My mother, my nephew, my gift of Out of the Silent Planet. 14 years ago today.

"She was no longer the listless creature who had lived at his side in a state of sullen self-absorption, but a mysterious, alien presence, an evil energy secreted from the long years of silent brooding. It was this sense of his helplessness that sharpened his antipathy. There had never been anything in her that one could appeal to."

Once we stop talking, there is no way to start again. There is too much that has to be said to know where to start.

I've been dealing with this off and on for over a year. It's big. It's detailed. And it's very moving. I bought my ex-wife a copy. Bono can actually write. And he has a helluva story to write about. So much of it was the soundtrack to my own feelings and experiences that I felt like it was as much about me as anyone. I cried when I got to the end and the lyrics to "40" were on the last page. And yet, I feel stronger for it. Brilliant. Fans only.

We're saying these words every day, but they were written in 2010. When there's a hurricane, we build a prison. When someone looks different, we send them away. These aren't leftovers from some traumatic national crisis. It's who we are. We love this shit.

I read this in almost disbelief. These are Americans? How would you find Americans who would treat people like this? Now it's every day. Can't go a day without seeing a vid of ICE agents breaking car windows to get at people. Jan 6 rioters battering cops and then taunting them after being pardoned. I must've read too many comic books. America is the home of evil people. Our default react is to do evil. Zeitoun should've woken me up to this.

I feel too much I think. I'm easily shamed; easily hurt. So I go nuclear quickly in confrontations. I do know better. I'm learning not to resist; to let it go. William Trevor is my soundtrack. He sees the things that move me. He sounds like my own thoughts. Although his plots can be unnerving, his understanding of his characters is comforting. There won't be a happy ending, but there will be an ending. And I will understand.

Everyone has a season. This is mine. I found this volume because I was looking for "Lenty" books about Lent to read during Lent. Jackpot. But not in a Merton or Bonhoeffer way. Religious in a meta way, if at all, Kate is an expert on commemorating time. She has beautifully captured that inward focus on appearances and meanings that I love about this season. Impressive. Years from now, these are the words that will bring these times back to me.

This isn't an anthology. It's a collection of mental health articles. But sometimes the examples from unidentified patients are more than just illustrative.

Experience

Remember
The bright sunsets in the bamboo of your youth
When you sang
Against the shouting of the wind?
Then you were a hollow reed
Easily broken,
Now that you've become a tree
Filled with substance,
You understand so well
The beauty of the sunset
But you don't sing anymore.

Got mine! Had to go to Penguin Random House but they're out there.

This looked like a little harmless science biography. Wasn't. Turned dark in a hurry. Never brightened up either. The revered names that have always brought comfort and stability to my musings led bizarre lives that are just horrible to think about. But Labatut also gives some of the best explanations ever of the realities of the quantum world. It is an eye-opening and landmark work on the origins of modern physics. Just don't read it at night.

I'm not really interested in Hollywood behind-the-scenes stuff but Judy Garland was in two of my favorite movies so I picked it up. It was disgusting how the movie industry treated people. I suppose it was us fans that drove it though. There's money to be made by exhibiting Judy Garland; mental health be damned. Judy grew up on stage, never had a normal life, and was never quite sane. I think she just wanted to go home but that balloon had sailed.

One of George the Ornery Bunny's favorites

After seeing a TED Talk, I had the local library order this book for me. That was 5 years ago. I have my own copy now. It's been a huge help in finding my way back on my own. It was never me. It was how I dealt with how I allowed people to treat me. And I can change that. I have. It's an ongoing struggle against my natural inclination to trust, believe, and look for affirmation. I wish my wife had read it before she surrendered her life to Prozac.

After I saw what happened to Fable users I was really hoping that Litsy's AI would have a go at me.

Not for everyone. It wasn't for me for the first 18 months after someone gifted me. Secular, new-age psychobabble has never been very entertaining. I eventually got around to it. Started it over several times to check its consistency.

Started out so well. Beautifully emotive setup. Then it just dried up. Slow. The story resolved into two needlessly separated converging arcs.There was a good spiritual punch-line after 26 chapters. Then a very unsatisfying finish. "Their marriage in name only was annulled." No. That was as bad as a logically inconsistent mystery reveal. Lynn should've killed Sam in the war and let Giselle rescue Joe. Because that's what actually happened.

I've had this on my bookshelf for awhile. I missed a pub quiz question about it so I bumped it to the front and read it. What was I thinking? This book is a treat from start to finish. Exotic, magical, cryptic, and yet so raw and earthy about how we feel about each other. Through feast and famine, life and death, this story rampages forward like a child exploring a toy store. Unpredictable, with Bradbury-like attention to the artful details.

