I was recently troubled by a conversation that occurred in a book club meeting I attend. We’d read The Five Wounds, a contemporary novel by Kirstin Valdez Quade about a dysfunctional, multi-generational Hispanic family. A participant expressed doubt about his ability to read Quade’s novel with proper understanding and "sensitivity," because he doesn’t share the author’s heritage or gender…
Read MoreIt’s a wild world we live in. Consumption runs rampant, our politics resemble a rumpus, and we are cordoned off from community. Max, the wild child from Maurice Sendak’s iconic Where the Wild Things Are, knows a thing or two about such predicaments. From the confines of his bedroom, Max travels to the wildest world of all, embarking on a mysterious, monster-filled journey which culminates in a reminder of hope and our heavenly haven…
Read MoreDisney claims The Snow Queen as inspiration for their Frozen movies. Spoiler alert: aside from a few frozen hearts melted by self-sacrificial love, the similarities cease. In fairytale form, The Snow Queen elucidates the true nature of innocence, the pitfalls of our fallenness, and the path into eternity. Hans Christian Andersen’s story leads us, with his characters Gerda and Kay, to die to the “sensibility” of the world and to discover the true essence of life…
Read MoreEvery redemptive story has a redeemer. This should go without saying — should. So often, worthwhile stories are interpreted in the shallows where they seem to satisfy modern affinities for personal affirmation. Their worthy depths wait, unsounded. Enter, The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Grey Bridge. This classic 1940’s tale by Hildegard H. Smith and Lynd Ward tells the story of a self-important little lighthouse who becomes despondent when an enormous suspension bridge is built by his side. It’s face-value message is that everyone has a pivotal role to play, no matter how small they might seem. Yet, this story contains an often-overlooked redeemer…
Read MoreOnce upon a time, there was a princess who was so beautiful that even the sun, who saw everything, was bemused by her beauty every time he shone down upon her. On hot days, she liked to go sit near a cool well on the edge of a dark wood by the castle, take out her favorite plaything—a golden ball—and pass time by throwing it in the air and catching it again. One day, the golden ball dropped and fell into the well instead of into the girl’s hands. The well was deep, deeper than the princess could fathom, and her golden ball was lost forever. She began to cry and cry (which is also a legitimate way to pass time)…
Read MoreI find absurdity hilarious. It’s dark–my husband could use your prayers–but is there anything funnier than an existential paradox? Consider an example I have been pondering recently: Shakespeare. We hold him in such awe. We teach his work throughout the curriculum, hoping to instill some small fraction of his eloquence and wisdom in our students. We study his kings to inform our political philosophy. We study his comedies to understand love. We study his tragedies to shape our moral bearings. We study his humor…
Read MoreIn Holy Sonnet III, Donne find himself in a state of violent and prolonged grief, yet unable to cry. He marks the tortuous effects of this condition, even as he admits responsibility for it. Speaking of tears as if they spring from a limited cask, he creates an image of his irresponsible and wasteful usage, which has left him with a water shortage when he most has need of the relief such “showers of rain” would afford him…
Read MoreThe use of language in any context rests on a single and essential tenet: words mean. And not only that, they mean something particularly. When anyone writes or speaks, they trust utterly, even if unconsciously, that they can, to someone who speaks their language, be understood.
Read MoreDonne begins this meditative sonnet by giving himself up to God, an act which, he maintains, feels appropriate in consideration of the various titles he possesses and their diverse implications. “As due by many titles I resign / Myself to thee, O God…” He catalogues these appellations..
Read MoreIn An Experiment in Criticism, C. S. Lewis suggests that every work of literature is both Logos (something said) and Poiema (something made). What he means is that each work not only communicates an idea, but does so via form and technique; it is a creation of the hands, not just of the mind. “As Logos,” Lewis writes, “it tells a story…As Poeima, by its aural beauties and also by the balance and contrast and the unified multiplicity of its successive parts, it is an objet d'art, a thing shaped so as to give great satisfaction” (Lewis 132). This suggestion leads me to wonder whether Logos and Poiema can exist independently in stories, or if you can have one without the other…
Read More“Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?” questions Donne in this, his first Holy Sonnet. Using a poetic form that lends itself to question and answer, the poet poses the problem of personal sin even as he petitions his Creator for a solution. Will You allow Your own work to be compromised and destroyed? he asks. This provocative question recalls scriptures which proclaim the enduring nature of God’s work…
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