2012: Books in Review

Always carry a sword an a book-it worked for St. Catherine.

2012 is almost at its end. It has been an interesting, and at times, sporadic, reading year. I'm not about to offer a litany of book reviews, first because I tend to have lengthy opinions about nearly everything I read, but also because I have this terrible habit (or wonderful, depending on how you look at it), of moving on so quickly to the next book that book reviews get neglected (save my personal notes). But here is a rough approximation of what I read in 2012, in no particular order (* indicates titles I have started):

Eugenics and Other Evils, G.K. Chesterton

On Being Human, Bl. Fulton Sheen

Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Ever Seen, Christopher McDougall

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, Susan Cain

Self-Abandonment to Divine Providence, Jean-Pierre de Caussade

The Belgian & The Hobbit

While I am here, let me remind you to indulge in a few days of opportunities for semi-literary excitement and celebration of two beloved characters of short stature and a propensity for fine meals. Tomorrow, 20 September, we have Talk Like a Poirot Day, a tribute to the legendary Agatha Christie detective, and an apt postlude to the annual Talk Like a Pirate Day. Dust off your moustache and monocle, and prime your Belgian accent for a day most grand! A little fine dining won't hurt either.

The next day, Friday, 21 September, marks the 75th anniversary of the publication of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit (not quite as momentous an occasion as an eleventy-first birthday, but it will do). Fans all around the world will be celebrating with second breakfast, at 11 o'clock sharp (Owing to the demands of the work day, I will be having a very late second breakfast). The very next day, 22 September, is Hobbit Day, the shared birthday of our beloved Bilbo and Frodo. If ever I had an excuse to bake scones, this is it! Oh, and read. Hobbits love to read:

Books to Read Before the Summer is Out

Usually I anticipate Summer reading like a shopaholic preparing for Black Friday. The few spare moments of the Winter months are spent compiling a master list of books I ought to read but have little freedom to during the academic year, which I pounce upon as soon as I'm able. When this Summer began, however, life just got busier. Consequently, this year's list of 'books read is depressingly meager when measured against an average season. But as Summer is only half-over, after all, it is not too late to fit in some good reading. Here are a few titles that I have recently [re-] read, and are well worth your while.

Leisure: The Basis of Culture
Josef Pieper
I first read Josef Pieper's Leisure: The Basis of Culture towards the beginning of library school, and found it refreshing after years of rationalizing workaholic behavior and living in a culture obsessed with work (even if, sometimes, for the right reasons). This short essay, paired with The Philosophical Act, examines the fundamental roots of leisure in celebratory sacrifice. Anyone tired of modern workaholic culture or its equally frustrating counterpart of commodified recreation will enjoy this little book. It is a very timely read for Summer, or if you are trying to regain a sense of balance, peace, and order in your life. And at just around 75 pages, it doesn't require a huge investment of time.

Space Trilogy (Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, That Hideous Strength)
C.S. Lewis

"A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered...You say you have poets in your world. Do they not teach you this?"

So an inquisitive alien asks in the first volume of this marvelous sci-fi trilogy from the mind of C.S. Lewis. The delight of the trilogy for me definitely seems to grow progressively with the remembrance of each read. One can think of this series as a slightly more grown-up segway from Narnia. As someone who loved Madeline L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time series growing up, I quickly adopted the Space Trilogy as a natural favorite, with its unique blend of space adventure, philosophy, and theology (more like sci-fi with a bit of the latter two sprinkled in). That Hideous Strength, with its blend of militaristic drama, academic politics, sorcery, and subtle commentary on love, stands out as my favorite of the three. Those who have only explored Lewis' more theological writing (e.g., Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce) will enjoy a new dimension of his imagination in the Space Trilogy.

Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World has Never Seen
Christopher McDougall
As a rule, I normally treat most contemporary writing as a secondary concern, to be explored after the more enduring works essential to a lifetime reading list. But Born to Run was just too intriguing to save for later. Motivated by the mystery of foot pain, journalist Christopher McDougall presents a delightfully entertaining narrative of his search for the Tarahumara, a reclusive Mexican people who drink corn beer and run ultramarathons in the canyon desert in bare feet. My favorite chapter has to be McDougall's discussion of the ancient practice of persistence hunting, wherein packs of men essentially chase animals to death (the human body never fails to amaze). With its energy-filled story-telling and exploration of human physiology and anthropology, Born to Run is sure to inspire the runner within to hit the road with new life. And it may tempt you to abandon your sneakers and go 'au naturale.'

Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien
Edited by Humphrey Carpenter

"Well, there you are, a hobbit amongst the Urukhai. Keep up your hobbitry in heart, and think that all stories feel like that when you are in them. You are inside a very great story!"

-J.R.R. Tolkien to Christopher Tolkien (at war), 6 May 1944

Influenced by a recent conversation with a good friend, I decided to take up The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (after all, it serves a good prelude to a necessary re-reading of The Hobbit before its big screen debut this winter). I have only cracked the surface of this tremendously heart-warming collection of correspondence, and already feel compelled to recommend it without reservation. Like an ageless child, Tolkien's pen seems to be the gateway of a conduit to his heart. The letters to his editors are playful and humble, while those to his wife and children read as effusive parcels of love. His correspondence clearly shows a man with an expansive heart and boundless imagination. Tolkien writes frankly about moral principles and virtue in the wake of wartime, which largely formed the backdrop for his composition of The Lord of the Rings. Not to mention his notes to his sons are frequently sprinkled with Elvish, Latin, and Anglo-Saxon turns of phrase and remarks on the liturgical calendar. Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien is sure to inspire Tolkien fans and captivate new ones.

Happy Reading!

Tolkien's First Love

"Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament...There you will find romance, glory, honor, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality of eternal endurance, which every man's heart desires."

-J.R.R. Tolkien, from a letter to his son, Michael, 1941

Tolkien, in the study...

J.R.R. Tolkien reads (between smokes).

And, another reason why Tolkien is awesome.

Ave atque Vale!: Libraries, Virtue, and the Sacred

"There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."

-J.R.R. Tolkien 

After a more chaotic than expected finals week, and completing the last of my MLS coursework, I can now call myself a bona fide librarian! As much as graduations merit at least a little reflection, they are almost always, in my experience, occasions more for chaos than ceremony, and so, after a couple weeks of being whisked along by the momentum of final projects, last days at work, bidding final farewells to friends, paperwork, packing, and moving, I finally have found a few spare moments in which to write. I cannot say that mind all the distraction this time around. My relationship with Bloomington has not, on average, been far from adversarial. I will, however, miss the excellent public library, the huge selection of good Eurasian restaurants, the year-round farmer's market, the university's vast library system, and the walkability of the town. While my home for the past couple years is not my heart's paradise, I cannot say that my time here was time wasted, for my understanding of, and capacity for humility and detachment have grown immensely in this place.

A large state school is, for me, particularly well-suited to purging self-importance, pride, and attachment to success and spiritual comfort. These conditions seem, to me, to mirror the opportunities for humility and detachment provided by libraries and librarianship itself. The immensely diverse and compassionately wrought backgrounds and philosophies of my colleagues is a constant source of humility, gratitude, and challenge. I am very grateful for this, among other things, in my profession. This simple truth, however, would hardly be appreciated in a library school application essay, or in public declarations of the value of librarianship.

In my fledgling career, I have had the luck and privilege to work at some of this country's most prized institutions, if only as a humble page and intern. Their collections, steeped in tradition, history, notoriety, and appraised at astonishing monetary value, are cause for wonder, especially to those setting their eyes on them for the first time. Libraries, for this reason (among others), remain one of the only universally recognized sacred spaces. I still remember vividly the adrenaline-ridden gravitas of my first encounters with ancient Greek papyri and a copy of Shakespeare's First Folio, and that rapturous first visit to the British Library's Treasure Room. In my childish delight and awe, I truly felt that these were portals to other worlds and times, and my student-imagination romantically imbued the handling (and viewing) of these items with a sense of sacred ritual.