a broken mold

Hello everyone! I’m Anna Hurley, most commonly known as “Matthew’s sister.” I just recently joined this blog, and, being rather technologically impaired, I’ll leave the tech part to other writers and stick with stuff I understand. Without intending to be typical girl here my first post is actually about Jane Austen…I know…surprise! But it may be a bit different take than you might expect so bear me out.

Thoughts on this subject have been mulling around for some while in the deep recesses of my brain, but they really came to a head this weekend. I was up in Moscow visiting my brother hanging out in Bucer’s (of course) and I got in to a discussion with Matthew’s roommate, friend, and Austen-lover Isaac Madsen. Through the course of the discussion he pointed out how much he disliked authors like Charles Dickens and Elizabeth Gaskell, but loved Jane Austen. Perhaps his reasons for disliking them are different than mine, but I know that I have always enjoyed Austen better as well. (I don’t as strongly dislike Dickens though, and I actually enjoy Gaskell). In my opinion, the greatest difference is one of flavor.

Dickens and Gaskell (to a lesser degree) flavor their works with tragedy, sorrow, pain, suffering, despair and overall bleakness. Austen, while tinting her pieces with hints of grief, really has a much more positive and upbeat view of life to the point of possibly bordering on the sentimental. Sentimentalism is something which I have come to strongly dislike. Whether it be manifested in the flowery artwork of Thomas Kinkade or the cheesy WWJD bracelets I just can’t stand it.

Here, I think is Austen’s pitfall. She tends to write in a rather fanciful style. Pleasant, enjoyable, romantic, sweet? Yes. Realistic? Not so much. I do not mean to discredit her as a writer and I fully admit to being a Jane Austen fan. BUT, I can get too much of her. I can overdose on her dream-like fairy tales. When the characters have to face no worse tragedy than being uninvited to a ball, being snubbed by the prideful rich, being forced to endure the ridiculous proposals of men they do not love…what is there to relate to? Granted there are occasionally real difficulties to overcome, but nonetheless, one cannot help feeling there is something lacking to her “reality.” Every once in a while, one can enjoy getting away from the mundane routines of life, forget the petty trials of the day and immerse oneself in the romantic world of Jane Austen, but it is not without fault (despite what Isaac may say).

However, back to the original subject: why is Austen better than Charles Dickens? Dickens tends to fall into the other ditch…and not just a little bit. He plunges whole-heartedly, almost gleefully into misery and despair. He delights to portray the lowest strata of life in their worst garments. He paints characters in such bleakness and sorrow as to destroy any fanciful notion of hope remaining in his poor reader. Is this just? To be sure, the world is a fallen place and it has it’s share of tragedy, sin and darkness, but such despairing and tragic stories are not what I consider pleasure reading. I will admit to Dickens having his moments of light, just as Austen had her flashes of reality. I can honestly say that I enjoy “A Christmas Carol” and some parts of his other works, but on the whole, one cannot help feeling oppressed and depressed by the gloom which characterizes the greater part of his books.

All this to say, Austen is a phenomenal writer, but with a tendency to slight sentimentalism, which in too large a dose can be overbearing. Dickens, probably a good enough writer in his own way, is too much gloom, depression and darkness to be seriously healthy reading. So, is there a middle ground?

In my own opinion, Les Miserables by Victor Hugo is an excellent example of reality mixed with romanticism, despair and tragedy mingled with hope, goodness and beauty. Elizabeth Gaskell is far nearer this medium than Dickens, especially in her excellent book Wives and Daughters. Austen is only slightly misplaced and there are many other authors who strike a good balance.

The purpose of this post is not to tell you not to read certain books or to read other ones, but really, my point is that to be a really good work of art (in any sense of the word; book, painting, etc) there must be an expression of sadness, sin and evil…otherwise the observer has nothing to relate to. But there must also be an element of hope and redemption which Dickens missed in so much of his work. This is necessary to the good piece of art work, because it tells our story to us. It does not deny sin and suffering, but declares to a fallen world that there is hope. Even a picture or a book with no intentional Christian message, by portraying this dichotomy of sin and redemption, paints the gospel story with more clarity than a Precious Moments “love your neighbor” scene or a plastic Jesus nightlight.

