we had to go through a "checkpoint," meaning our passports were checked by the military and we had to walk through a scanner.
Friday nights in Jerusalem are unusually silent and peaceful, no cars or buses driving by. This is because of the holy Sabbath, the shabbat. For our shabbat, the group went to a local synagogue for services. The rooms were crowded with all ages, from the elderly to toddlers, all singing beautiful traditional Jewish songs of worship. Everyone knows these songs by heart, sings them all together in one beautiful, shouting chorus of praise and harmony. After the service, we split up into groups of two and ate the special shabbat meal with members of the synagogue. My dad and I ate with a family originally from New York, who were incredibly welcoming and gracious in opening their home and delicious meal to us! It was one of my favorite nights of the trip, as we discussed their everyday lives in the midst of conflict. Their devout faith resonated deeply throughout the evening: God was so real to them, and the complex rituals of the dinner were so important to them because of their deep symbolism. They were not simply going through the motions; they were thinking of what they did. It was a night of much laughter, delicious food, fascinating religious discussion, and stories of everyday life. They are a family I will never forget.
We visited Bethlehem Bible College in Bethlehem and heard of the work they're doing in the community, educating Christians and Muslims alike, preparing Christians for a very real vocation in the Holy Land. They just added a new building, with classrooms and a theater, to be shared with the community around them. It's a great ministry of love that's really neat to hear about. Directly from there, we visited Sister Sophie's orphanage, next to the Sisters of Charity Hospital, filled with beautiful babies from 2 months old to 5 years old. Sister Sophie loves these children, as do all the people who work there. They are so committed to creating a loving environment and finding a loving home for every child. It's vital work, requiring a lot of sacrifice- on the day we visited, the orphanage had been without running water for 25 days, as had many others in Bethlehem, due to the fact that water will shut off unexpectedly there. In the heat of August, water is vital, and they don't have easy access to it.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The Help
I started seeing it everywhere. At first, it only appeared at the pool, in the hands of one woman sunbathing. Then, I saw it at my piano studio: two ladies opening it whenever their child was in a lesson. At a visit to Borders, where it was prominently featured. Finally, it reached the hands of my neighbor and good friend, with a gold embossed cover. The Help, it was simply titled. What a mysterious title! As my good friend put it, "It could have been some spiritual help book, or some wierd thing about divine intervention." But my other good friend insisted, "Abby, read it. It is the best book I've ever read."
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Spider and Fly
Written by the Deatherage family for John and Mary Kay Turner
July 2010
There once was a fly who buzzed in the house
(yes, the one where we caught the mouse)
its wings beat fast, it bumped into the glass
and it drove the whole family nuts, oh yes
it drove the whole family nuts.
There once was a spider who patiently spun
A web in the corner that sparkled with sun
It sat unperturbed, the web undisturbed,
And backed up in wait of its prey, oh yes,
It backed up in wait of its prey.
Then suddenly the fly hit the window and fell
It plummeted down with an insect’s small yell
And fell in the trap, the web that would wrap
Its silvery strands o’er the fly, oh yes,
Its silvery strands o’er the fly.
Expectant and hungry, the spider stood by,
Watching the misery of the poor fly
When the spider came running, the fly with great cunning
Did flap and twitch his trapped wings, oh yes
Did flap and twitch his trapped wings.
Then suddenly with a great effort and heave,
The fly shot forward, desperate to leave
At last cried, I’m free! But ‘twas not meant to be
The fly snapped back into the web, oh yes,
The fly snapped back into the web.
The captive twitched and buzzed in great panic,
At the thought of the spider, cruel and manic
The cause seemed lost, at too great a cost,
But the story had not finished yet, oh yes,
The story had not finished yet.
The spider with joy thought, “the victory’s won!”
But suddenly the fly’s bindings fell, undone
The fly tumbled out with a gleeful shout
The jubilant captive set free, oh yes,
The jubilant captive set free!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Peace Like a River
Since the day before school officially let out, the Deatherage family has been traveling together. We loaded up our big, color-changing Suburban and drove across the very long state of Tennessee until we reached Fifty-Six, Arkansas, the town where my dad grew up. My uncles, aunts, third cousins, great aunts, and great uncles came in from all over the country for the Family Reunion. We all converged with a great crush of hugs and kisses and exclamations, “Abby, is that you? You’re so big now!” “Little Zachary, the last time I saw you, you were only this big!” For the family I don’t know very well, the reunion provides a very cool time to get to know them. For the family I’ve grown up with, know, and love, the unconditional love is so soothing to be surrounded by. There’s no pressure on me to be cool, or funny, or fun to be with. I’m simply myself. That’s the best kind of family you can have.