I, too, lived in the woods and wondered about the coyotes. But it changed how I think about everything. A miracle lover from the sky wouldn't've understood. I expected some echo of what living in the woods does for, and to, oneself. Nah. Standard Harlequin romance script. The other threads weren't even interesting. The writing was OK. Some of the technical descriptions were lush and alive. Didn't have the psychological draw that Poisonwood did.

It was not instantaneous, the end of the world... And, of course, the world did not end at the same time for everyone... It was slow enough that for a long time, it did not seem truly dire... Till suddenly, the feedback cycles tipped over, became too front-heavy to regulate themselves... And then, the lights went out. Flickered feebly back on as governments and billionaires threw money at the problems... And at last, the lights went out for good.

Does anybody know where Litsy went on the Google Play Store? Paste me a link if you can see it.

“But the Hebrew word, the word 'timshel' - 'Thou mayest' - that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if 'thou mayest' - it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.' Don't you see?“
-Lee, on Genesis 4:7

One of the things I realized as the first autumn closed in was that I'd have a lot of time to read. East of Eden was sort of a local classic in Monterey, CA. It really was breathtaking. Of course, any time the antagonist is female it's going to hit me harder, but this was truly tragic. And yet, it had that undercurrent. That there's a big picture and the heartbreaks are an inevitable part of life. “Timshel.“ There is always evil to be resisted.

“Every dumb thing I ever done in my life there was a decision I made before that got me into it. It was never the dumb thing. It was always some choice I'd made before it. You understand what I'm saying?
...Meanin' this is it. This is our last chance. Right now.“

I am revisiting some of the books that I read during my 1352-day sojourn in the woods. It's been a year since I left so I feel like I'm in a better place to revisit what it all meant. I liked McCarthy's “The Road“. But I don't think horses are all that pretty so westerns don't really speak to me. I did identify with the feeling of dread when they met Jimmy. Sometimes you know that there's nothing you can do to stop your world from falling apart.

I've recently bailed on Wendy Speake's 40-day Social Media Fast. Social Media addiction is monster. Ed Stetzer's approach is a little more tough-love. First, we take responsibility for the fact that it's trolls like us that are stinking up the interwebs in the first place. How do we conduct ourselves to be less offended and less offensive? Caveat: This is a very Christian and even a conservative perspective but it still spoke to me.

I'm a fan of Arnold Toynbee and Jared Diamond so I like these cyclical views of history that portray civilizations as organisms that follow "life cycles". The late bronze-age collapse was a period I didn't know much about. I knew about the Kingdom period in Israel, the Minoan collapse, and the Hyksos invasion but I didn't realize that these were all connected as precursors to a "dark age" in the near east. It's a fascinating idea and a fun read.

I've read a lot of these books on meta-music. They're interesting but not always applicable. If you don't know Victor Wooten, he was the bass player for Bela Fleck and also has some solid solo releases. I think if I didn't know how good Wooten was, I'd've dropped it. There's a lot of new-agey ideas that I wouldn't have even tried if I didn't trust him. I'll need to re-read but what I've learned so far has simplified improvisation and enjoyment.

This was my gift from the local church. It passed the censors by being an unimaginative tattoo of the idea that "the Messiah is among you. Choose to make each moment holy." That's not how it works. Nobody cares. I am evil but I could choose to be good. So what? Tell me a story, like... The Five People (YMiH). Give me a vision of how life might work and how my choices affect things. This is a common flaw in "inspirational" literature. No story.

Yah. It's been awhile. I left the woods back in September to take another shot at being a productive member of society. So I'm not reading as much. Just the occasional piece of Glen Cook. But I did send someone a copy of The Puma Years this morning. And I sat down and read The Five People You Meet in Heaven. I'm not a fan of heaven books and I probably would've hated it if I hadn't also just re-read Holy Moments before tossing it. Cont. next book.

Brilliant, amazing book, life, statement, whatever it is. I'm not an "animal" person. I don't get them, never have. I certainly wouldn'tve gone through what Laura did to become one. But I understand the fascination better now. I wish I had it. I think Laura has written maybe the most important book since Silent Spring but it's so much better. This is a love story between two creatures, a woman and herself, and ultimately between us and our world.

"I miss you, too," I say, swallowing hard. The truth is I'm not sure if I do. It's not that I don't care, of course I do, but it's just that this place is like the tree roots that suck up all the water and don't leave any room for anything else. Any other thoughts I had, the anxieties, ambitions, the endless circling worries, they've gone. They've stopped breathing and all that's left is this.

I've read a lot about urban life in Japan. This was about forestry. The story is ok. Typical stranger in a strange land type scenario. But the incredible attention to detail in their forestry practices was what moved me. So different from the rape and pillage of Kentucky forests. I love cedars and I thought I took pretty good care of them. There's a whole other level of care I was ignorant of. A very earthy, yet social, story - if you like trees.

