Alison's April Reviews

Mornings Like This: Found Poems, by Annie Dillard.
A found poem is shaped from a collection of words or phrases found in one text. According to Dillard, she has not added any words to the source sentences and phrases that make up the poems in this collection. She may have altered their shape, order, or dropped a word here and there, but she didn’t add anything. Thus there are poems such as “I Am Trying To Get At Something Utterly Heartbroken,” as shaped from Vincent Van Gogh’s (translated) letters, or “Index of first Lines,” which is, actually, the index of first lines from The Penguin Book of Contemporary Irish Poetry and Poets from the North of Ireland. Some of them, like “Learning to Fear Watercolor” from Nicholson’s Peerless Water Colors, instructions, 1991, don’t do anything for me, but about half of these “poems” seem comfortable in the genre.

Rhyme’s Reason: A Guide to English Verse, by John Hollander
This is, hands down, the ultimate layman’s guidebook to English verse forms. For anyone who keeps forgetting the difference between a villanelle and a sestina (like me), or who needs a quick refresher course on the difference between anapests and dactyls, look no further. What is remarkable about this book is that Hollander, in the process of describing what a ballad is, for example, does his describing by using the verse form itself. His description of a villanelle is one of the most brilliant renditions of the villanelle I’ve ever seen. This guy was a real genius. I’m sure his friends looked at him like he was crazy when he decided to write a handbook of poetry in verse form.

Opened Ground: Selected Poems 1966 – 1996, by Seamus Heaney
Heaney writes accentual poetry, much like Hopkins did, with lots of alliteration. I enjoyed the poems, although many times Heaney speaks of things completely unfamiliar to me (like agriculture or Irish history) and uses distinctively Irish vocabulary (like “wain” or “gundogs”). I’m sure, however, that his poems communicate powerfully to his Irish readers. A few poems stood out to me, most notably, “Follower,” about a father now dependent on his once-dependent son, and “Limbo,” about a mother who drowns her child. This collection demands a second reading and I look forward to making time to do that.

Dubliners, by James Joyce
In keeping with my Irish theme, I read this short-story collection from which the famous "Araby" comes. In these character-centered, painfully realistic stories, nothing really “happens.” With textbook Naturalism, middle-class Irish people live mundane lives and die unpretentious deaths. Which makes it all the more amazing to think that Joyce could turn “nothing” into such interesting reading. It just goes to show – write what you know. Interestingly enough, these stories were really on the edge when Joyce published them, although he got away with a lot by “showing and not telling.”

Christianity and Culture, by T. S. Eliot
This book encapsulates two famous essays by Eliot, “The Idea of a Christian Society,” and “Notes towards the Definition of Culture.” The first is a thought-provoking study on how Christianity might ideally mold our contemporary culture. Eliot was an idealist in many ways, but here, the proposition of an ideal Christian culture seems naïve. How could such a thing ever come about short of heaven? Eliot realizes this and covers his bases by saying that he has no false hopes about implementing a Christian culture here on earth. Call me a pragmatist, but an idealistic philosophy that cannot be implemented is little help here on earth other than to point us in the right direction. This is not to say that I did not appreciate what Eliot was saying; he made a number of good points, including the fact that democracy is not necessarily the perfect governmental system for a Christian culture.

In the second essay, Eliot attempts to reexamine the basic definition of “culture.” He aims to answer the question, what does it truly mean for a nation of people to be said to possess “culture?” At one point he offers a simple definition: “Culture [is] that which makes life worth living.” His main point in this essay, besides rescuing what had become a vague and all-inclusive word, is to assert that religion plays an integral role in the development and maintenance of any culture. “Any religion, while it lasts,” he says, “and on its own level, gives an apparent meaning to life, provides the framework for a culture, and protects the mass of humanity from boredom and despair.” 

While reading on a news blog today, I came across a comment which directly contradicts Eliot’s belief: “Do you actually need proof that religion is poisonous? Look at the world around you. Protestants believe the key to heaven is intolerance, the Church is mired in its own mediocrity suffering indelibly from indifference to intellectualism, Islam is being humiliated daily, called out for what it is a laughable tradition, Hindus want to arrest Richard Gere... “

Sadly, this is what the world thinks of religion and Christianity in particular – it’s no use and in fact is detrimental to society. These essays by Eliot (who was at one time friends with Bertrand Russell and who certainly dealt with comments like the one above) are just as relevant now as they were sixty years ago.

Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, by Roddy Doyle
To continue in the Irish vein, I picked up this little book, which does a strikingly good job of getting into the mind of a 10-year-old boy as he deals with the typical trials of boyhood and his parents’ increasingly adverse relationship. One scene in particular stood out to me when, after his ma and da have a fight one evening, little Paddy forces himself to stay up all night, convincing himself that this will keep them from fighting again. He even goes into the bathroom and pours cold water on his pajamas so he won’t get too comfortable and fall asleep. This is a bittersweet coming-of-age story with a healthy (though sometimes foul-mouthed) dose of Irish realism. It won the Booker Prize in 1993.

The Little Friend, by Donna Tartt
This long and poetic novel describes a family ruined by the death of the oldest child, a boy named Robin. And that’s in the very first chapter, so I’m not spoiling anything. The remainder of the story follows Robin’s youngest sister, Harriet, as she boldly and rambunctiously aims to find and punish Robin’s killer. In the process, she rubs shoulders with some of the most memorable characters of all time. In many ways, it reminded me of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Both stories are told from the point of view of young tomboyish girls. Also, both novels are set in the South (Lee’s story takes place in Alabama, Tartt’s in Mississippi). And both authors deal with themes like racial prejudice and the true nature of the human spirit. But the books are different, too. The Little Friend is not as tightly-written as To Kill a Mockingbird and its ending is certainly not as triumphant. However, even though I love To Kill a Mockingbird, in many ways I felt that The Little Friend portrayed humanity even more truthfully. Yes, the bad people get what’s coming to them, but the “good” people aren’t quite as “good” as they might seem. People, deep down, are not inherently good — they’re inherently bad. Some would say that’s a cynical view of life, but in reality, “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” Overall, I enjoyed The Little Friend and believe it’s earned a place on the bookshelves of good Southern literature.

Comments

[Desiree]

I just had to post a quick comment to congratulate you on another great month of reading. Thanks for taking the time to post your reviews!