Now, the six Deatherages are in Wyoming, tucked in a little house within the Tetons on Triangle X Ranch. It’s beautiful, majestic country, unspoiled by human development. The ranch sits in a glacier-made valley, surrounded by bunches of sage-brush and trees. As I write this, I can see rocky, jagged mountains, snow clinging to their peaks. They hang in the sky, wisps of clouds surrounding them, and seem all too divine to be a part of this rugged earth. Horses graze on the other side of me. Real cowboys stride past, confident, drawling, competent.
Surrounded by such country, who could resist writing about cowboys? Leif Enger, the author of Peace Like a River, lives in Montana, which I’m certain is just as beautiful. To me, it’s no small wonder that both of his books have maintained a delicious flavor of the true Western spirit. While not outwardly an actual outlaw, cowboy showdown Western, Peace Like a River resonates with adventure and romance. The Land family is the central focus of the novel: Swede, the youngest, is spunky, bright, and forceful. Reuben, the narrator, has weak lungs, and as a result is one of the weakest in the family. Though older than Swede, he follows her lead meekly. The oldest is Davy, handsome, headstrong, and cocky. And the cornerstone of the family is the Dad, a man of amazing faith, who walks with God in the same way Enoch was said to do in the Old Testament. Little miracles happen with him around, but they don’t make the Land’s life perfect. In fact, it ends up just the opposite when Davy goes to jail for shooting two boys, out for revenge on the Land family. When he escapes from jail, the family sets out after him on a literal and figurative journey of faith.
Peace Like a River is one of those books you just want to luxuriate in. I read each sentence carefully, just because Enger’s language is so beautiful. His descriptions are innovative, fresh, and beautiful, and his prose clear and figurative at the same time. You’re not drowning in metaphor, but swimming through a clear pond as you read. And the characters and so enjoyable and real. Swede is probably my favorite, though she rivals Roxanna. On a side note, Swede aspires to be an author, and we’re treated to some of her poems, which are excellent! Enger should have been a poet! Swede’s verses are clever, and so is her dialogue. The family feels like your own, like the cousins you always look forward to being with. And if that’s not reason enough to read it, it’s also a book I feel I could analyze forever and still not grasp the depth.
Strong themes resonate through the text; some are of family, of that binding love and “through-thick-and-thin” commitment. Reading this during the family reunion only served to strengthen my notice of this particular theme. Dovetailing family is forgiveness: the Land family has to deal with the consequences of Davy’s actions and forgive him, as well as those out to capture him. And the strong thread, twining everything together, the solid foundation of the story, is faith. The Land family’s faith supports them through every problem they encounter, and Enger’s portrayal of their faith is realistic. He doesn’t assume or imply that because of their faith, they are shielded from every bad thing. He simply shows a family walking in faith in the good and the bad. It’s something I love about the book, an accurate and encouraging example of real-life faith.
Beautiful in it’s language, depth, and clever characters, Peace Like a River’s element of faith is the best aspect of the book and a compelling Christian example of walking in faith. Reading it, God become near and powerful, not a distant majestic power. Although the characters are fiction, I see them as a role model for living in faith in daily life. What must it feel like to wake up every single morning knowing that only God can control your day? Isn’t that how we should feel every single day? I can only say that as I walk in my faith, Peace Like a River will remain a beautiful example to me of true faith.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Girl with a Pearl Earring
One of my best friends and I love to watch Jane Austen-y movies together. From sixth grade on, I became obsessed with Pride and Prejudice or The Importance of Being Earnest, and my friend quickly fell in love with them when I introduced them to her about 2 years ago. Since then, we make a point of watching these movies together. One day, on iTunes, I got a bit carried away watching movie trailers, clicking through the "related movies" section, until I found a trailer for Girl with a Pearl Earring. I eagerly texted my friend after watching it, knowing this was one we had to watch. It turned out, she had it sitting in her basement, so we started watching it one day.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Memory Keeper's Daughter
I am a lefty. It's not something I define myself by, or an interesting fact I would share about myself, but somehow, people will undoubtedly notice and comment on the fact. When I was in kindergarten until second grade, learning to form letters and numbers, teachers would attempt to teach me how to grip my pencil or form my letters the right way, not backwards. During this time of my life, I got a lot of comments on my left-handedness from classmates. The most memorable one was in second grade, when a know-it-all told me that being left-handed meant I had a twin in the womb, but he or she died during the pregnancy.