"'And the Republic's demands were framed so as to be educational, too - teaching that a propagandist of my sort was as much a murderer as Heydrich, Eichmann, Himmler, or any of the gruesome rest.
"That may be so. I had hoped, as a broadcaster, to be merely ludicrous, but this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate..."

"But here she is, all mine, trying her best to give me all she can. How could I ever hurt her?
But I didn't understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair."

Son of a Witch was kinda disappointing as sequels often are. It's hard to recreate the impact of such an innovative version of Oz. A Lion Among Men redeemed the series a bit, I thought. Tying up all the loose ends is at once satisfying and disappointing. It's bad enough that the story is over. I'd like a little bit of the mystery left to haunt me as I walk the woods at night. The first book is the best but the whole series is genius.

This was a comedy when I first read it some decades ago. Not funny now. Way too close to home. We've become this nightmare.

That's it? It's a drug odyssey? I thought it would be about the forgotten wisdom of the resilient native Americans. It's just a manual for spacing out on peyote and jimsonweed. Big deal. I thought Casteneda was supposed to be some kind of sage. From an anthropological perspective, it's a masterpiece. But I didn't learn much.

Re: A book set in winter for a reading program. I couldn't decide between the above, Left Hand of Darkness, Anna Karenina, Winter Garden, and Winter World, so I started them all. It came down to Snow and Left Hand leapfrogging each other with Snow finishing first. It's as long as Karenina but much closer to home, more focused. Winter Garden seemed like a sleeper at first. Then it just put me to sleep. I dropped Winter World after meeting everyone.

Very little about prozac. I read this to try and understand my P addicted 2nd wife but it ended up being more about narcissistic, n'er-do-well me. I'm sad she's gone. I wish there were more people like her. I think she gets it. We hate being depressed. We hate being narcissistic. But no one will show us the way out. Don't get me wrong. It's a terrible piece of writing. But if this is where you are, it's very comforting to know you're not alone.

I had only read 'The Babysitter'. I was delighted to find that it wasn't a fluke. Coover is quirky, experimental, and very entertaining. The only thing was, like Flannery O'Connor, it's a little too macabre to fall asleep to. Just a bit.

Maybe the Church was right to index this on theological grounds. I wouldn't know. But there's nothing here approaching the simplicity of, say, Thomas Aquinas. I bailed when I read "articulation of the divine incarnational radiance". Or, As Rob Bell put it, "who God made you to be". Dude. If you want to spark a paradigm shift among religious traditions, you might want to look up Jesus. He didn't hand down an updated Deuteronomy. He told stories.

Didn't take me anywhere. Devotionals have to do more than tell me what to do and how to feel about it. The good ones make me put the book down and get busy.

I read to Nebraska or Colorado. Lost interest. Too much going on besides music. I was hoping for something as moving as Elizabethtown.

People of the Books: Hoopla is in rare form with it's Bonus Borrows this month - classic audiobooks! I got the title above, Macbeth, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Iliad, and Moby Dick, without using any of my six precious monthly borrows. That's over 75 hours of extra listening this month.

Way too close to home. Just an ordinary life, with ordinary disappointments. Living your life may take everything you've got but in the end, on your last day, in your final thoughts; what did it matter? Surprise! It does. This book made me re-examine my own life and re-evaluate my failures. They were actually worse than I thought. But, they are mine. And I will relish my battles on my last day, even if they were against myself.

Dispassionately, reasonably, he contemplated the failure that his life must appear to be. He had wanted friendship and the closeness of friendship that might hold him in the race of mankind... He had wanted the singleness and the still connective passion of marriage. He'd had that, too. And he'd not known what to do with it and it had died. He had wanted love and he'd had love and had relinquished it; had let it go into the chaos of potentiality.

Psychological fiction masquerading as simple earthly vignettes. Trevor has a surgical precision that finds the tipping points of ordinary lives and reveals the quiet turmoil behind the pretended smiles. His prose has a luxury of detail but somehow he wraps it into the small frames of these stories where lives are altered beyond ever returning. Like a good album where every track works but in different ways. I wish I'd savored them more slowly.

Sometimes I don't know what I feel. Sometimes my circumstances are so strange that I'm lost. I try to use more familiar contexts to give my thoughts some shape but they don't work. I've found something new. These are stories about those feelings. Ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances give these lives an almost Kafka-like surrealism. And the reader gets such a beautiful perspective. Notes of Sherwood Anderson and George Eliot on the finish

"'The gift of mercy,' the nuns said... They would visit that church in Italy one day, they said. She smiles all that away. What happened; simply did... She should have died, a child. She knows that, but has never said it. Has never included in the story of herself, the days that felt like years when she lay among the fallen stones. It would have lowered their spirits, although it lifts her own. Because instead of nothing, there is what there is.