A Book Report
There's a marvelous book that I reread this weekend -- A Small Rain by Madeleine L'Engle. It's one of her few adult novels, which few people seem to have heard of (though I know J appreciates it properly). It's very much a "first novel," as L'Engle notes in her forward, but perhaps that's part of the reason I like it so well. There's a poetry about her youthful philosophizing that I find beautiful. In so many ways, both author and heroine seem even more naive than I am (yes, it's possible!), but I can appreciate and enjoy that naivete. And really, I kind of like being a little naive. Most of the time.
What is it about poetry and beauty that makes me want to practice? Granted, the heroine of this book is a pianist, so I know that has a good deal to do with it, but whenever I find I need a little motivation, I can find it in this book. I want to work, I want to become the pianist that I should be. And all those moments over the past few days, as I looked around at the gathering hordes of college students (have I ever mentioned how much hordes of college students frighten me?), as I wondered why on earth I've just moved to a Big City where I don't know which way is up, I remember. I need to realize the potential I have been given; I need to make music; I need to become what I am supposed to become. Otherwise, what am I here for? And don't quote Rick Warren at me -- maybe he's great at generalities, but I'm looking for specifics. There are some things that are about me -- some questions, some answers, and some purposes. Otherwise, why am I me?
There, I've managed to fit two of Mrs. McG's Universal Questions into one paragraph. She would be proud.
On a different note, do you know what lifted my spirits Friday, after my fairly gloomy post? The somewhat anticipated phone call from my mother helped (really, the leg isn't all that bad, I promise!). Afterwards, I sat on my patio with a carbonated caffeinated beverage and an unopened book, watching the little birds come to my tree to begin their good-night ritual. There's something amazing about the silhouette of a bird gliding downward, perfect little triangles of wings stretched outward, no doubt of its destination in it's small brain, no fear that the wind will give out beneath it. Maybe someday, I can fly like that.
posted by Jeanine @ 8/20/2006 03:10:00 PM
8 comments
8 Comments:
You mean I was supposed to remember Mrs. McG's universal questions?
On another note, I can't believe you even mentioned Rick Warren in the same post as Madeleine L'Engle. :)
Really, though A Small Rain is wonderful, I still prefer A Severed Wasp. Katherine's naivete in the first book bugs me a little. She's so...young. In the second book, I love the richness and depth of her perspective because of all the things she has experienced in her life. It's like she has become a "real" person, where at first she was only a child. Even though her perspective is darker and much more jaded.
But her diligence to her art kicks my butt every time, regardless of which book we're talking about.
Severed Wasp does have more, say, plot and whatnot to it, and definitely the author's (and therefore Katherine's) perspective are much expanded, but I tend to prefer Katherine when she thinks she might someday learn something about life than when she's rather certain she has all the answers. I guess it's the same reason I tend to prefer L'Engle's earlier works -- she didn't know it all, yet.
My philosophy is that anyone who claims to know all (or even most) of the answers to those Universal Questions of Mrs. McG's is more naive and less understanding of Truth and Life than those who approach life as a wonderful (and at times not so wonderful) and never-ending book to learn from and explore. I, for one, don't see how people who claim to know all there is to know about life can ever find joy in it. To me, joy is all about discovery, whether discovery of a book, a piece of music, what is inside a person, or what is inside yourself. That is what makes me fly...
Your title makes me think of Peter Rabbit.... :)
Jana wins! I was wondering who would get the theme of my post titles first. :)
To be fair, neither the character Katherine nor Madeleine L'Engle claim to have all the answers -- she just sounds more and more like she thinks she knows.
I actually caught the title the first time, but I felt like my more serious comment about Katherine would be trivialized by the Peter Rabbit postscript. :)
I'm loth to criticize, but I'm afraid I don't quite see the connection between L'Engle and Peter Rabbit: After all, Peter Rabbit is a stupid book about a stupid rabbit stealing vegetables from other people's gardens (1, 2, 3, 4,...), which sounds clearly off topic from the highly philosophical discussion here.
Now, trying to be serious after that...
I've thought all along that Pastor Rick's five purposes were about four too many. (Irrelevant question: Why, when I say 'Pastor Rick,' do I always think of Peter Lorre in Casablanca rasping out, "Do something! You must help me, Rick. Do something!"?) I much prefer the statement in the old Westminster Catechism:
Question 1: What is the chief and highest end of man?
Answer: Man's chief and highest end is to glorify God, and fully to enjoy him forever.
I find that statement wonderful in its inclusiveness. It is broad enough to encompass all of humanity, and individual enough to be direct to me: I am made to glorify God in a combination of ways that is unique to me in all of space-time. It is vast enough to occupy several lifetimes, and specific to the moment: are the words I am writing in this little comment box done to the glory of God?
The other thing I appreciate about the Catechism statement is its focus, and its indication of where mine ought to be. "Set your minds on things above..."
My experience has been that God doesn't always show His reasons before telling me to go to a specific place, or do a specific thing. He gives me signs that let me know I'm in the right place (if I'm looking for them), but then expects me to be content with knowing He has put me where I am, and called me to do what I'm doing. And if I have a hard time with that, I can find plenty of folks in Scripture who fretted over it too. (References, as they say, on request.)
I do like the symbolism of the bird. Small brains never doubt their destinations; big ones seem to do it often. But there are times when I have flown like that, secure of my destination (not meaning just getting home in time for dinner); knowing that the wind beneath me will never give out (though I won't always catch it properly). And I think you have, too.
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