This is a pretty cool book. It is fairly typical for contemporary sci-fi, which tends to be more character and conflict-focused than idea-driven, and this novel revolves around a trio of characters in a modestly-distant future. There is a wonderful sense of creeping horror here, and a meditation on the inevitability of consequence. The book starts slowly, and takes a while to build to the point where the story’s thrust starts to make sense, but the result is worthwhile. The requisite mind-bending physics is there as well.
An enjoyable, if mildly disturbing read.
A lot of digital ink has been spilled over the passage of Proposal 2, and the similar measures that passed in ten other states, and as usual I am late to the punch in writing something about this.
At first, surprisingly, or perhaps depressingly, I wasn’t that surprised. Although the last polling I had heard suggested that the “tide was turning” against passage of Proposal 2, I went to bed last Tuesday evening with every expectation that, on the whole, things were going to go badly for progressives. And indeed, they did, although even I was surprised at the extent of the “resounding defeat” that we have suffered.
Lets get one thing clear. A nationwide gay bashing happened on November 2nd — a gay bashing that was organized by conservative Christian groups, paid for by the Catholic church (and others), and carried out in the name of “moral values” and “national security”. Instead of frat boys with baseball bats and beer bottles, this fag-bashing took place at the ballot box. Instead of punching us with fists and kicking us with feet, the bashers this time beat us up with posters, TV ads, and lies. Most of the voters who voted for the amendment weren’t even aware of its impact, and as is often the case, many voted against their own self-interest without even realizing it.
Appalling also is the fact that we’re already in rewriting history mode, and folks are talking about how “we [queers] shouldn’t have raised the gay marraige issue in the first place”. How soon we forget — in the late 90s the focus of gay rights legislation was ENDA and non-discrimination, not marraige equality. The Defense of Marraige Act was not our fucking idea. This whole thing has been a cynical, if successful, ploy to mobilize the republican base, and it worked. Some analysts insist that the gay marraige issue did not decisively impact the outcome of the election — I have a very difficult time believing that.
Given that Alan and I provided some commentary to the Ann Arbor News, it wasn’t surprising when the reporter called me on Wednesday morning to find out “what was I thinking, what was I worried about”? The resulting article
I think reflects my fears at that time pretty accurately.
But I think we need to look farther. Take some time and read Larry Kramer’s words at Cooper Union — the speech is long, but worth the effort. Kramer connects the outcome of the recent election with the appalling lack of organization (and maturity) of the gay community and the results of what he sees as long years of planning and action on the part of religious and political conservatives for the past 35 years. While many dismiss Kramer as crazy (and I am not prepared to comment on the veracity of his claims), I think his words largely ring true, and Kramer has earned the right to say them.
What gives me hope, if any hope is to be found at the moment, is that Kramer sees the locus of recovery from this defeat in the right places: in our communities, in our churches, in our willingness to set aside difference for the sake of something larger than ourselves. If we do this, and if we accept the mantle of responsibility that has been lain on our shoulders for our own fate, it is possible, with the grace and help of God, to reclaim some of the territory that we have allowed to be stolen from us.
I read this book some time ago, but in having read and wrote on Colin Duriez’ book, it seems useful to write about this as well, which serves as a fitting companion to Duriez’ study on Lewis and Tolkien.
I remember a conversation with my father when I was in my early teens, where he told me “not to let the pastor catch you reading that stuff, its satanic!”. The pastor he was referring to was the head of the storefront “full gospel” church he attended in Luna Pier, MI and the book was one of Neil Hancock’s “Circle of Light” books (I have no idea why or how I remember that detail, but I do). Apparently this was a seminal moment for me (given I remember it so vividly), and it put a wedge between my love of imaginiative literature on one hand, and my spiritual life on the other. I eventually grew disaffected with my father’s charismatic brand of religion, which seemed particularly interested in expounding on the list of those who were going to go to hell (and I knew I was on that list, even if I didn’t exactly know why), but my love of imaginiative literature, movies, and television has remained strong, and continues to be a source of inspiration and energy. However I have always carried with me a subtle sense that there was something “wrong” with the kind of books that I gravitated towards (sci-fi and fantasy mostly), and to this day I have a habit of turning over the cover of the book I’m reading so as to not invite what were for me sometimes uncomfortable questions. Given that Tolkien’s books were ones that I encountered fairly early in my childhood, this taint extended to them as well.
I suppose as I grew into adulthood I intellectually rejected those attitudes for the smallminded ones that they obviously are (”satanic” in particular seems to be a term that some fundamentalists use to label anything they don’t like or understand), the feeling of uneasiness has remained with me. And as I re-encountered Tolkien’s writing as I reconnected with my spiritual faith, I could see some of the obviously Christian sources of inspiration that Tolkien used. But it wasn’t until I encountered Ralph Wood’s The Gospel According to Tolkien that I came to understand the genius of Tolkien’s vision, and the depth of his spiritual insight.
This slim volume unpacks a lot of the Christian underpinnings that inform and shape Tolkien’s writing. He examines Tolkien’s retelling o fthe themes of the goodness of creation, the marring of creation, and its ultimate redemption. It is important to understand that Tolkien was creating a “Christian world without a Christ”, as he felt that the story of Christ had been told once and had been told perfectly, and to retell it in another form was at best unnecessary (see “On Fairy Stories” for some insight into his thinking on the role of imaginative writing and his concept of sub-creation).
Wood traces Tolkien’s themes about the problem of evil in the creation accounts that one can find at the beginning of The Silmarillion, through the events of next 7000 years of Middle-Earth history, and in particular examines the symbolic importance of the Ring, and its effect on the various peoples that encounter and are challeged by it (or as in the case of Tom Bombadil, are not). He also examines Tolkien’s ideas about our response to evil in the world (primarily through the pursuit of the traditional moral virtues, and avoidance of vices, although he casts these themes in a far less moralistic and more nuanced manner), and his vision for a redeemed life. Throughout Wood provide ample and effective comparisons between Biblical text, Tolkien’s work, and other writers. The result is both scholarly and quite effective, and a book I recommend to those who want to understand Tolkien as a Christian writer (which is really the proper characterization).