Yeah, I know frequent short to medium sized posts about your life have a great potential to be boring. But I wasn’t quite considering that. Rather, I’m becoming rather enamored of short to medium sized posts that just throw a thought, question, or reflection out. It’s a form that rather compliments honesty.

I want to say my inspiration comes from Jason Kottke and Seth Godin. There’s probably some other stuff in there, too. I know Jason’s mostly an editor now in the sense that he doesn’t create most of his content, but rather points it out and comments on it. But some of his earlier stuff was more personal. And he points out such interesting stuff.

Seth Godin is a marketer. A genius, I’d say. He seems to spout a continuous stream of good stuff on his blog. And it’s not cheesy. I don’t know that he’s a Christian, but he has an ethic that really appeals to me as a Christian: hard work, innovation, courage, and that sort of thing. And his posts usually aren’t all that long.

So, I think I have some stuff to say worth saying here that I could put in a somewhat similar format. The question is, with Matthew not posting an equivalent amount (not necessarily a bad thing), am I going to be posting too much? (For what? Fairness? Equality? My own good?). That’s the question I wish to ask Matthew and all you who read this.

What say you?

Notes From The Tilt-A-Whirl: Wide-Eyed Wonder in God’s Spoken World by N.D. Wilson is a wild ride. To be fair, the preface warns the reader with such injunctions as “This book does not go straight,” and “I’ve forgotten to include seat belts, and I don’t know where I left the liability waivers.”

The narrative weaves erratically through reflections on philosophy, quantum physics, wasp villains, and Shakespeare in a stream-of-consciousness format. Interspersed throughout are meteorological observations, insights on everyday life, and stories from the kingdom Animalia. “Have you ever heard a rabbit scream?”

In the chapter titled “The Problem of Evil and the Nonexistence of Shakespeare,” Mr. Wilson deals with the sobering reality of evil. God is the great Artist, and there is black paint in the world. “How can this Artist be good?” The Christian apologetic is presented here in a rambling, poetic style influenced by C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton, and the result is truly a work of art. Notes From The Tilt-A-Whirl is different; it reads with a unique style that well captures the depth and vibrancy of creation, and being thought-provoking while at it. I highly recommend this book, and I think every Christian should read it.

Note (no pun intended) that Mr. Wilson employs a few words that some might find offensive. For some thoughts on Christians and what might be called “strong” language, check out these older blog posts here and here.

True to the title, Notes From The Tilt-A-Whirl takes the form of notes from life, expressing the wonder of God’s world. God’s spoken world. One theme that runs through the book like a thread (and there are many) is that of words. Everyone is given a part in God’s story.

“Our Maker waits. He would have a conversation. What words will we have? We need only one, the One who spoke us.”

For Christmas, I thought I’d post the lyrics to “a Stick, a Carrot & String,” a profound and poetic Christmas song by mewithoutYou. Incidentally, I seem to have had the same post idea as this guy. Merry Christmas!

The Horse’s hay beneath His head
our Lord was born to a manger bed,
that all whose wells run dry
could drink of His supply.

To keep Him warm the Sheep drew near,
so grateful for His coming here:
You come with news of grace,
come to take my place!

The Donkey whispered in His ear:
Child, in thirty-some-odd years,
You’ll ride someone who looks like me (untriumphantly).

While the Cardinals warbled a joyful song:
He’ll make right what man made wrong,
bringing low the hills,
that the valleys might be filled!

Then Child, asked the birds,
well, aren’t they lovely words we sing?
The tiny Baby lay there without saying anything.

At a distance stood a mangy Goat
with crooked teeth and a matted coat,
weary eyes and worn,
chipped & twisted horns.
Thinking: Maybe I’ll make friends some day
with the Cows in the pens and the Rambouillet,
but for now I’ll keep away -
I got nothin’ smart to say.

But there’s a sign on the barn in the Cabbagetown:
When the rain picks up and the sun goes down,
Sinner, Come Inside! With No Money, Come and Buy!
No clever talk nor gift to bring
requires our lowly, lovely king,
come, all emptyhanded, you don’t need anything!

And the night was cool and clear as glass
with the sneaking Snake in the garden grass,
as Deep cried out to Deep, the Disciples fast asleep.

