Monday, November 26, 2012

Mother Culture and the Tasting of Books




'Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.' --Francis Bacon, Of Studies.

I decided to have a taste of some more of P.D.James' books after reading her futuristic novel, set in London in the year 2012, The Children of Men.
My interest in this author was piqued when I read that she had lost some of her following due to the strong Christian undertones on the sanctity of life in this particular book.
 (An interview with the author is here: http://www.abc.net.au/sundayprofile/stories/3380664.htm)

I've been rather hesitant to recommend this author. In all but one of her books I've read ( except for Death Comes to Pemberley) there was a description or event that assaulted my senses in some way. Her characters are very complex and she writes with depth and a realism which can be raw, but at the same time insightful. She doesn't dwell long on these descriptions, however, and they tend to vividly divulge an aspect of the character's personality or background.
Original Sin, also set in London and centred around a publishing house, is a story about ancestral sin, 'the sins of the fathers,' and the fruit of this sin after years of unforgiveness and schemes for revenge.

One of the minor characters in this book was a disgruntled author whose latest work had been turned down by the publishing house. She was a lonely, pathetic sort of woman caught up in her own sense importance, and in her peevishness went to complain to the manager of the publishing firm and walked into the wrong place at the wrong time.
After her murder two detectives walk into her dingy apartment with its echoes of insignificance and disarray and James writes:

‘“Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days: that I may be certified how long I have to live."
Surely few people could pray that prayer with any sincerity. The best one could hope for or want was enough time to tidy away the personal debris, consign one's secrets to the flames or the dustbin and leave the kitchen tidy.'

I felt an ache when I read those words and thought of the murdered woman's 'personal debris' and it made me want to make sure that I didn't leave any debris behind, physically or spiritually. In the P.D. James books that I have read, justice was eventually accomplished, the characters reaped what they'd sowed, loose ends were tied, and I was satisfied that the case was closed - maybe I'm an idealist, but I dislike unresolved endings. There is a real literary quality to her writing but for me a taste of her books is enough now and again. Her worldview often diverges from the Christian one, in my opinion, which is contrary to some reviews of her books I've read.



 P.D. James was an author I tasted but another author I  read wholly and with attention was Miss Read.  She is an English author and former schoolteacher, whose real name is Dora Jessie Saint (1913-2012). Her books centre around English villages, their inhabitants and the minutiae of everyday life in a way that is absorbing and evocative. She also describes the natural world beautifully.

My favourite is Miss Clare Remembers, a reminiscing by a retired school teacher who has lived through the two world wars. Miss Clare remembers her family and her school days, the death of Queen Victoria and the invention of the motor car. The engagements of both herself and her best friend (also a teacher) and their fiancés' subsequent deployment to France at the start of the war is remembered with pride. She poignantly recalls the death of her young man in action and the wounding and hospitalisation of her friend's fiancé and his decision to end the engagement and marry the nurse who had cared for him.

It was a very endearing story and so interesting to read about the impact the death of Queen Victoria had on her subjects and the developments that followed the world wars.
Miss Read has written a number of other books which centre around village life in England including, The Howards of Caxley, Winter at Thrush Green and Return to Thrush Green. She died in April of this year at 98 years of age.

"Miss Clare Remembers" by Enya was inspired by the beauty and simplicity of Miss Read's book. It starts at 17.54 min.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Christmas Carol - I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day




One of our favourite songs. There are so many great Christmas Carols we like to listen to so we start early! William Wadsworth Longfellow’s original poem was written in 1864 during the American Civil War.
See the story behind the song.

Christmas Bells

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!


And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"


Thursday, November 15, 2012

Australian Folksong - Moreton Bay

Also known as 'The Convicts' Lament on the Death of Captain Logan,' this ballad is about the Moreton Bay Penal Colony - which was set up in Queensland in the early 1800's in what is now the Brisbane area - and in particular the notorious Captain Logan.
Apparently Ned Kelly quoted some lines of this ballad  in his Jerilderie Letter in 1879.



The Logan City Library in Queensland has this information on Captain Logan:

Captain Patrick Logan 1791-1830


The Journal of Captain Patrick Logan

Moreton Bay

One Sunday morning as I went walking
By Brisbane waters I chanced to stray
I heard a convict his fate bewailing
As on the sunny river bank I lay
I am a native from Erin's island
But banished now from my native shore
They stole me from my aged parents
And from the maiden I do adore

I've been a prisoner at Port Macquarie
At Norfolk Island and Emu Plains
At Castle Hill and at cursed Toongabbie
At all these settlements I've been in chains
But of all places of condemnation
And penal stations in New South Wales
To Moreton Bay I have found no equal
Excessive tyranny each day prevails

For three long years I was beastly treated
And heavy irons on my legs I wore
My back from flogging was lacerated
And oft times painted with my crimson gore
And many a man from downright starvation
Lies mouldering now underneath the clay
And Captain Logan he had us mangled
All at the triangles of Moreton Bay

Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews
We were oppressed under Logan's yoke
Till a native black lying there in ambush
Did deal this tyrant his mortal stroke
My fellow prisoners be exhilarated
That all such monsters such a death may find
And when from bondage we are liberated
Our former sufferings will fade from mind



Sheet music and some  more information here. 

Another version of Moreton Bay