And the snake perked up when he heard You ask:
if You’re willing that this cup might pass
we could find our way back home,
maybe start a family all our own…
but does not the Father guide the Son?
Not my will but Yours be done!
What else here to do?
What else me but You???

And the snake who’d held the world,
a stick, a carrot and a string, was crushed
beneath the Foot of Your not wanting anything.

YouTube link.

I wanted to showcase a contrast that came to me during today’s Christmas service at Christ Covenant Church. Pastor Tollefson described Christ’s birth as a great boom (including the angel choirs, of course) that put a fear in Satan and a battle in his future. This great boom in turn reminded me of the mewithoutYou song January 1979, the full lyrics of which can be found here. The beginning of the song runs like this:

January 1979, saw a terrible crash
And I couldn’t help but laugh
My ear pressed against the past
Like a glass on a wall of a hospital photograph
My forehead no longer sweet
With holy kisses worthy of your fiery lips
I was floating in a peaceful sea
Rescued by a sinking ship

From what I’ve read on the internet, and it makes sense to me, Aaron Weiss is referring to his own birth (former member Daniel Pishock was born the same month, too). He calls it a terrible crash because he, a sinful being from birth, as we all are, entered the world. I’m not all sure about the middle bits, but the last two lines, from what I’ve read, refer to his seeming innocence before birth and then his pick up by a ship; a seeming rescue, but one from a sinking ship, that is, our nature of sin in a sinful world. I think the whole song does have more on this theme of life, like the line “My life is a cup of sugar I’ve borrowed before time began and forgot to return.” (And to diverge slightly, I must say I’ve found SongMeanings helpful for understanding mewithoutYou. I have thought of some insights on my own, but mewithoutYou has very profound and pithy lyrics, and outside sources are helpful to me in understanding them.)

So anyway, I wanted to draw that parallel between the terrible crash of sinful birth and the great joyous boom of sinless birth. Two types of noises. Lots of the first, one of the second, but for us the second should far outshine the first, since Christ’s death atoned for all of us, while each of our births might bring some joy of life, but do not ultimately save anyone and are really futile in comparison. We might have our terrible little crashes but they are nothing in the face of Christ’s perfect virgin human birth.

I have a confession to make. I plan blog posts in my head.

Is that so bad? Maybe. It’s just that I catch myself starting to write these great posts in my head and feel guilty because it’s not spur of the moment authentic. But then, of course, planned writing isn’t bad. It’s good¹. And spontaneous writing can be good, too.

One of the bad things about this blog planning, though, is that I imagine myself writing these great posts and realize that they’re not always true, or I’m just trying to sound smart, or I want comment kudos. Being smart and getting comments isn’t at all bad – I’m just greedy and that’s bad.

What I really want is an honest, open style that doesn’t come across as terrible for being truthful and humble. Goodness, it’s human nature to try to seem more than we are, even to ourselves. Truth of the matter is, I’m not a great (as in epic, famous) writer. Please don’t let me take that to either extreme: I don’t want to be prideful about being humble and I don’t want to be prideful.

I remember when I wrote a terrible review of Paul Comon’s book on composition in photography – it sucked because I was trying to sound good and it came across as canned, tacky and cheesy. I rewrote it a little more honestly and I think it came out much better. I’m not a professional literature critic; why should I try?

And on that note, I’ve been thinking a little bit in this vein about art. Bad art does try to come across as high and mighty and make its author important and ends up being unintelligible and just dumb. Good art works hard and makes a beautiful thing with true depth. As critics of art, even amateur ones, I wonder if we sometimes try to read into art more meaning and depth than is there – obfuscate the matter with big words and complex ideas and try to sounds smart – maybe it’s bad art, maybe it’s good art that’s just not that deep; I think it could go either way.

Afterword: I’ve taken to kind of stream-of-consciousnessing in my Moleskine and am tempted to post some of these ramblings. They are somewhat spur of the moment (and riddled with crazy grammar because of it) but I’m trying to be honest with what I’m thinking and explore life and God’s world. Alright, take a deep breath, and then remember I’m probably not as sincere as I just sounded. Narcissism (def. 1), remember?